29. Colt

29

COLT

I watched the light bleed from her eyes. That glimmer of lighter blue disappearing like a sparkler burning out against a night sky. I hated myself for being the cause of it.

I told myself it was necessary. A requirement. A duty. But I knew the truth. I was putting distance between us, a distance that was needed. Because it would be as easy as breathing to give in to Ridley. To let that energy swirling around her pull me in and never let go.

She took a long drink of orange juice, composing herself, creating her own distance. Then she set the glass down and met my gaze. “All right.”

“Start at the beginning,” I instructed. “Where you were before you went down to the trash cans.”

Ridley took her time, eating another bite of that amazing-as-sin egg casserole thing. “I’d been working all afternoon and into the evening. Eating some of the goodies from that picnic basket you left. Thanks for that by the way.”

Putting that apology gift together felt like a lifetime ago. But I got a surge of pleasure knowing she’d enjoyed it. “Least I could do.”

Her mouth quirked, and I realized that Ridley’s smiles were rarely the common symmetrical ones that most people had. Hers were always a little off-kilter, unique. So like the woman herself. “It really was.”

I chuckled but quickly reined it in, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. “So you were working. Did you see anyone hanging around?”

Ridley swallowed another bite and shook her head. “There’s only been one or two other sites filled, and I hadn’t met any of the campers until that couple found me.”

I’d interviewed the couple myself, and they hadn’t seen anything suspicious until they found Ridley unconscious by the trash cans, Tater standing guard over her owner. “Then what?” I pressed.

“I put my stuff away in the van and took the trash down to the dump site. Just as I was unlocking one of the cans, someone grabbed me from behind. He got my hair, and then his other hand went to my throat. I didn’t see his face, not even when he punched me in the ribs.”

She spoke with zero emotion, as if explaining the steps of a chemical reaction instead of an attack that could’ve left her dead. I understood the need for it, separating herself from the crime, but I hated that lack of emotion. It didn’t fit the woman at all.

“Did you get a sense of his size?” I asked.

Ridley was quiet for a moment, shuffling back through memories. “Definitely taller than me. I got the sense he was big. Not massive, but definitely not a beanpole.” She swallowed hard. “I tried to fight back, but he overpowered me pretty easily, so he had to have some muscle.”

My back teeth ground together. I wanted this asshole to know what it felt like to be powerless, to be at the mercy of someone else. And he’d get that when I locked him up for good. He’d know that his life was no longer his own.

I worked to keep the anger from my voice—it was the last thing Ridley needed. “What about his hands? Was he wearing gloves?” Tricia hadn’t found any prints other than Ridley’s in the van, so we knew he’d worn gloves in there, but I wasn’t sure about during the attack.

Ridley’s lips pursed as she thought, her eyes glazing over. Then she jolted. “Yes. It felt like, I don’t know, latex but stronger? Maybe some sort of rubber? Not loose like the ones you clean with, but tighter.”

I’d need to do some research. We might be able to find this asshole through a specialty glove if it was specific enough. “That’s good. Helpful. What about scent? Anything distinctive?”

“We were near the trash,” Ridley began. “I don’t think I got a whiff of his cologne.” But then she paused, seeming to tug at a thought just out of reach.

I leaned forward, forearms pressing against the table. “What?”

Her nose scrunched, making little wrinkles appear there and accentuating the dusting of freckles. “I’m not sure.” She shook her head. “When he spoke at the end—I smelled something…sweet?”

My hands fisted so tightly, it would be a miracle if I didn’t dislocate a knuckle. “He. Spoke. To. You?”

Ridley nodded the barest amount. “He told me to go home, or he wouldn’t let me off easy next time.”

Rage pulsed through me in hot waves, lava taking out everything in its path. I’d known it was unlikely that this attack was random. But still, I’d hoped. Hoped that maybe it had been an addict passing through looking for money. But now I knew it wasn’t.

“We’re going to find him,” I promised.

“I know,” Ridley said, voice going quiet. “And he’s going to pay for everything he’s done.”

That everything carried weight. The weight of Emerson. Of the other victims.

Ridley pushed her chair back and took her plate to the sink. “You have the keys to my van?”

Shit. I didn’t want her in that vehicle right now. It was all but destroyed on the inside. One more assault to add to the list.

“Don’t you think you should lie down now? Rest a little?”

She sent me a pointed glare as she grabbed my plate and rinsed it too. “I know what I can handle and what I can’t. Keys please.”

Hell. I pushed up, crossing to a key rack by the back door. There was one of those Magic 8 balls as the key ring. I tossed them Ridley’s way, and she caught them easily, heading for the front door.

Bowser followed after her, abandoning his breakfast. If he was neglecting his food for the woman, he was more than half in love—he was sunk. The poor bastard.

But I followed them both, just falling in line with that fool’s path. Bowser sniffed the morning air and found a spot to do his business. Ridley was already at her brightly colored vehicle. She stood there a moment before unlocking the door, bracing herself. Then in one swift move, she slid the door open.

The breath she sucked in was audible. Her gaze passed over the entire space. Papers strewn about, desktop monitor cracked, chair upended, dishes smashed, couch cushions sliced, and stuffing everywhere.

I couldn’t help but move closer as if there were something I could do to ease the agony of Ridley’s safe space being decimated. I knew there wasn’t, but still I spoke. “I’m sorry, Chaos.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Me too. Me. Fucking. Too.”

Then she stepped up and into the van. I didn’t miss the wince or the way her hand went to her side.

“Ridley. There’ll be time to fix this later.”

She sent me a look that had my mouth snapping shut. “I don’t need another parent trying to control me. I know what I can handle.”

Guilt swept through me. Her independent streak made a hell of a lot more sense now that I knew about her parents. Her mother’s need for control had nearly strangled her in a whole different way.

“All right,” I acquiesced. “What can I do?”

“Can you get me some garbage bags?” Ridley looked around the trashed van. “A lot of them?”

“Be right back.” I turned and strode back to the house but gave Bowser a motion to stay with Ridley. He might have been old, but he was a good early-warning system.

I grabbed an unopened box of trash bags from the pantry and hurried back outside. Bowser lay in the grass, watching Ridley intently as she pawed through things.

“Here you go,” I said, setting the bags just inside the van.

Ridley kept right on moving, searching. “Did your techs take the yearbooks?”

“Yearbooks?” My brows pulled together. “No. They didn’t keep any items, just fingerprinted.”

Ridley cursed, then slowly turned to me. “He didn’t just take my laptop. He took the yearbooks and Emerson’s case file too.”