Chapter 8

Olivia Bennett

“ H ey, Oli, I’ve dug up everything I could on Liam.” Johnathan’s voice crackled through the phone line. My fingers paused, a small lock of hair held tight in my grasp.

“Go on,” I urged, threading the needle with precision honed by countless nights of meticulous work on Cynthia. The name Johnathan had given her was starting to grow on me.

“He was adopted around fifteen, not sure why, but his file doesn’t go back any further than that. It looks like it’s just been erased.”

“How long was he in the system?" I asked.

"What part of erased didn’t you get?”

“Whoa, okay, settle down, sassy pants. I was just asking.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Boss has been down my neck. I’ll look more into it, but it shows him only being in the system for about 2 weeks before he was adopted by Nina Asher. I’m not sure what happened prior to that.”

“Look more into Nina for me?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Johnathan,” I murmured, my eyes never leaving the delicate task before me as I threaded more hair to my doll’s head. The TV droned on in the background, a white noise to our call—until it wasn’t.

“...new body has been found,” the anchor announced, the casual drop of a bombshell. That was fast. My hand stilled and I looked up. The man from the haunted house that day popped up on the screen. Marco Croix.

My heart sang as I pieced it all together. The MO matched perfectly. That could easily be the executioner. I could connect all of it. I could get my case back and, if I was lucky, close it.

The phone was cold against my ear, a stark contrast to the heat flaring within me. “Johnathan! I think I can get back on the executioner case. What if it’s all connected.”

“Wh—” he started. The TV’s glow washed over me, its blue light flickering like the pulse of a dying star.

“Oli, explain.” Johnathan’s voice cut through again, sharp and seeking an explanation.

I squeezed the doll in my hand, felt the prickle of hair against my palm. It grounded me, kept the excitement from boiling over into madness. I had to focus, had to make him see the full picture emerging in my mind. Well, at least most of it.

“It fits, Johnathan. The executioner killings—I think they’re connected to Dead Man’s somehow,” I went on excitedly.

“Oli, slow down.” His words tried to catch me, hold me back, but I was already sprinting ahead.

“Turn on the news, channel four. There was a Croix murder in town. The same man I saw my first day on the job. The way the news anchor is describing the murder, it sounds like our perp. What if the executioner is connected to the haunted house?” I stated, sounding convincing.

“Oli, that’s a stretch…”

“Trust me,” I said, and I meant it. I needed him to trust me. The line hummed with his hesitation before he finally blew out a breath, and I knew I had won. “Pack your bags,” I commanded, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m calling Clemens to send you down here with me. I’m getting my case back.”

The line went dead before Johnathan could doubt me, hell, even say anything. My fingers danced over the keypad, punching in the number that would connect me to the man that could give me the power to chase my hunch.

“Chief, it’s Bennett.” No pleasantries. Not like he ever gave us any anyways. My pulse hammered in my ears as I waited for his grunt of acknowledgment. “Listen,” I said, each word sharp, deliberate, and confident. “There was a Croix body found down here and the MO matches the executioner. I think it’s all linked.” There was a long pause.

“Are you sure?” Skepticism laced his tone, and I braced myself against it.

“Dead sure,” I responded, my conviction a steel blade slicing through any doubt. “Please, sir, I wouldn’t have contacted you if I didn’t have anything, and I think this could all be connected to something big.”

“Alright.” He exhaled. “You’re back on. Decker’s with you. I’ll send him down.”

“Thank you.” Relief surged, sweet and heady. But there was no time to savor it.

“Don’t make me regret this, Bennett, and keep me posted,” he ordered before the call ended. I dropped the phone onto the table, a smile caught on my lips as I went back to stitching the hair on my doll.

I got my case back. I excitedly hummed to myself.

The dust clung to my clammy skin as I surveyed the ballroom, the remnants of the weekend’s madness scattered everywhere. Liam gave me the job of cleaning this place up today and getting it to look like the scare room it had beeen before the event this past weekend. I loved decorating, and I knew I was the perfect girl for the job.

I decided I’d start from the top and work my way down. The sconces and the chandelier of bones loomed high, with leftover decor dangling from them. Standing on my tiptoes, I stretched for the sconces first, but cursed under my breath when they were too far out of reach.

“Damn it,” I muttered. I would need the ladder, I started making my way upstairs. Derek had stashed it somewhere around here after he’d used it last.

The supply closet was only a few steps away from Liam’s office at the edge of the stairs. As I neared, muffled voices rose in intensity from beyond the office door. My steps slowed, an involuntary reaction to the tension seeping through the walls. A sliver of curiosity urged me closer. Snooping wouldn’t hurt, and maybe I’d learn something.

“Contracts are still valid, regardless of Marco’s… situation,” Liam’s response, tight with controlled anger, seeped through the crack in the door. “I didn’t kill him.”

“Last one to see him alive though, weren’t you?” a harsh voice countered, thick with accusation.

“Means nothing,” Liam shot back. “I think you need to learn your place, Damien. I’ve been working with you guys for a few years now, so some young hotshot coming into my house with thinly veiled threats doesn’t scare me.” My hand hovered over the closet door. I shouldn’t be listening, but I couldn’t move away.

Damien’s shouts blurred into a heated conversation until silence slammed into the space, heavy and sudden. I seized that moment, pulling the ladder from its resting place. Metal scraped against the floor, a sound much too loud in the aftermath of their argument. I scrunched my face, then there was a burst of movement. The office door flung open, and a man—solid and menacing—stormed out. Damien, I presumed. His shoulder connected with mine and I stumbled. The ladder clattered down, taking me with it.

