Private Investigator Veronica Goodwin is set on apprehending the man who murdered her old friend. Instinct tells her he's going to come back and finish what he wasn't able to - her.
Ronnie's life is in grave danger but Detective Harry Styles is con...
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Something was off about Mallory's place. It felt all wrong.
Not sure if it was the fact that her front door was unlocked, or that it was pitch dark throughout the house or that the hairs on the back of my neck were pin-straight that tipped me off but— okay, yeah it was definitely all those things.
Mallory always had music playing, and even if she had the room light turned off, her bright string lights were sprinkled on every nook and cranny.
I flipped the light switch after feeling up the wall longer than I should have. I flipped it again, and then ten more times for safe measure. Nothing.
I held my breath and steadied myself. Maybe she's passed out drunk in her room with headphones in and then forgot to lock her door and pay her electricity bill last month or something? But still, nothing. The silence was almost deafening.
If I want concrete answers, I have to keep investigating. But my thoughts were running rampant.
Did someone cut the power to Mal's house? Are they still here, protected by the darkness and waiting to jump out at me? Should I go back to the car and call backup? Where the hell is Mallory? I have to find her first! Yeah, and then we'll go somewhere safe and figure this shit out!
A shock of worry coursed through my body and I let out a shaky breath. The hairs on the back of my neck were still standing and fresh goosebumps appeared throughout my arms.
"You got this, Ronnie," I hissed as I often do to myself when I feel like I want to chicken out on something but understand that I shouldn't because I'm no weenie. Plus, self pep talks got me through my service on the Boston police force in one piece. But easing my nerves hasn't been easy for a while, not since I left the force at least. Working as a private investigator in the family business doesn't often put me in danger these days.
But this case screamed danger. I had missed eight of Mallory's phone calls, but she had left me a voicemail on the last call. Her voice was strained and robotic. She said a man followed her home and swore he might have something to do with her brother Oliver's recent death. She insisted he was going after her next.
The voicemail was left 15 minutes ago but I managed to talk my way out of a shitty blind date and make it Mal's house in another ten minutes. But clearly that was too late.
My heart raced as made my way to the next room, gun in hand.
"Mallory?" I whispered. Nothing.
I took another step, sliding the foot leading ahead of me to make sure I didn't trip on anything. After a few more steps my foot thudded against something unfamiliar. As I was kneeling down, my hand and my knee made contact with skin. I quickly fished out my cellphone to give me some light but I wish I hadn't. It was a leg. Mallory's leg.
