Until what sounds like the creaking of a screen door comes from across the street, reminding me why I came out here to begin with.
I wait for a few seconds to make sure Rochelle isn’t going to follow or check on me, and when I think the coast is clear, I book it across the road and quickly make my way around the side of the house.
The back door is open but the screen is closed, so I know this is the entrance my ghost must be using, and movement behind the kitchen window confirms that as I creep up to it and let myself in.
Only to have all the color drain from my face once again, my limbs instantly numb and feet frozen in place at what I see.
A body.
There’s a body on the kitchen floor.
A body covered in blood, and the longer I stare at it the more I realize it’s no longer whole. No, this is more like body parts strewn all over the linoleum, hacked off the mutilated torso and tossed about in an incredibly gruesome display.
And there, standing across from me in a black hazmat suit, goggles and mask, holding a bloody knife, is my ghost.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
VICTOR
“Stevie?”I frown, lowering the butcher knife in my hand before tilting my head in confusion. “What the hell are you doing here, little dove?”
“I… I…” She stares at the mess on the floor, her pretty lips forming words that seem to be caught in her throat—her throat that bobs and works hard to push the words out. “I…”
Which is when it clicks in my demented brain that she’s probably trying to talk though bile or tears—most likely both—because seeing one of The Ripper’s victims in the flesh isn’t the same as looking at photos online. “Baby dove, you shouldn’t be here.”
Stevie stands there, rooted to the spot as her crystal blue eyes move over the scene. The severed feet are still wearing a pair of tie dye socks, and the tattered scrub bottoms are hanging from shredded thighs. She swallows hard as her stare moves to what’s left of the woman’s torso, the arms sloppily removed and thrown in two different directions, but when Stevie finally gets to the face, the strangest thing happens.
My little dove suddenly goes from horrified and shocked to… to almost investigative.
Her brow furrows, her nose scrunches, and Stevie begins to carefully walk around the enormous pool of blood until she’s lined up with the battered and unrecognizable face of The Ripper’s latest victim.
“She… she doesn’t fit the victimology.”
“No.” Something I noticed as soon as I arrived. This woman is about the same age, but aside from that and the way she died she doesn’t fit the spiraling killer’s MO at all.
This woman was shorter, curvier, and her skin color—what I can see of it, anyway—is almost a mocha or milk chocolate shade. All of the other victims have looked a lot like my baby dove, and while I hate that with a fiery passion, I don’t understand the break in this asshole’s chaotic routine, but not just because this woman doesn’t fit.
The Ripper struck twice tonight, both earlier than usual, and the fucker took the left femur fromboth.Which I know because I just left the other crime scene.
That one was on point, following the rookie’s type and escalating methods, but the body was found in front of the new coffee shop directly in the doorway as if the woman had been attacked and torn apart right there. For all I know, she had, but Spider is working on getting the CCTV footage from all the cameras in the area in hopes of catching something helpful. Regardless of what he finds, I know for a fact The Ripper is losing his grip. He’s spiraling hard and fast to have two incredibly sloppy kills in one night, and I’d almost put money on a third before morning.
I just wish the bastard hadn’t hit so close to home.
Stevie’shome.
But you can bet your ass he won’t be getting my girl. Not tonight, not ever. I’ve already got Tenderloin and the Brick shithouse en route to hole up in her driveway and backyard all fucking night.
Now, if my baby dove would just go back across the street, I could finish up here and join them until morning.
“She…” Stevie swallows again, her nose scrunching further at the smell, but she crouches down and takes a hard look at the poor soul in front of her. “This girl is completely different from the others.”
I nod, oddly excited and becoming more so as I watch her analyze the scene firsthand, but last I knew we were fighting. Stevie didn’t want to see me anymore, and there is no place for boners in this sort of situation.
This is definitely not the same as banging against the wall with a dead Joker a few feet away.
“She is. Only similarity is the manner of death so far.”
Baby dove nods. “I can see that.”