“Shit!” I hit the hardwood hard, tumbling down a few of the steps, the metal cold and unforgiving beneath me.

“Jade!” Liam’s voice cut through the cloying air of rage left by Damien. He was at my side in seconds, his hands gentle as he helped me up. “Are you alright?”

“Who was that?” I asked on a groan, brushing off my jeans, trying to ignore the ache from my fall.

“Just someone that’s bad for business,” he replied, his lethal gaze flicking toward the retreating figure, already slamming the front door, and then back to mine, a storm of emotions swirling there.

“Right.” I nodded, pushing aside questions I knew he wouldn’t give me the answers to yet. He picked up the ladder with ease, before holding out his hand to make sure I was steady.

“Can you get that down to the ballroom?” I asked. He nodded, and together we navigated the stairs. Our footsteps filled the otherwise quiet space. Too quiet after all the arguing they had just done.

I cleared my throat and took the ladder from Liam to get to the sconces first. The decor finally surrendered to my efforts, one after the other. But the chandelier was going to be another story. I placed the ladder below it just as a black cat wrapped around my feet.

“Hey, little guy,” I murmured and reached down to give him a scratch behind the ears and look at the tag on his collar. Bones, his name was Bones. How adorable. “I’ll be done soon. Go on, shoo, wait over there,” I said as I readied and started to climb. I glanced down, and Bones was slipping between the feet of the ladder. Black cats and ladders, this couldn’t end well for me. But I climbed a few steps and reached up anyways, my fingers grasping at the ornate decorations tangling from its boney arms. They clung to it stubbornly, resisting my pull.

“Fuck.” My whisper was a hiss of frustration.

“You need some help with that?” Liam’s voice came from beside me. I didn’t know he was so close. I had thought he’d gone to start on paperwork or something more boss-like.

I almost dropped the garland I was wrestling with. My fingers stretched, grazing the drooping edge again. “It’s okay, just a little farther. I’ve almost got it—” The words had barely left my lips when the ladder wobbled beneath me. Bones darted away, and the treacherous tilt sent my heart into my throat. In an instant, Liam’s hands were there, his grasp firm on the wooden rails.

“Let me help,” he said, voice steady as I stilled under his control.

I exhaled, relief mingling with a sudden, acute awareness of him just below me. Under me . Every sense heightened. The rough texture of the ladder’s sides felt too rough against my clammy palms. For whatever reason, his proximity was a tangible thing that did things to my insides that I didn’t understand.

I forced my gaze upward, tried to ignore the way my heartbeat thrummed erratically against my ribcage. But my resistance faltered and my curiosity drew my eyes down. I glanced between my legs and our gazes locked. His eyes, a deep and fathomless green, held mine in an unyielding embrace. There was a startling intimacy in the proximity of our bodies separated by mere rungs of a ladder. From this angle, his head was perfectly between my legs, and my imagination did the rest.

“Careful, wouldn’t want you to fall,” Liam murmured, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. The double meaning sliced through the fog in my mind. Heat crept up my neck, staining my cheeks with embarrassment—or was it something else? I mentally cursed. This man, potentially a murderer, had me blushing like a schoolgirl caught in a wet daydream.

I cleared my throat and reached for the last crystal bauble that had been hanging on the bones of the chandelier. I got it, and with the final piece of garish decor removed, I shifted, reaching for the ladder’s side rail, but my foot missed its mark. My balance wavered, a silent curse on the tip of my tongue.

Before fear could properly take root, Liam’s hands clasped around my waist. His touch was sudden, firm, anchoring me back to safety. That fucking spark, the uninvited buzz raced along my nerves like bugs. I sucked in a breath and held it as his closeness enveloped me. Our silence spoke volumes, each second stretching longer than the last, charged with an energy I couldn’t name.

“Thanks...” My voice was a whisper when I finally descended to solid ground. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No problem, I’ve got you,” Liam murmured. His fingers were warm against the cool fabric of my shirt. They sat where he had guided my hip on the way down, pressing just enough to remind me of their presence. My gaze lifted to meet his, and in the pools of his eyes, I saw something flicker—a question, a challenge, maybe both.

The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken words. He finally stepped away, his hands falling from my waist as if he’d been burned. But the lingering warmth said otherwise.

“I should… I should get back to work,” I stammered, breaking the moment’s spell. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears—shaky, uncertain, not at all like the composed, controlled front I aimed to present. I turned away, desperate for distance, for the coolness of empty space to wash over me and dull the edge of whatever this was pulsing deep in my gut.

As I moved to gather the discarded decorations, my hands trembled slightly, betraying the calm exterior I tried to maintain. Sweat beaded at the nape of my neck, despite the chill in the grand ballroom. A shiver ran down my spine—not from cold, but from the unsettling realization of how easily Liam O’Connor could unravel me.

“Right,” he said, his voice a rough whisper. He cleared his throat, as if dislodging the shared moment from his vocal cords. “I’ll finish up in here. Could you go start on the mess hall?”

“Of course.” The words tumbled out. I couldn’t hold his gaze any longer. I needed out of here. I turned away, feeling my cheeks burn with an unfamiliar heat. My footsteps padded lightly on the old floors as I left the room.