Chapter 1

One

Izzy

His hand slid up my leg, and I pushed up with my hips, wanting more of whatever he was offering. It was hot in my room, and the fire he ignited inside of me had me feeling like I was going to combust.

"That's it, Pumpkin, spread your legs wider," he growled, his breath fanning my cheek and making me shiver. It didn't matter that it was pitch black, and I couldn't see who it was. All I wanted was for him to keep touching me. I knew who I longed for, who I craved. It was Branson's name that I whispered into the night whenever I touched myself.

I whimpered as his fingers brushed against me teasingly. My knees fell further apart, and I moaned and pleaded for more.

"So wet. You're a bad girl, Pumpkin," he said, and I nodded.

"Yes," I said, my body pathetically begging to be set free and finally have what it secretly desired for years.

"You want me. Don't you, Pumpkin? You want me to make you scream?" His finger swirled in little circles, and I grabbed a handful of the sheets.

"Yes. Please more. I want you," I said, not caring that I sounded desperate. When you were denied what you wanted for so long, you'd say anything when it was this close, when he was this close.

His hand disappeared from my body, and I wanted to scream. "Mmmm, you taste so good. It's always been you. Sleep sweet, Pumpkin. I'll come for you. You will be mine."

"Don't go," I said, grasping at the man in my dreams, not wanting this to be over. My body was burning up, and I ran my hands over my skin, but it wasn't the same, and the need quickly fizzled just before my eyes fluttered open. Why did my dream guy have to leave me on the edge every time?

I stared at the dark ceiling until it was obvious that I wasn't falling back asleep tonight, and instead grabbed my phone as it softly buzzed. The screen glowed with a text from Brianna.

B: Sorry to bug you on your night off, but I'm swamped. Two homicides, a fatal pile-up on Highway 42, and a drug overdose. Would you be able to come in early?

I: Well, isn't that a crazy night? You'd think that Halloween was already here.

Halloween was always the worst for deaths, well, that and New Year's Eve. There had to be some sort of psychological reason behind it, but regardless, it was always all hands on deck. Ashenbury Hollow was tiny compared to the larger towns and cities, with a boisterous eleven thousand people. The sign had changed only once while I was growing up from nine thousand to eleven when we had a boom of city people moving in. All of them were seeking a quieter life. Lately, there wasn't much quiet about Ashenbury.

B: Tell me about it. I just got a call for two more bodies just outside of our limits, but no one else can take them. What do I tell them?

I: Tell them I'm coming.

B: I really am sorry.

I: Unless you're the one dropping the bodies, you have nothing to be sorry for. Send me the address for the ones you need to clear. I'll do those while you start autopsies, or we are going to have more people than places to put them.

Whipping the sheet back, I swung my legs out of bed and stretched before turning on the light. Maybe it was all the extra night shifts, stalker books, and coffee I was consuming before bed that were giving me insane dreams.

Standing, I turned to make my bed and froze. A scream lodged in my throat as I stared at the large red stain and the decapitated head of my ex-boyfriend that lay on the pillow beside mine. I blinked a few times, but the image never changed. My eyes bounced around the room, searching for the threat, but all was quiet. Was this why I couldn't sleep? Had I instinctively known someone was in my room? I shivered, fear racing up my spine as my brain tried to figure out who hated me enough to do something like this.

I dealt with death every day and saw the most horrific things, but I never brought my work home with me. Well, I hadn't until six months ago when decapitated bodies started showing up once every two weeks like clock work. Decapitations in car or other motorized vehicle accidents were common, but these were all people who had been staged. Laid out like they were holding their severed heads. It didn't take long for the newspapers to dub the killer the Headless Horseman. Too intrigued to leave it alone, I started my own investigation, and I'd obviously struck a nerve, one big enough to go after someone I used to love. It was a warning like a shot taken at the bow of a ship. I was closing in on the killer and he didn't like it.

Lifting the phone, I hit 911 and then put it on speaker as I tiptoed to my nightstand and pulled out the gun I kept hidden.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"This is medical examiner Izzy Van Tassel calling. I'm going to need the police. There has been a break-in," I said, spotting a perfectly folded note on the nightstand.

"Is the intruder still in your home?"

"I don't know, but he left a gift." I walked around the bed, but kept my eyes on the door as I picked up the note.

"What kind of a gift?"

"The head of my ex-boyfriend," I said, and there was silence on the other end of the line.

"I'm sorry. Can you please repeat that?"

"The Headless Horseman was in my home and left me the head of my ex-boyfriend on the pillow beside me while I slept."

Operators were trained not to show a reaction, but this was obviously too much for the girl on the line. "Jesus, that's…that's…."

"Fucked up," I finished for her. "I need to make another call, what is the ETA on the police?"

"I really should stay on the phone, just in case."

I smirked. "Just in case of what? Trust me, this head is not going anywhere unless my bedroom is the start of the zombie apocalypse, and if he's still in the house, you'd better hurry up. I'll call you if I need you further."

Hanging up, I sent Brianna a message saying I was tied up with a disaster of my own, but I'd be in as soon as the scene was cleared. Best not to give her too many details yet. Next on my list was the one person that I'd seen more in the last six months than I had in years.

I bit my lip as I hit Detective Crane's number and tried not to be excited about making the call. Seemed slightly inappropriate to be simping over the sexy Branson Crane while my ex's head was in my bed.

"Izzy," he asked and yawned. "Is everything okay?"

"The Headless Horseman struck again, and this time, he left the head in my house."

"Jesus Christ. Are you okay," he asked, his voice holding a hint of panic that made my stomach flip. I could hear him moving like he was getting dressed and could picture him pulling on his shirt over the hard muscles. My dreams were messing with my head. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, pushing aside the inappropriate thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm fine. He came and left like a sick Santa."

"If I get a head under my Christmas tree, it's time for me to quit this job. Listen, I'm on my way. Don't move, I'll be right there."

I wasn't going anywhere. "He also left me a note," I said, not wanting the conversation to be over yet.

"What does it say."

Unfolding the note I read it over once before reading it outloud to Branson. "He who wins a thousand hearts is therefore entitled to some renown, but he who keeps undisputed sway over the heart of a coquette is indeed a hero."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It's a quote from Sleep Hollow, but I'm not sure why he's left it for me."

"Well now isn't he getting fucking creative. There was nothing like that at any of the other murders. I'm getting in my car right now, I'll be there very soon."

"Thanks, Branson."

"Of course, I wouldn't be anywhere else."

He hung up, and I shook my head. It was terrible that I was happy the Headless Horseman was helping me connect with Branson. If he weren't such a sick bastard, I'd give him a thank you card.