Lovely Violent Things: A Dark Romance (Hollow’s Row 2)
Lovely Violent Things: Chapter 12

HALEN

A sickly film settles over Hollow’s Row, cloying and thick, like the ring of syrup left behind on the diner table. There’s a texture to the night, tactile, grainy. It coats my skin, making me feel unsettled, like an itch digging in beneath my flesh.

The storms may have passed, but the deceptive calm holds a dangerous charge in the air.

I’m not sure if I’m prepared for what’s brewing just beneath.

While working the case with Kallum, falling into the beguiling intricacies of his mind, it’s so easy to overlook the unstable current that flows below his cool demeanor. But it’s there, simmering, volatile, a riptide strong enough to drag you under.

A shadow scratches at the sheer, beautiful casing—that explosive part of him that’s always one unhinged heartbeat away from detonating.

Tonight, he lowered the veil, allowing me a brief glimpse of this side of him, a reminder as to the brutality he’s capable of. It’s not as simple as deleting an email to avoid the truth.

And while the sight of Kallum nearly beating Alister to death should disturb me—and, yes, it does—the more frightening realization is how badly I wanted him to do so.

Agent Hernandez sits across from me at the table, two booths away from where Kallum and I were seated the first day he joined the case. I can smell the lemon wedge hooked on the water glass in front of him, and the scent stirs a visceral reaction, an ache that rubs abrasively against my ribs, yet not deep enough to satisfy the itch.

“Watching it won’t make it ring,” Hernandez says, referring to the phone I’ve been staring at absently.

I offer a half-smile, grateful for the interruption to my disturbing thoughts. I’ve left three voicemails for Kallum’s lawyer already. With the ridiculous retainer I’m sure he requires, Charles Crosby should answer his damn phone.

Because, as I glance through the diner window at the parked SUV, keeping a doubly obsessive watch over the vehicle with stolen evidence tucked under the seat, there’s not much time to mount a defense. The lab will report the carving knife missing soon, then the calm illusion will shatter.

Tabitha the waitress approaches with our order, and I flex my hand to chase back the persistent tremble and reach up to accept the to-go cup of coffee. “Thanks,” I say to her.

She says nothing in reply, her features impassive, as she places a plate of breakfast food before the agent. When she steps away, she pauses to look back and catch my gaze.

My cellphone rings. Startled, I break away from her eyes to grab the call. I answer on a shaky breath. “Mr. Crosby, thank you for returning my message.”

“Yes, well,” he says, “I was honestly surprised to hear from you, Miss St. James.”

I rise from the booth and point to the diner entrance, coffee in hand. “I’m stepping out to take this.” Hernandez nods once, not looking up from his dish of eggs and bacon.

Pushing through the diner door, I welcome the cool hit of night air, a soothing balm to my inflamed lungs.

“So tell me,” Crosby says, “what has my client gotten himself into?”

While I launch into the difficult details, I pace the sidewalk, replaceing the cracks in the concrete a strange comfort. This town’s ghastly framework leeches into its inhabitants, breaking down the structure like the decomposing skeletal remains in the ravine. Kallum saw a work of art in the macabre destruction, and I wonder if that’s any different than how I view crime scenes.

I glance up at the night sky, at the dark circle that seems to rim the pale moon in eerie prelude, and I can hear Kallum whispering in my ear, calling me his moon goddess.

I shake off the phantom pang of his touch. “So, Mr. Crosby. What is your advice?” I say in conclusion.

“Halen, I am very sorry for what happened to you.” Crosby, for once, doesn’t sound patronizing, and I swallow past the ache in my throat. “You will press charges, yes? I can represent you in this matter as well.”

“I…um…” The search for words leaves my voice trailing off. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“On the contrary, my client coming to your aid works in his favor,” he says candidly. “And, of course, this FBI agent needs to be prosecuted.”

Ah, there’s the lawyer I remember. “Fine. Yes, I want to press charges.” I used my kit to collect and bag what evidence I had on my person, like skin cells scraped from beneath my nails. I bagged my clothes, grabbing a change at the hotel, where I managed to take pictures of scratches and fresh marks.

“All right. Good,” he says, and I hear him make a note. “My client has been detained for allegedly assaulting a federal agent. But has he been processed yet?”

I shake my head out of habit. “I’m not sure, but I don’t think so.”

He scratches out another note. “Okay good. Let’s go over a few details before I arrive in town tomorrow.”

