A month had passed. A month of me looking over my fucking shoulder, waiting for him to come to me again. Secretly longing for it and waking in the middle of the night gasping with that need.
It had been quiet in homicide. The usual cases came through, distracting me from the thoughts nagging me, but nothing to signal he’d resurfaced.
“Got a hot one.”
Mick tossed the photo on my desk and I knew it was him.
The face looked way too similar to my own. Same complexion, same wide dark eyes, lips full like mine. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was staring at my twin.
“He was careful with this one. You wouldn’t have known she was dead if it wasn’t for her missing heart.”
Mick didn’t comment on our similarities, but it was obvious from his raised eyebrow.
“What did the note say?”
He tossed the baggie down on the desk by my hand. It was red, the handwriting unmistakably his. I took out a pair of latex gloves to use so I didn’t destroy evidence. The first thing I noticed was the smell. Blood, the musty aroma of sex, and…
He’d stolen my perfume. It was just there, too familiar to me to ignore.
I couldn’t help tasting this beautiful thing. A poor substitute, but I couldn’t have you leave this earth before your due time.
“How’d you know there was a note?”
“I just knew. It was meant for me.”
“Fuck.” Mick leaned hard against the side of the desk. “This psycho is going to try to kill you.”
The danger, the possibility of him over me with a knife to my throat had a strange effect on me.
“Not if I catch him first.”
If you’d like to read this series from the beginning, go here. Playing God is the start.