Chapter 5

Losing all the forensics sucked.I wasn't just talking about fluids from the bodies and the sweepings they'd gathered from the hut. The clothes the victims wore were also gone, along with the corpses because the lab housed the morgue in the basement. Double whammy meant we had nothing.

And a killer still roamed.

How could I investigate a case without an iota of evidence?

I left work in a less than pleasant mood. How should I proceed? The few names we'd managed to match to victims didn't help much. Belle had gone to talk to the families and friends while I'd been out with Walden. Unlike me, she had a knack for being sweet and compassionate. Upon her return, she had little to tell. Apparently, the ones we'd identified had disappeared suddenly. On the way home from work, the grocery store, or while out on a jog. No one saw a thing. No one knew what happened, just that they were gone.

Cinder promised to keep looking for a link between the victims, but I wouldn't hold my breath. My gut insisted they'd been chosen at random. Or if not at random, because they wore red. Red being the deciding factor.

Red being the color most predominant in my curse. Could it be a confused wolf, looking for his Red Cap and snatching anyone wearing the right shade?

Was the curse plaguing someone else, or could it be possible that it really was targeting me for a second go-round? Either way, I was determined to stop the perpetrator before the next tragedy.

I never even realized I'd picked a destination when I took off until I slowed to a stop by Regent Park. As gloomy as I recalled. Empty too. No one parked on either side of the road or in the small lot. The sidewalk remained empty. I would imagine once people heard of the massacre they went out of their way to avoid it.

It wouldn't last. People forgot. Or morbid curiosity had them seeking a thrill.

I left my helmet on my bike seat and hiked into the forest, the air changing temperature the moment I entered. Cooler, moist, the scent of decay predominant, that of foliage decomposing and not flesh.

Not a bird chirped. Not an insect hummed. Eerie, especially since the branches remained still as well. Almost as if time had stopped. Wouldn't surprise me if it had. The Grimm Effect could do so many things once thought impossible.

The clearing happened suddenly, sending me stumbling from the forest into the open space. For a second, I thought I'd wandered in the wrong direction, for the expected hut didn't appear. Instead, tumbled and charred wood already covered in moss filled the spot where it used to stand.

Had I found a different shack? As I neared the ruined mound, I crouched and picked up a lonely latex glove, the kind used to avoid contaminating evidence when collected.

I'd found the right place, and any hope of re-scraping the crime scene for evidence was dashed. Grimm Effect or arson? Given what happened at the lab I leaned to the latter. Someone tried to cover their tracks. The killer most likely. A murderer who had just proven themself cognizant of their actions. But more worrisome, now that they'd lost their spot for stashing bodies, where would they hide them next? Someone who killed that many in such a short time frame would not simply stop.

I did a walkaround of the clearing, head down, looking for clues as to what might have happened. However, the many tracks from the police the day before made it impossible to spot any new ones. Nor did I find anything other than the glove.

Fuck.

I stalked from the forest, and once I exited and my cell signal resumed—because for some reason it didn't work within—I fired off a message to let the bureau know about the ruined crime scene. They'd most likely send someone down to document it, even if it would be a waste of time.

Oddly enough, I left feeling a little more positive than when I'd arrived. The person responsible had obviously been rattled by our discovery. Rattled people made mistakes, and once the bureau warned folks to avoid wearing red in public, the killer would become desperate.

And that would be where I'd spring my trap. An idea began to percolate, one that wouldn't be hard to implement, although it would bug me to no end. My mom, though, would be ecstatic.

Sure enough, when she answered the door and saw me, she beamed. "Baby girl! Back so soon. You must have smelled my beef stew."

I did now, and my nose twitched as my mouth watered. "I will have a bowl, but I'm actually here for another reason. Do you still have that red cape you made me?" My mom, being the crafty type, had sewn me one when I turned twenty-one. I'd given her an incredulous look at the time and snapped, "Seriously, Mom? I am not wearing this."

"But how will you find your huntsman?" my mom had exclaimed.

"I told you before. I don't need a huntsman. I am perfectly fine being on my own."

Only after did I feel bad at having turned my mother's smile upside down. She meant well; however, she and I didn't see the curse the same. She assumed she'd messed up her chance at a happily-ever-after and seemed determined to force her perception of how it should happen on me.

Mom frowned at me and said, "You told me to burn the hood I made and that you'd rather make a deal with a wicked witch than ever give in to the fairy-archy."

I had. Still felt that way too. "I need it for a case." I gave her the truth so as to not get her hopes up.

Her eyes widened. "This is about those murders."

"Yes."

"You're going to dangle yourself as bait!" she yelled.

"Who's bait?" Grams appeared, wearing a sweater that hit her knees. Used to be Grandpa's and she never washed it, claiming it still smelled of him. And it did, if his scent was mint candies and Dove soap.

"The bureau will probably make an announcement shortly, so I guess it's okay to tell you. The serial killer appears to be targeting people wearing red. So avoid that color!" My stern warning.

"Shouldn't you follow that advice too?" my mom retorted.

"I really wish you'd stop forgetting that catching evil-doers is my job. And, yes, sometimes it's dangerous, but someone has to protect the citizens of this city."

"Why does it have to be you?" Mom pouted.

"Because I'm damned good at it. Now where's the cape?"

"In your closet," Mom grumbled. "I'll fix you a bowl of stew while you fetch it and break my heart." Mom stomped off to the kitchen, and Grams tsked.

"Oh, you've done it now. She's going to be a wreck until this killer is caught."

"You don't seem too worried," I noted.

Grams snorted. "You're meaner than any wolf. Don't forget, I remember what you did to that boy in high school. And you've only gotten stronger since. I know you'll catch the bastard."

"Thanks, Grams." I kissed her cheek and murmured, "Don't you dare be wearing Grandpa's red hat or scarf, though, until I do."

"It's too hot for that. But you'd better have this case wrapped up before those brisk fall winds start blowing through."

"That's the plan."

I headed to my room, and in the back of my closet, wrapped in a clothes bag, I found the cape. The red a shade deeper than my hair, the velvety material sliding slickly through my fingers. I spun it and put it on, the fabric covering me from the shoulders down to almost my knees. The hood, when raised, covered my head and partially concealed my face. A glance in the mirror sent a shiver through me.

My, what big eyes you have.

The cloak got ripped off, and for a moment, I debated putting it back in the closet. Did I really want to risk antagonizing the Grimm curse?

What other choice did I have? If I didn't do this, then someone else might get caught in it.

I tucked the cape back into the garment bag and headed to the kitchen, where the warm bowl of stew did much to alleviate my trepidation.

My mom spoke way too brightly, of everything and nothing. Grams dropped a few sarcastic remarks. The mood was almost ruined when I suggested that perhaps they should take precautions and leave town for a little while. Both insisted that they were safe, then moved the conversation to other topics. I knew better than to argue, but I at least made them promise not to open the door to strangers.

By the time I left, I'd reverted to my unusual unflappable demeanor, but apparently, all it took was a swan to land in front of me at a red light for me to snap.

The gun came out, and I growled, "Don't even think of looking in my direction."

It wisely flew off. Then again, why wouldn't it? I wasn't a part of its story.