the bloody pants I found outside, then.”
“I can’t.”
“Somebody was murdered, the evidence dropped at your door. Just like last time. Remember. Senior year. The fall harvest dance. Jason Smith’s bloody shirt found on the hood of your car. My father’s blood-soaked coat discovered later at your back door.” He shot her a scorching glance. “You know what’s happening, just like you knew back then.”
“I don’t know how that got there. I told your father that before he…” Her words trailed off.
“Go ahead and say it—’was killed.’”
“I was going to say disappeared.”
“Come on, we both know he’s dead, just like Jason Smith.” He glared at her, daring her to deny it. He’d had to resign himself to his father’s death just to get on with his life and stop looking for his father’s body. He’d always felt certain she knew where the bodies were disposed of but refused to reveal the location. “Tell me where this new victim is?”
She looked anxious, afraid, her bottom lip trembling. “I don’t know.”
“Was he taken to the same spot where my father’s and Smith’s bodies were dumped?”
“I had nothing to do with those disappearances. Nothing.”
“Who is this new victim?”
“I don’t know.” Tears gleamed in her eyes. “Oh, what’s the use? You’ll never believe me.”
Reese clamped his teeth together. Questioning her at the moment would be futile. He’d only lose his temper and that would get him nowhere. Later he’d get the truth out of her, he promised himself.
The dog lumbered up to her and licked her cheek. One swipe of the huge tongue and her whole face glistened wet. “Okay, Sampson, I love you, too.”
He looked away from Summer caressing the dog and focused on the easel. He studied the sketch. A bottomless sensation pulled his stomach down to his toes.
“You drew this latest abduction.” He pointed to the paper. “There’s the killer, looking in at you, holding the bloody pants. You control this killer. Admit it!”
“I don’t.” She trembled uncontrollably now, tears streaming down her cheeks. “And if you won’t believe me, you need to leave. Now!”
“I’m not going anywhere. This is a crime scene and you’re under arrest.”
“But I didn’t kill anyone.”
“So you say. When I find out who those pants belong to, you’re going down for murder.” In one smooth motion, he slid the cuffs from his belt and slapped them on her wrists.
Her eyes gleamed with a deer-in-the-headlights fear, and for a brief moment, he hated his job.
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