A sudden gust of wind whips strands of my hair across my face. With a frustrated sigh, I set the paper cup on the sidewalk and dig into my pocket to retrieve the hairband. I shoulder my phone as I pull my hair into a low ponytail, my fingers rubbing the hairband in search of the seam…and my movements stall.

“I need you to have someone trusted keep an eye on Kallum,” Crosby is saying. “Just please, don’t let him talk. Mr. Locke has a bad habit of…talking.”

But I’m barely listening as I feel the hand-sewn seam along the yarn. Releasing my hair, I bring the hairband closer and turn it over, examining the intricate patterned detail of threadwork, the precise stitching. The flawless technique.

Crosby’s voice drones on in monotone in the background of my thoughts. My chest prickles as awareness floods me, rushing too fast.

I pick up my coffee and move off the sidewalk into the empty street, turning to look down the dark road toward the police building, to where a silver Honda is parked.

The driver behind the wheel flashes the car’s high beams.

“Mr. Crosby, I’ll need to call you back.”

I end the call and pocket my phone, my feet already moving in the car’s direction. The frantic pulse of my heart riots in my veins. The hairband wrapping my wrist is hot against the rope burn.

The sound of a car door opening reverberates against the darkness, then Devyn appears beside the vehicle. She drapes her forearms through the open car window, setting the door between us.

Her smile is soft, inviting, making me feel at ease. Safe even. The same way she made me feel welcomed that first day at the ritual crime scene.

Devyn tosses a glance at the police station. “I heard the bad boy got in trouble.”

“That’s kind of his reputation.” I slip the hairband off my wrist. “How did you replace out he’d been locked up?”

She shrugs. “This town has eyes and ears.”

My mind flashes back to the moment Devyn quoted the proverb at the first scene. The trees have eyes, and the fields have ears.

I extend my hand, holding the hairband out to her.

“Keep it.” She waves me off. “I make them, so I have plenty.”

“I insist you take it back, Devyn.”

Her head tilts inquisitively at the sharp note in my tone. “Laying it on a little too thick?” The levity of her persona falls away. She accepts the band, looking at it briefly before connecting with my gaze. “I was getting worried you’d never see me.”

The warmth of the cup in my hand does little to lessen the chill crawling over my skin. A sickness pits out my stomach. “I see you now.”

“I’m not so sure. No one truly ever sees us, do they?” She reaches down and hits a button, popping the trunk of the car. “It’s like what you said at the ravine, how no one wants to believe a woman is capable of horrific things.”

“I don’t want to believe it,” I say, not masking the plea bleeding into my voice.

Her smile falls. “Just like you refuse to believe what you’ve done, Halen,” she says, presumably referring to what she overheard the night of Kallum’s ritual, his insistence that I’m the one who murdered Professor Wellington.

“That’s different.”

Her pretty features relax into a kind expression. “I think we’re more kindred than you realize.” She then turns away and walks to the back of the car. “We’re so easily disregarded on a daily basis. I mean, we could be angry about that fact, or—” she hauls my canvas bag from the trunk and shoulders the strap “—we can embrace the opportunity that disregard provides us.”

The coffee cup becomes heavier in my hand as I stare at my bag—the one I entrusted to her. The understanding of what Devyn has done…of what she’s capable of doing, sinks in fully.

I take a fortifying sip of coffee, needing the caffeine, the comforting warmth, the familiarity as I stare at my friend—the woman I thought I knew.

I still know her.

Sweat prickles along my brow as I mentally comb my memories. I see Devyn lining up her tools at the crime scene. An OCD tic I discounted as organized, proficient. I recall her at the house party, not questioning her claim about keeping an eye on the youth. Yet it’s where Kallum took me to spark the frenzy, a more logical reason for Devyn to be there, feeding that same desire.

Devyn has access to crime files. She’d have access to the Harbinger case, the details, to stage the crime scene.

I see her parked outside the hotel the day after I was attacked. I assumed the carving knife was taken at the hospital, but it wouldn’t have been difficult for her—a trusted member of the community; a friend of the inn owner—to gain access to my room.

I missed the obvious markers. From day one, she was the first on the crime scene. She pointed out the philosophical connection. She has access to the forensic lab. She could have tampered with evidence at any point, like transferring the rope fiber to the Harbinger crime scene.

All of which I should have noticed, if not for my obsession with Kallum.

Devyn hasn’t been hiding herself from me at all.

“So is that why you’re doing this,” I ask, needing the truth from her. “Because you feel unseen, unappreciated? Disregarded?”

Devyn huffs a derisive laugh before she tosses my bag into the backseat. “The psychology would be simple if that was the case, huh? But no.” She lightly shakes her head. “It’s just not that simple, friend.”

