Page 77 of The Sleeping Girls

“Because this house belongs to Caitlin O’Connor, the woman whose studio was just set on fire. She’s on her way to the hospital now,” Derrick said. “This time the unsub attacked Detective Reeves and almost killed her.”

He curled his hands into fists. When he found the bastard, he’d make him suffer.

EIGHTY-FOUR

CROOKED CREEK

It was the middle of the night by the time Derrick reached his cabin. He’d wanted to go with Ellie to the hospital and so had Cord.

Of course, Ellie detested being hovered over, and refused. Infuriatingly stubborn woman.

“Get your butts to work,” Ellie had snapped. “We have to find this maniac before he hurts someone else.”

She was right.

A crime scene was no place to discuss personal feelings. He was trying to be patient. Still, he couldn’t wait around forever. If it was really over between them personally, he had a right to know.

Now she was immersed in this case though, he didn’t expect an answer anytime soon. Ellie was like a dog with a bone when someone was in danger, especially when that crime involved kids. Her tenacity was one trait that drew him to her.

She might not realize it but she’d actually be a good mother, a protective bear that would do anything to keep her cub safe.

He poured himself a bourbon on the rocks, stepped outside on his deck and looked out at the sea of trees and the night sky.The image of that burned house taunted him. If McClain hadn’t been there, Ellie could have died.

He tossed back a sip of his whiskey, the howling wind ripping through him with a chill as he pictured Kelsey’s body. And Ruby being held hostage. Or… possibly, probably dead.

Knowing he couldn’t sleep, he decided to work. Derrick found three other podcast series Caitlin had done, one a year for the last three years. The first one, a female accused of killing her husband. Caitlin had not only proven the woman’s innocence but pointed the police in the direction of the husband’s lover who’d killed him when he refused to leave his wife.

The second, a nineteen-year-old boy accused of murdering his girlfriend. Again, Ms. O’Connor’s investigation led to his exoneration when she uncovered the truth—the girl had committed suicide.

In the third case, the perp was guilty but agreed to the interview because he’d been high on cocaine at the time he stabbed his friend. He wanted his story told in hopes of saving other teens from a life of drugs.

Curious about what motivated her, he researched her past. Understanding dawned when he learned she’d spent time in prison herself and was halfway through serving a ten-year sentence for burglary when Attorney Joleen Hunt from the Innocence Project investigated her case. Six months later, she’d been released, her name cleared. No wonder she now worked for the woman.

Then she’d chosen Darnell Woodruff’s case. The podcast series had not yet aired, but if there were back-ups at her house, Ellie was right. Either her attacker had confiscated them or they’d burned in the blaze. He found the number for the office of the Innocence Project and phoned it. At this time of night he got Joleen Hunt’s voicemail, so he asked her to return his call.

Exhausted, he rubbed his temple where a headache was pulsing. Something about this case didn’t make sense.

Killing Darnell’s sister was a personal crime; maybe Darnell and Anna Marie hadn’t gotten along or they’d had a disagreement and tempers had flared and he’d killed her in a fit of anger. But to murder teenagers he didn’t know personally was a different type of crime and was premeditated.

Ellie said Deputy Landrum was Digger’s brother. What about their parents? Would Digger contact one of them?

EIGHTY-FIVE

SOMEWHERE ON THE AT

He’d almost gotten caught tonight.

That blasted O’Connor woman had been a problem.

The nosy bitch knew things, things that might lead to him. But… not everything. He still had time to finish this.

His heart raced as he drove by June Larson’s house.

The sight of a police car guarding her place sent his blood boiling and he drove on. Taking June was way too risky at the moment.

His anger mounted as he drove back to his place. Shaking rain from his boots and jacket as he entered the house, he hung his jacket on the door peg, then poured himself a Scotch.

Homecoming was only four days away.