Her Dangerous Revenge

CHAPTER 39

She looked out of her window, analyzing the house. She did her best to look

anywhere but at Cooper's speculative gaze, hoping that by avoiding him, the pieces

of the puzzle wouldn't fall into place.

She wasn't even sure what that puzzle was. She'd hardly dared to think about what

she might find in those autopsy reports. She refused to. After all, she knew what

they'd find. There would be inconsistencies between the first murder and the

second—slight enough to go unnoticed, perhaps passed off as a novice serial killer

learning their way around a knife. But significant enough to her, an indicator that she

had killed Tracy, and a second killer was now at large, feeding off of the frenzy

she'd unwittingly begun.

But what if those reports told a different story? What if there were no

inconsistencies?

A frame job. So unlikely. And yet...

"You're still trying to figure out if you did it," Cooper said slowly, just as the porch

lights of the ramshackle house flickered on. He turned in his seat to face her, one

hand on the back of the passenger headrest for support. The look on his face was

one of shock. "You think there's a chance you didn't kill Tracy? Really a

chance? That there's just one killer?"

"I don't know," she finally burst out, leaning her head against the window. She stared

down at her hands, lying still in her lap. She tried to picture how it might have felt

wrapping them around Tracy's throat, tried to bring the memory of her murder to

the surface—but there was only the abyss, yawning into darkness.

"I don't know," she said more softly.

They both jumped when the passenger door popped open. Vincent tumbled into the

open seat, rocking the car with his bulk. The spicy scent of cologne wafted in after

him. "Sorry it took me a minute. My dad is back on his bullshit."

"Um." Cooper fiddled with the radio, glancing back at Calla. "No problem, dude."

"He's such a...ugh!" Vincent kicked the dashboard, eliciting an objection from

Cooper.

"Hey!" He swatted Vincent's leg and then rubbed the dash soothingly. "It's okay,

baby. He didn't mean it."

Vincent rolled his eyes. "I just want a girl who'll treat me as well as you treat this

car. Is that too much to ask?"

Calla snorted, crossing her arms.

"Jesus Chr—" Vincent whipped around, startled. His face flushed when Calla smiled

at him. "Oh."

"Hello to you, too." She sank down into her seat, giving Cooper a cursory glance.

"Chauffer? May we proceed?"

"Remember to tip your driver," Cooper muttered as he pulled away from the curb.

The rest of the ride was silent save for the radio, which kept going in and out with

each new bend in the road. But the silence didn't bother her. It was the smell.

Vincent's cologne filled the air, inescapable. She wanted to roll the window down

and let the wind carry it away, along with the memories it triggered. Memories of

dim hallways and labored breathing. Memories of hands roaming down her back,

twining in her hair—

She glanced at the side mirror and caught Vincent looking at her. He smirked, as if

he knew exactly what she was thinking about.

Bastard, she thought, just as Cooper pulled into Jessica's crowded driveway.

Located in one of the nicer neighborhoods of Greenwitch, Jessica's front lawn was

awash in a soft golden glow. Massive bay windows showed a glimpse into a

spacious living area. Calla waited impatiently for Vincent to struggle out of the car.

She ignored the hand he offered her and slipped out quickly, brushing past him.

He mumbled something under his breath that she couldn't quite catch. She kept

walking, arms wrapped around her exposed waist. Cooper trailed behind her,

following her lead.

She rang the doorbell, the guys standing vigil on either side. Cold white light spilled

onto their heads, bathing them in a fluorescent glow. Calla waved away a moth that

flew too close, disgusted.

When the door opened, a satisfied smile spread across Calla's face. "Jessica."

The other girl had gotten her hair done recently. It fell in soft, platinum curls down to

her waist. The smile she wore—automatic, the smile of a hostess—fell a bit as she

processed who stood at the threshold.

"Calla. Hey." Jessica didn't bother feigning any warmth. Her eyes flashed when she

saw who stood over Calla's shoulder.

Calla fought the urge to pop those blue eyes out with her thumb.

If I find out you killed her, she thought, I'll do that and worse to you. So much worse.

You'll be begging me to take your eyes once I'm finished.

"Hey, Jess," Vincent greeted cheerfully, which made Calla grind her teeth.

"Hey," Cooper offered. She imagined him playing with the buttons on his shirt and

withheld a sigh.

What a trio they made.

"Mind if we come in?" Calla asked. She didn't wait for an answer. Their arms

brushed as she slipped inside, too confident to turn away. Jessica stiffened.

But then she stepped aside, a layer of sugar coating her next words. "Sure. Thanks

for coming."

She eyed Vincent as he admired the chandelier overhead. A smile—sickly sweet,

probably meant to charm but falling just short—lit up her face. She fidgeted with the

hem of her dress, ensuring that her skin would be on full display.

Or I'll just rip your eyes out now.

"I'll show you to the kitchen," she sing-songed, lunging forward to grab Vincent by

the arm. "Want a drink?"

"Sure," he said easily, shrugging. "Why not?"

She didn't so much as wave as she escorted Vincent further into the house. Her

laughter snaked around Calla's throat, restricting her airway.

Cooper walked up to Calla's side and raised a mocking hand. "Oh yeah, sure. I'll

take a drink too!" he stage-whispered. "Thanks so much for the offer. You're so

generous."

"b***h," Calla said simply, watching the two disappear around the corner of the living

room and into what she presumed was the kitchen.

"Agreed." Cooper didn't look quite so appreciative as he took in the glass chandelier

hanging overhead; it lit up the foyer like a star, ostentatious and impossible to

ignore. A coat rack hung over the elaborate bench to their left, while posed family

portraits—a series of them, each taken at the beach—hung on the wall to their right.

Cooper walked to the nearest one and examined it.

"What are you doing?" Calla watched him with a vague sort of annoyance.

"Recon. We should find out more about the suspects."

"We grew up with the suspects, you moron."

"Yes, but look." He tapped the black and white photo with his hands. "This was

Jessica pre-hair dye. Maybe turning into a blonde made her crazy? Could be a lead."

"I hate you now more than ever," Calla decided.

"Kidding." Cooper walked back over to her, shoving his hands in the pockets of his

jeans. "Okay. What's the game plan?"