Page 50 of Secrets Beneath the Waves (Beach Read Thrillers #2)

CHAPTER

SIX

He should be sleeping. After the early-morning call to Jules’ place, it made sense that Dante would be home in his warm, comfortable bed right now, putting this day and everything that woman had said to him behind him.

If he had any self-preservation instincts at all, he would be done with this case.

The crime scene unit had filed their report, including what little they had found around the back of her house: the footprints—which would only be helpful if and when they could bring this guy in and check them against his feet—and enough bent blades of grass to surmise that their perp had come around the opposite side of the house Dante and Jules had walked along.

That was it. No tire marks. No witnesses.

No fingerprints. Nothing helpful other than the sparse additional details Jules had given him after seeing the murderer’s face briefly in her window.

Dante had started the sketch at work. Not nothing, although a tall white guy with a longish face and pointed chin could be any number of people.

Unless Jules was able to come up with more details, which she could only do if she actually did dream about the suspect and experience one of those hallucination-thingies before she fully woke up or, heaven forbid, he showed himself to her again, there was little Dante could do.

Besides, she had made it perfectly clear she didn’t want him involved in her life in any capacity.

So why was he here instead of at home, warm and comfortable in his bed?

He took another step into the alley where Jules had come out for fresh air last night.

The police had finished up at the site a few hours ago and removed the yellow tape.

Dante had checked with them to see if they had found Jules’ phone, but no one had.

Which could mean that the psychopath had picked it up after she fled into the pub.

Were there any cameras attached to either building that might verify that?

He glanced up. Only one camera that he could see, set maybe ten feet up on the outside wall of the pub.

As he drew closer, he could see that the lens was smashed.

Had their guy gotten lucky and the camera was broken before he committed his crime or had he planned out the murder beforehand thoroughly enough to think to put the camera out of commission before he ever brought his victim into the alley?

Icy shivers ran along his flesh. Although Jules didn’t strike Dante as the type to put a lot of personal information online, if someone that cold-blooded had her phone, he likely knew a whole lot about her that he could use to make her life miserable.

He kicked an empty beer can out of his path, and it clattered along the asphalt before coming to rest next to a big, forest-green dumpster.

Dante stopped and studied the container a moment.

Didn’t Jules say she’d been standing next to the dumpster when she heard the victim scream?

And that she had dropped her phone near it?

If so, it wasn’t impossible that both the murderer and investigators had missed it, despite how thorough the team tended to be.

Dante’s running shoe crunched over a crumpled takeout bag as he approached the garbage container.

His nose wrinkled. A mixture of unpleasant odors seeped out from beneath the closed lid.

He didn’t envy his colleagues, as they must have had to root through whatever was in there for any clues that could assist them in the investigation.

Had he upset Jules badly enough that she would rather come press herself against the side of this metal bin and breathe in all those nasty odors than remain in the pub where she might have to spend another minute in his presence?

Given the way she had spoken to him that morning, he had. Idiot.

Dante shoved the accusation aside to deal with later.

Right now, he needed to concentrate so he could look around quickly for Jules’ phone and then head home.

A flash of metal on the ground caught his eye.

Was that…? Dante crouched in front of the object, partially buried beneath a corner of the dumpster that was slightly raised on the uneven pavement.

Relief flowed through him. A phone. Had to be hers.

Which meant their suspect hadn’t gotten his grimy hands on it.

One less thing to worry about, anyway. Dante tugged a pair of gloves and a plastic bag out of his pocket, tugged on the gloves, then gingerly pulled the phone free of the dumpster and slid it into the bag.

Still wouldn’t hurt to take it to the lab and have them dust it for prints.

He straightened and zipped the bag closed before shoving it in his pocket.

Although he knew he wouldn’t find anything, he ambled along the alley to the far end, keeping an eye out for any small detail his colleagues might have missed, anything that could help them solve this case before the murderer showed up at Jules’ place or anywhere in her vicinity again.

That thought tightened every muscle in his body, and he stopped partway back to the sidewalk and drew in a long, slow breath. A strange darkness swirled around his neck, pressing hard against his throat.

What was that?

As real as it felt, it was nothing he could see or reach out and touch.

Even so, he struggled to draw in a breath as the pressure increased from some malevolent force that filled the alley with its presence.

Because of the murder that had taken place here?

Dante glanced at the wall next to him. Jules had said she’d noted the killer pressing the woman up against the wall as he strangled her.

Was this the exact spot? A shudder rolled through him as a pure evil he could practically taste on his tongue drifted on the air, far more abhorrent than the aroma of garbage.

Was the murderer a man or actually a demon?

Although he hadn’t said the name in far too long, Dante lifted a hand to his throat and whispered it now. “Jesus.” When nothing happened, he straightened and said it louder, “Jesus.”

The pressure eased, although a cold, unnatural breeze swirled around him, sending a napkin from a nearby fast-food place fluttering over the toes of his running shoes before settling on the ground near his feet.

Time to get out of here. Dante continued his trek along the alley to the opening, where he took his first deep breath since entering the darkness between the two buildings.

He left the pervasive evil of the place behind as he strode to his car. At the police station, he handed the phone over to his colleague in evidence, Juan Rosales. “Can you let me know when it’s been cleared?” Dante nodded at the device in the bag dangling from the other man’s finger.

“Sure.” Juan, a friend Dante played darts with occasionally, contemplated him a moment. “You have some kind of vested interest in this case?”

“No. Of course not.”

His response had been a bit too quick and slightly heated, and his colleague’s eyebrows rose slightly before a smirk crossed his face. “I hear the witness is quite attractive, no?”

His words did nothing to cool the heat, although Dante forced himself to answer calmly. “I’m more interested in her testimony than her looks.”

Juan snorted a laugh. “Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that, buddy.”

I will. Again and again until he believed it. Dante waved at the bag again. “Any idea how long it will take to get the results?”

“For you? I’ll make it less than a week.”

“I appreciate it.” Before his friend could make any more smart remarks, Dante nodded and took off. In the empty hallway, he stopped, propped a shoulder against the wall, and sent Jules a terse, just-the-facts-ma’am email before heading for the exit.

The memory of the heavy darkness in the alley slowed him as he exited the station. What if that guy showed up at her place again tonight? Would he break in this time? Threaten her? Worse?

Dante let the door slam behind him. Not my business.

So why did it feel as though it was? Guilt, likely, since Dante was the one who had driven her out to that alley. Even so, he had offered to sleep on her couch, and Jules had flat-out refused. What more could he do?

Exhaling loudly, he stalked to his Mazda 3. He didn’t like the answer that had presented itself to his mind, but he did owe Jules.

So much for his warm, comfortable bed.