Page 39 of The Graveyard Girls (Detective Ellie Reeves #11)

THIRTY-EIGHT

River’s Edge

Worry gnawed at Cord as he drove home and let himself inside his cabin on the river. Normally the sound of the water rushing over the rocks in the back of his property calmed him. But tonight his insides were twisted into knots.

Fox was back.

Dammit.

He’d figured the agent would return at some point. Maybe even make a play for Ellie.

Perspiration broke out on the back of his neck.

Hell, that’s the least of your concerns .

He walked to his closet, opened his safe and studied the contents.

The pocket watch was still there. Cracked, the face shattered just like it had been during the struggle that night fifteen years ago.

He’d searched for it then, but it had been so dark and stormy he hadn’t found it.

He’d also been young and stupid and hadn’t covered his tracks.

But now he had. It was evidence and he should turn it in. He was betraying Ellie by keeping it here. Better she not know though or she’d be forced to do the right thing and investigate. The truth might not matter. It would be tainted with lies.

But Fox was a top-notch FBI agent with resources beyond the Crooked Creek police department’s. If he started nosing around, if the Sylvester girl’s death was related to the Ruth Higgins case, then he might dig up the truth.

See that Cord had crossed the line.

He was crossing it now, too.

Cord slammed the door to the safe in an effort to silence the guilty voice in his head and shut down the emotions gripping him like a vise.

Still, if he had to do it all over again, he would.

Maybe Ellie would understand…

He shook his head, then stripped his shirt as he went to the bathroom. His reflection stared back in the mirror above the sink, and he turned and surveyed the scars crisscrossing his back. Maybe she wouldn’t care if she knew the truth about him. But what if she was repulsed?

Ellie was the only good thing that had ever happened to him. He couldn’t chance losing her.

He turned on the water and cranked it up as hot as he could tolerate, then stepped inside and let the spray beat at his skin. Jaw tensed, he scrubbed hard to erase the dirt and sweat from his body.

But no amount of scrubbing could cleanse the darkness living deep down in his soul or the image of Bonnie Sylvester’s skeletal remains from his mind. She was barely a teenager, should have looked innocent and living her life, not decaying in the ground.

A pain he understood well. He’d been that kid once, been left to the wolves. And he’d run away to escape them just like she had.

Only she’d run straight into the wolves’ den and paid for it with her life.