Chapter 6

Six

Izzy

What the hell just happened? My body was weak, my mind completely mush, and yet I'd never felt more sated or at peace. After another round of crazy and fulfilling sex, we'd showered in silence and curled up in bed. I'd managed to get a couple hours sleep, but as soon as the sunlight started to peek through the blinds, I was awake. I technically had today off, but there was so much I wanted to do with the investigation into the Headless Horseman.

The biggest stumbling block I was running into, despite the lack of DNA, was the motive. Each person that came in felt completely random. No particular sex, age, religion, or race. There were no signs of sexual deviance or hatred toward the people other than the obvious death part. It was like he simply spun in a circle and pointed them out of a crowd. That was until Christian and Betsy. Those were the only two with anything in common, and the link was me and Branson. Really, neither of us should be on the case now, but I didn't care. I wanted the guy off the streets.

Lifting my head, I stared at Branson's sleeping face. Yesterday made it pretty clear that I'd fallen in love with him long before this. He'd been my obsession, and maybe it wasn't love, but whatever it was, it was strong. Did I feel bad that Betsy was dead? That was a terribly tough question for me to answer. It shouldn't be, which said it all.

Slipping out of bed, I grabbed a shirt off the top of the neatly stacked pile and padded as quietly as I could out into the hall. Stepping into the bathroom, I hit the light switch and screamed as I jumped back. I wasn't one to scare easily. In fact, I was the complete opposite, but this was hitting on a different level of creepy. Painted on the mirror were words I'd only ever heard in my dreams.

It's always been you.

Branson raced out of the room with a gun in his hand. As soon as he spotted me, he ran in my direction. "What is it? Are you okay?"

I nodded and pointed. "He was in your house. He could still be here."

"Stay here," Branson said, but I grabbed his arm.

"No, I go with you, or neither of us do." His lips pressed into a hard line. "We are safer together."

"Fine, but stay behind me. You can watch my six. Okay?"

We cleared the rooms on the upper floor before making our way downstairs. Even with sunlight beginning to flood in and chase away the shadows, it felt as though we were stepping into a strange hell. How was this guy so good at getting into homes? I watched Branson set his alarm and double-check the locks on his doors before we went upstairs. It didn't make any sense. As soon as we reached a new room I'd flick on the light, but nothing and no one jumped out at us. We even did a sweep of the basement, and nothing was out of place.

"I don't understand this. We didn't even go to bed until almost three in the morning. It's only six-thirty now," Branson said, looking at the time.

"And I've been awake the last twenty minutes," I said, and he shook his head.

"You're talking about such a small window of time. That means he was either watching from right outside or…." Branson looked at me, and I wanted to throw up as he swallowed. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Oh my god, he was in here already, wasn't he? He watched us and waited for us to go to sleep." I sat down on the couch and wrapped my arms around myself. Leaving Christian's head in my room hadn't bothered me the way it would most people because I took it as a message, but this…this was threatening in a whole different way. He could get to me any time, any place, and with anyone.

Branson sat down beside me. "We don't know that for sure. He could've easily been staking out the house and just waited until the lights went out to make his move. Hell, he could've been waiting and watching at Betsy's house for me to arrive so he could study my reaction and then follow us here." Grabbing the small throw, he placed it around my shoulders. "We suspected he stalked his victims. Otherwise, how would he know their schedules so well to pick the perfect time to make his move?"

"I know, but what is up with that message? I dreamed about that exact phrase."

Branson shook his head. "I can't answer that. Did you tell anyone about it?"

"No one. I hadn't even told you that part. I didn't think my dream would have anything to do with this," I said as Branson squeezed my leg and then stood. "We should call the team and get them here as soon as possible."

"No, I'm going to put on some coffee first, then call in the team to come dust. Take a moment to breathe. The last twenty-four hours have been crazy, and I know you'll just start pushing yourself once they arrive."

"But protocol and…."

"Fuck protocol for a minute, Izzy. Look at me. You're shaking. You don't want the team to see you like that. Besides, I don't think it's going to do anything. We already know he is extremely careful, and I won't touch anything other than the coffee." He walked into the kitchen, and the normal sounds broke up the uneasy quiet.

He was right. I needed a minute to process before I was dumped headfirst back into the chaos to take charge. I curled up on the couch as I thought about everything we did know and tried to put the pieces together. Yes, the killer had been bold before, but it seemed this was out of character. The extra taunting and risk leaving a message was an escalation.

"The team is on its way," Branson said, and I jerked at the sound of his voice. "Hey, it's going to be okay."

