Kellan sucked in air, blood roaring in his ears as he lowered the gun, watching as Grady kicked her Beretta away and knelt down, tugging out his cuffs and securing her hands before touching his fingers to her throat. He rose and blew out a breath, his mahogany skin gleaming under a thin coat of sweat, his eyes wide.
“Son of a bitch. This woman is nuts,” Grady whispered, shaking his head.
Tricia’s body was already cool by the time Kellan and two of the deputies broke down the door to the gallery. Peggy Ralley had had some fun before she left. None of the art in the gallery that wasn’t done by her hand had survived her rampage intact. Sculptures lay smashed on the floor. Canvases sliced by a knife, and a few, the two closest to Tricia’s body, had bloody splotches.
“She used the knife she killed Tricia with,” Kellan murmured quietly.
Grady knelt by the door, studying the shattered pieces of a rich purple vase. “Why didn’t we see it before now?”
“No rhyme or reason. We were looking for something that made sense.” Kellan shook his head, straightening over Tricia’s still body. He met the coroner’s gaze as Drake Stillman stepped inside, looking around the gallery with vague surprise in his eyes.
Things like this didn’t happen in their county.
Kellan suspected that this past month had been the busiest of the county coroner’s life. He gestured to the bagged knife lying on the table.
“I’m fairly certain that’s the murder weapon,” he said. “I think she used it to slice up the paintings. We found it on the floor by Tricia’s body, like she’d tossed it away before she walked out. Then she showed up at the hospital with blood on her clothes.”
Drake’s question was cut off by the ringing of Kellan’s phone. He checked out the number and said, “It’s the hospital,” as he thumbed the talk button. “This is Grant,” he said, turning away from the curious gazes.
He listened to the low murmur of the nurse on the other end of the line and then hung up the phone, turning back to meet Grady’s eyes. “She’s awake. I’ve got to get back there.”
Darci paced the floor, shooting evil looks at the silent phone. Four hours had passed since Kellan had called and she hadn’t heard another thing from him.
She stood at the window in the dining room, staring out at the silvery moonlight reflecting off the river. I think I’m in love with you…
“Jerk. How in the hell can you say that and hang up, and not call back?” she muttered, running a hand through her already tumbled hair. It stood up in messy spikes and curls from a hundred nervous passes of her hand. She rested her forehead against the cool pane of glass, closing her eyes and murmuring, “Where in the hell are you?”
Worry was a gnawing thing in her belly, making her gut churn, tightening her shoulders, aching in her head. Her fingers itched to pick up the phone and call, but she forced herself not to. Calling him, interrupting him…what if he was finding out who the killer was?
What if…if…what if the killer had gotten to him?
Panic blossomed in her mind and she turned around, bypassing the phone and heading out the front door, jogging down the steps. She heard Hank’s door slam and he met her on the sidewalk.
“What’s going on, Miss Law? What’s wrong?”
“Where’s Kellan?” she demanded.
“Darci, he wants you to stay inside,” Hank said flatly, taking her arm and trying to guide her back up the walk.
She jerked her arm away and planted herself in Hank’s face, poking him in the chest as she demanded, “Tell me where Kellan is. What in the hell is going on?”
His face softened and she felt a flush rise in her cheeks as the sympathy darkened his faded gray eyes. “He’s probably back at the hospital. Talking to Peggy Ralley.”
Darci’s jaw dropped and she felt her shoulders slump. “Not another one. Damn it, what is going on?”
Hank patted her shoulder. “Maybe I didn’t make that clear, Miss Law. He’s questioning Peggy Ralley. She showed up at the hospital this afternoon, blood splattering her shirt. Pulled a gun on the Sheriff. Turns out the gun wasn’t loaded. Possible that she wanted him to shoot her. They disarmed her somehow-I don’t know the details. But I’d say it’s over.”
The phone finally rang. Five and half hours after he’d told her that he thought he was in love with her, and then hung up on her. Oh, it had rung a few times before, just shortly after Hank told her about Peggy.
But it had been everybody but Kellan. Becka, Clive, Brittany…each time, she’d gotten off the phone with a curtness that bordered on outright rudeness, not wanting to talk to anybody but Kellan.
The phone rang again and she grabbed it, the strength leaving her knees as Kellan’s low voice murmured in her ear, “Wasn’t sure if you’d still be awake.”
She laughed shakily and said, “Well, I could have tried to go to bed. But I doubt I would have gotten any sleep, considering what you said right before you hung up on me.”
“Well, everything kind of went down pretty fast,” Kellan said softly. “I need to talk to you…but I know it’s late.”
She stared at the clock as the hour hand finally ticked to midnight and she shook her head. “I don’t care how late it is. I want to talk to you, too.”
Moments later, she lowered the phone, the dial tone sounding. Softly, she whispered, “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, too.”
Spinning around, she went to the bathroom, and stared at her reflection. Her hair stood up in wild spikes and she winced, grabbing some hair goop and slicking it through her hair, taming the wild tresses, smoothing the sides, fluffing the top a little.
Darci licked her lips nervously. Maybe I should go put on something…well, something more than a tank top and boxer shorts. But lingerie was so predictable. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to wait for him naked.
Makeup?
No. Not when it was past midnight. She turned away from her reflection and stomped out of the bathroom. Food. Food was good. Chances are, he hadn’t eaten, and come to think of it, she was kind of hungry.
There was stuff for lasagna, but that took so long. Spaghetti? No, not in the middle of the night.
Sandwiches. That would work. She grabbed the bread and tossed it on the counter. Roast beef, tomatoes, cheddar cheese, mayo, spicy mustard. Did he like spicy mustard?
She stared at the ingredients spread out in front of her for a long moment and then buried her face in her hands.
“I’m in love with a guy and I don’t even know what he likes on his sandwiches.”
Blowing out a breath, she washed her hands and then grabbed a couple of plates and a butter knife. If he liked spicy mustard, then he could add it to the sandwich himself. Right?
Right.
Her stomach screamed noisily at her as she finished the sandwiches and stood at the counter, eating hers. Maybe her belly would stop jumping if it wasn’t so empty.
She hoped.
But then the knock came on the door and she pressed a hand to her belly, the butterflies still raging. Nope. Didn’t work. But at least she wouldn’t pass out from hunger, right?
Nerves, embarrassment, panic…but not hunger.
Dropping her half-eaten sandwich on the plate, she left the kitchen, muttering to herself, “Why am I so nervous?”
Because she hadn’t once thought about what would happen beyond today. Hell, with all the insane things happening right now, and the nocturnal visits from nameless people, she had thought a time or two that maybe she wouldn’t have a tomorrow.