My temper flared behind my eyes, literally making me see red. "You seem awfully concerned about my boyfriend, Brig. Why is that?"
She stood and faced me, small fists on hips. "What is with you? It's like you're a different person since… everything."
"Maybe I am a different person, have you considered that? Maybe being kidnapped and tortured changes someone."
She rolled her eyes. Rolled her fucking eyes! "You were barely tortured. Ash saved you, and you repay him by continuing with a job that is basically cheating on him."
I pulled my bag out from under the bed and reached in for the manila envelope I'd brought. "Let's talking about cheating, shall we?" I shoved the pictures into her hands. "Care to explain why you're cozying up to my boyfriend at his fucking house?"
Her face went pale as she looked at the photos, and her lower lip trembled. "It's not what it looks like, Catelyn." Then she looked up, her face defiant again. "Where did you get these?"
"Doesn't matter where I got them. I see you throwing yourself at a man you admitted having a crush on. Is there anything you want to tell me?" I was shouting now, completely out of control, and I couldn't stop this feeling that I was about to explode.
Mrs. Beaumont pushed open our door, her face etched with worry. "Girls, Mr. Beaumont left for the office, said it was too loud for him to focus. I'm heading out for a few hours. Are you two okay?"
I avoided eye contact, hiding my enraged face, but Brig smiled, always able to put on a mask when needed. "Yes, Mom, go have fun. We'll be fine."
Mrs. Beaumont hovered there a moment, her handbag clutched to her side like a shield against our angry words, then nodded and left the room. "The house is empty, so lock up if you leave," she said from the hallway.
I sunk to the bed, drained from the fighting, from all these unwanted emotions surging through me like poison. Before I could say anything to Brig, before I could figure out what I wanted to say or should say, my phone rang.
I listened to the man on the other end, nodding as he spoke. "Okay, I'll be right there." I hung up, staring at Bridgette. "I have to go. The impound lot called about the Bruiser. I have to go sign some paperwork. Can I borrow your car?"
She pulled the keys from her pocket and tossed them at me a little too aggressively. I didn't bother thanking her, just stormed out of the house, slamming the door—which would have felt more gratifying if the door had slammed properly, but it was heavy and big and seemed weighted against me, so it lacked the proper crash-bang of a good slam. I felt stuffed full of fireworks. I wanted to punch something.
Instead, I took to the slick roads, turning up the music until I couldn't hear my own thoughts anymore.
I arrived at the impound lot just before they closed and introduced myself to the twenty-something hippie-looking guy working the front desk. "Hi, I just got a call to come here and sign some papers about my car? Catelyn Travis?"
He typed something into a computer, his grease-stained hands leaving trace marks on the plastic-covered keyboard. "Um, hmm, yeah you already signed for this. No one from here called you today."
I checked my phone and showed him the incoming call. "That's your number, right?"
He scratched his head. "Yeah, no, that ain’t us. Sorry. Your car's already been handled."
"Are you sure? Why would someone call me pretending to be you?"
"Dunno."
"Can I talk to your supervisor?" I asked, my stomach clenching into a pit.
"Um, hm, not really, you know? Because, like, I'm all alone here today."
"Right. Okay, thanks." I turned and got into Brig's car, pressing dial on my phone to see where this number lead. All I got was a disconnect message and more questions than answers.
My hands shook, and I started the ignition and pulled out of the gravel parking lot and onto the street.
The entire way back to Bridgette's my mind turned the strange scenario over and over. Did the Midnight Murderer call me? Was it a mistake?
I had nothing concrete when I pulled up to the house.
I knew something was wrong immediately when I saw the front door open.
I ran through the house, calling for Bridgette. Crunch. I'd stepped on glass. A broken cup was scattered on the floor. The coffee table had been flipped over. An ottoman had been upturned. Red words—
My throat closed up.
Red words covered the wall.
I have your friend. Find what I need and you might see her alive again. Fail, and I'll send her back in pieces.
Chapter Eleven
Blood Tells
TIME SEEMED SKIPPED, frantic, like the scattered heartbeat of a dying hummingbird. I called Detective Gray.
"This isn't my jurisdiction," he said.