"I know." Our colleagues, knowing that we slept together, hadn't been on my agenda for the day. Standing, I laid the blanket down, and Branson pulled me into a hug. "I'm fine, really. It was just a shock. I felt untouchable being here with you." I loved how warm he was and closed my eyes for a minute to soak him in, letting him chase away the fear that had chilled me to my bones. "I'm going to go get dressed, and…can we keep us and last night to ourselves for now? I just don't want to answer the relationship questions we haven't discussed or give the mayor any more reason to think we aren't doing our jobs."

"Sure, if that's what you want, but I really don't give a shit what Mayor Parrish thinks. Our relationship is none of his business," Branson said as he tipped my chin up. "Any regrets about last night?"

A blush heated my cheeks and quickly spread throughout my body as the memories flooded my mind. "Last night and what we did is the one thing in my life that I can guarantee I don't regret."

Dropping his lips to mine, he kissed me, and the lingering fear disappeared. I'd waited too long to have this moment, my time with Branson, and no one was going to take it from me now. I'd stood on the sidelines, respectful of his relationship with Betsy, but now that the door had been kicked open, I wasn't going back.

"You better go get dressed before I do something we don't have time for, it will definitely ruin keeping us on the down low if they walk in and I have you bent over the couch again."

Smiling, I stepped back even though the temptation to tell him to do it was raging through my body. "You're right. That would certainly hammer home the point."

He licked his lips. "Please don't say the word hammer," he said, making me laugh.

"Thank you, I needed that."

"Go on, get out of here before I'm no longer joking."

I was certainly going to rip the grey sweatpants right off his body if I stood there for one more second. Jogging up the stairs, I kept my eyes open for anything that looked out of place. A piece of dirt, a button, or really anything that might help figure out who this guy was and how he had gotten in here. I stopped and tested every window, but they were all locked tight. Quickly getting dressed, I was just smoothing back strands of my unruly blonde hair into a French twist when I heard Branson's voice from downstairs.

Now that I was prepared, I walked down the hall to the bathroom and stood outside the door, staring in at the words I'd heard over a dozen times in my dreams. Squatting down, I searched the floor, but there didn't seem to be a single hair or anything else.

"Morning, Izzy," I looked over at Eli as he walked toward me with a glowering Branson right behind him.

"Morning. What are you doing here? We don't have a body."

"We're short-staffed this morning, so the twins are working downstairs, and I figured I'd come help with the bathroom," he said, holding out a pair of booties for me to slip on.

"How did you know it was a bathroom?" The questions Branson brought up yesterday were swimming around in my mind as I stared at Eli's face.

His features darkened with confusion. "It came in as part of the call, and then Branson told us again downstairs. Why?"

I shook my head. "Sorry, I'm just tired and stressed," I said. "Let's get started, I think he used lipstick to write on the mirror."

"It's fine. I wouldn't be sleeping either if I had a killer break-in twice in two days," he said, setting down his toolbox. We each had our own kit of supplies, but Eli's had been dubbed ‘the toolbox' when he arrived with the large red box that looked more suited to a construction site.

"I'm going to go and finish getting dressed," Branson said, but he mouthed for me to keep my eyes on Eli as he walked past me. I nodded but hated this feeling. The uncertainty of who this killer was and if he really was someone I worked with had me questioning my team. As much as I didn't like the idea, it would certainly explain the lack of DNA. He'd know how to clean up and what would wipe away any trace of his existence. I watched Eli carefully as he worked, but he didn't do anything that I'd point at and say he might have been tampering with evidence.

"Well, you got lucky," Eli said, and I watched as he plucked something out of the garbage. "I'll get the team to dust for prints, but does the color Midnight Rose mean anything to you?" I sucked in a shuddering breath and yanked my phone out of my pocket. "Izzy, are you okay?" I ignored Eli as I fumbled with the touch ID that didn't want to work.

"Come on, open," I growled, pounding at the screen like that would help.

"Izzy, what's wrong," Eli asked, stepping out of the bathroom and dropping the lipstick in an evidence bag before sealing it.

I looked him in the eyes and saw only concern, but if it turned out to be him and he did something to my mother, then I would kill him myself.

"That's the color of my mom's lipstick," I said, watching his features closely.

"Well, yes, that's scary, but it's lipstick. They probably make millions of this one color a year."

"No, they discontinued it years ago. My mom bought all the ones she could find and stockpiled them. This is directed at me," I said, my voice strained with the emotion that I was trying to keep bottled up.

Marching away, I hit my parent's number just as Branson walked out of the bedroom. He took one look at my face and grabbed my shoulders. "What's happened?"

I shook my head, unable to make my voice work as I waited for someone to pick up. I never thought I'd see the day that this asshole would get to me, but here we were.

"Hello?" My body slumped with relief at the sound of my step-dad's voice.

"Hey, Dad."