Page 85 of Obsession

“He was reported missing this morning.”

No shit.

“The Bridge Killer?”

Chapman watches me closely. Too closely. Then he shifts in his seat, exchanging a brief look with Briem. “We suspect Mark Archer’s disappearance is related to you. The Bridge Killer’s victims were all women, who turned up tied to bridges the following morning. In fact”—he rests his elbows on the table—“we were hoping you could shed some light on the situation.”

Frowning, I lower my cup to the table. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“How well did you know Mark Archer?”

“He was my father’s close friend when I was little. He came around every Wednesday for poker night. Then my father became ill…”

“And they fell out of contact,” he finishes for me.

Nodding softly, I stare down at my coffee.

“Did he ever hurt you in any way, Miss Campbell?”

An ache spreads through my chest, and I swallow down the lump lodged in my throat, shaking my head. “No, never.”

“Are you sure?”

I open my mouth to reply, when there’s a sharp knock on the front door. Frowning, I rise to my feet.

Who could that be?

“Excuse me, I won’t be a second,” I tell the detectives before making my way to the hallway. The overwhelming presence of a broad-shouldered man looms outside, shadowed by the porch roof.

Opening the door, I do a double take and my breath hitches in my throat.

His lips curve sinfully, his cap pulled low to hide his hair. He taps the ID hanging around his neck. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. You reported a blockage in your bathtub.”

I blink at the ID badge that’s definitely not his, noting the blood smeared across the edge. The uniform fits him to perfection, as though he picked out this specific colleague so that he could steal his clothes.

I swallow thickly and step aside, holding my breath. He brushes past, too large for life with his broad shoulders, stubbly chin, and masculine scent. “Where’s your bathroom?”

I lead him past the kitchen, where the detectives wait for me. My heart thunders wildly against my ribcage, and I gesture to the staircase. “It’s upstairs. Third door to the right.”

Dipping his chin, he says, “Thank you, ma’am.”

My lashes flutter as Robbie disappears upstairs. The guts on that guy. Hiding in plain sight.

Before I can freak out about the fact that I have a decapitated head inside my freezer and a serial killer upstairs, I walk back to the kitchen and plop on the chair. I reach for the cup.

“Plumbing issues?”

I choke on my coffee, nodding my head. “A hairball, most likely.”

“We won’t take up any more of your time. If you remember anything at all about Mark Archer that could be useful to us, let us know.”

“I will.”

Chapman dips his chin as Briem walks out. “I’ll be in touch, Miss Campbell.”

I follow him into the hallway, my heart threatening to break out of my chest.

As soon as the door is closed, I flip the lock and peer at the stairs at the end of the hallway. Robbie is inside my house, waiting for me.