Page 72 of The Night Shift

His eyebrow arches. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

He tilts his head, grinning in satisfaction, the kind that only aggravates me more and gives my shoulder a soft nudge. “Such a little liar.”

“Get fucked.” I give his shoulder a harder nudge and he stumbles to the side.

Looking at me from the corner of his eye, he rubs his arm — to mock me, I’m sure. I didn’t even hit him that hard. The man is a manipulative narcissist who just tends to be a bit over dramatic at times, that’s all.

“Stop wasting my time and fetch the bodies.Now.”

He doesn’t quip back. No. This time he obeys like a good obedient boy.

Good. Maybe there is a functioning part of his brain after all. He lifts both bodies out of the truck — one at a time — unravelling the cheap woolly Bed Bath & Beyond blanket that encapsulates them and rolls them into their respective dirt holes. Both bodies fall with a loudthud. The man’s forehead smacks the icy ground, his limbs snapping at awkward angles as he tumbles into his grave. The area surrounding the wound on the man’s neck has discolored to a pale yellow. The smooth round shape of his head is now bent and uneven. Blood, dark redand thick, oozes out of the wounds, soaking his blond hair and running down his stubby face. His right eye, without an eyelid, has long dried out. Now it protrudes from his face and has a dark bluish green color. There is a sour smell to him as well, a mixture of dried urine and rotting flesh.

His female companion is a whole other story.

There are deep lacerations on her wrists. A single linear laceration across the front of her neck. She’s wearing a mustard-yellow shirt and faded overalls. Hardly any makeup. Her outfit is almost disturbingly familiar. I just can’t recall why. Her injuries look quite familiar too, except for one tiny difference: the cause of death. Her wrists might be red and swollen, but there’s also some purple discoloration around her lips. Burn marks. A tell-tale sign of acute poisoning by ingestion of some sort of acid. Probably hydrofluoric since it’s the most accessible. Which can only mean one thing. She didn’t die from blood loss. She was poisoned.

A fresh surge of anger rolls through me and I turn to look at Theo. Fucking psychotic. Theo Carter is afucking PSYCHOTICcoward who couldn’t even put in the work and effort it takes to slit someone’s throat the right way. What the hell was he thinking? Murdering an innocent woman just to get me to come to some creepy-ass abandoned building in hopes of getting me all alone? Well, to be fair, I have no way of knowing if she was innocent or not, but that’s beside the point. The point is that he’s still here helping me get rid of her body. No sane person does something like that.

I shoot him a glare, and he just gives me a tiny smile. Crazy fucking asshole.

I grab the shovel and start pouring dirt into the two graves. What kind of game is he trying to play? Did he think I’d find his lack of aversion to death attractive? I don’t, just to be clear.

Not.

At.

All.

“Hey, Holly?”

“What now?” I ask, fighting the warmth in my cheeks.

“You asked me to dig three graves.”

“Yes, and what a marvelous job you’ve done.”

“Thank you, my love, but that’s not what I meant. There are three holes, but only two bodies.”

I still the motion of my shovel. An owl calls far in the distance, the silent night carrying the sound. I swallow. Well, shit. I didn’t expect him to pick up on that tiny detail until after I was done disposing of the already dead ones. When I look back up to meet Theo’s eyes, something dark passes over his face. Realization.

“Holly, no…” He sounds scared.

“It won’t hurt,” I say softly. I find that using a kind tone usually helps; not always, but sometimes.

“Now hang on just a minute. Let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Holly, you don’t have to do this.”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll make sure not to draw any blood. Thisflimsyjacket isn’t cheap, and I look good in it.”

His eyes grow wide. “Wait —” Theo raises a hand and just as I’m about to lash out with the shovel to crack him in the forehead, a soft buzzing sound cuts through the cold air. My phone. I glance at Theo, the terror in his eyes slowly turning into barefaced confusion.

Panic claws at my throat.