Page 25 of Insidious Heart
A pale gray. Gray like the color of the sky after a storm passes, and around the pupil and iris is the most striking shade of what can only be described as indigo. I have never seen eyes like his before.
They’re stunning, piercing and intense, but also alarming and unnatural.
“What doesn’t fit?” he asks as I slowly take the ancient Apple product from him.
I clear my throat. “The murder. It doesn’t fit The Harvester’s MO.”
“You a fan of the ghost, baby doll?”
“Well, I don’t know iffanis the right way to describe it.”But kind of, since I read all about him and think he’s doing good things. “But this one and the one from Friday don’t exactly fit what he does.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well…” I glance around to make sure Joker hasn’t pulled up, then fight the urge to push my hair out of my eyes. “The Harvester typically kills horrible people. Men specifically, and neither of these women had any sort of criminal history.”
He nods and leans into the wall again, a grin tugging at his full lips. “Go on.”
“They were too messy. He never leaves a mess, even drains all the blood to make sure of it, and the postmortem pose and signature were missing.” I clear my throat nervously. “Not to mention, The Harvester has never left a victim out in the open like the last one.”
“You really know your stuff.” Now the man smiles at me warmly, like he’s impressed or something, and it makes my belly flip. “Even sound a little defensive of the ghost.”
I shrug. “I don’t think it’s right to put two murders he didn’t commit on him.”
“So, you don’t believe it was him at all? Don’t think he went off script like the media says?”
“No. He’s been doing this too long to suddenly change things so drastically.”
“Serial killers can evolve, though. They can escalate.” He arches a brow in challenge.
“Sure…” I nod. “But not this drastically. Typically there’s a pattern, something to show the change is coming, and The Harvester of Bones hasn’t veered from what he does once over the years. It just feels too different, and I wish the media would pay attention to that.”
“You think there’s another serial killer out there then?”
“It’s Rolling Meadows, isn’t it? Murderers and psychopaths are a dime a dozen.”
He chuckles. “You got that right, baby doll.” Then he looks thoughtful again, those severe eyes searching my face. “What do you think happened Friday?”
My creep radardefinitelyhas to be broken. Having a conversation about serial killers with a total stranger who is armed in a dark parking lot should be sending up all kinds of warning signs, but it’s not. If anything, I’m almost excited to be talking to him about this, about anything, and I can’t help the way I’m a little drawn to how charming and gorgeous he is.
Maybe I finally cracked.
Another shrug. “The Ripper probably stumbled across The Harvester doing his thing, either got mad or jealous or something, then waited until he left and went into the motel room.”
“The Ripper?”
My face heats. “Yeah… that’s what I’ve been calling him since Friday. That poor woman was left like Mary Kelly.”
“You know your true crime.” He grins in approval. “Color me impressed.”
“I watch a lot of documentaries.”
“So do I, and I tend to agree with your theory.”
“You do?”
The man nods as he pushes off the wall. “The women don’t belong to him and the cops are ignoring the mountain of evidence that backs that up. I’d even go as far as to say the ghost is being targeted to some degree, toyed with, or—”
“Goaded by The Ripper.” I nod. “I was thinking the same thing. Now that everyone believes the first woman was his, any that follow will get chalked up to him too. And since even serial killers get competitive and protective of their reputations—”