As she approaches me, the guise effectively falls away. “I really thought I blew it on day one,” she says, a tenuous smile easing into place. “God, with that stupid Chaucer quote. I was being honest though, when I said I hated reading him. Everything I’ve told you, I was trying to let you see me, to make a connection, but he just kept getting in the way. Although, I guess, without him, I might have never really seen you, Halen.”

For the second time tonight, I feel violated. “You watched us,” I accuse her.

“You invaded my ritual ground.” She arches an accusatory eyebrow.

“I’m not whatever…link to some divine madness, Devyn.” I step around the car door to stand before her. “God, Kallum is insane. He used all that nonsense to his advantage to seduce me. He might have even brainwashed me. That’s why I trusted you with the evidence, to try to help me understand logically what happened during the ritual. But none of it…it’s not real. What is real is that I care about you, and want to help—”

“You will help, Halen,” she interrupts. “You already have so much.”

My lips thin, frustration searing my patience. “You tore apart a deer,” I say slowly, soberly, trying to rationalize with her. “Devyn. A deer. Torn apart. By your own hands and teeth.”

“At the height of frenzy,” she explains casually. “Truthfully, I didn’t actually recall it right away when the hunters found my ritual site. I had to make sure I was first on-scene to eliminate any evidence. I steered Emmons away from the deer, but you wouldn’t let it go. Teeth casts? Really?” She sighs incredulously. “I didn’t have a choice but to botch the molds and contaminate the saliva sample. You left me very few choices.” She props a hand on her hip. “At least I’m going to offer you some.”

An ill feeling churns bile up my esophagus. “You killed people, Devyn.” I hold her gaze, trying to make a connection right now. “You killed Landry, and Emmons’ brother—”

“No.” She holds up a finger. “No, I didn’t. I’m not a killer. Leroy sacrificed himself. That was his calling. And Jake was already dead. I haven’t taken a single life.” Her dark gaze traps mine. “Can you say the same?”

Her words hold a menacing weight, the implication not directed toward Wellington, but the lives taken during the car wreck. The one where I was driving.

A crack fissures through my defenses, and I shake my head at her. “That’s low.”

“That’s life. Cruel, unfair. Full of secrets, and you have so many secrets.”

I reach out and take her hand. “Ones I would have told you about,” I say honestly to her. “But I don’t even understand what’s happening myself, Devyn. I’m lost, confused. But…we can both figure all this out together.”

She releases a breath, looks down at our clasped hands. “Maybe a few years ago,” she says, her hand pulsing mine in a reassuring squeeze, “that would have been possible.” Her gaze lifts to capture mine, and a hardness descends over her features.

A dull ache burns inside my chest. Dropping her hand, I step away. “What is the hemlock for, Devyn?” If what Kallum believes is true, that Devyn wants me in place of the victims, then there’s at least a chance I can reason with her here.

“Where is the knife, Halen?” She counters, cocking her head. Dread prickles my skin. If she knows about the missing evidence, then Agent Alister might already know, too.

“Oh, that’s right,” she says. “You don’t play by the rules, but you expect others to do so.”

I look back at the diner, waiting to see Agent Hernandez walk through the door, and a hazy glow stems from the florescent interior. The streetlights twinkle a little too brightly, and as I tilt my head, multicolored tracers streak the night.

“You could…” Devyn says, following my line of sight. “You could scream. You have a phone in your back pocket. You could call for help, or you could just run. I won’t chase you.”

“I won’t run.” Wherever Devyn wants to take me, that’s where I’ll replace the victims.

When Kallum first told me his theory of the Overman, that I was in danger, a part of me was exhilarated. Knowing I could bait them. And that’s why Kallum hasn’t left my side. He felt that within me. He wasn’t fearful of the suspect—he was frightened that I’d risk myself to lure the Overman out.

Finally, a worthy sacrifice.

Through my fuzzy vision, her face blurs, and I blink hard. I touch my forehead as I stagger to the side, the sudden bout of dizziness increasing my heart rate.

I bring the coffee cup up, and realization grips my lungs in a vise. “Why didn’t you just—”

“Take you?” she says, eyebrows hiked. “Steal you away in the middle of the night like some brute? Attack you and force myself on you like that bastard Alister?”

My bleary gaze snaps to hers, and her features reflect her commiserating tone. “Yeah, I know what he tried to do,” she says. “Choice is the most powerful weapon we have, Halen. As a woman, you know this. I’m not taking your choice away from you.”

My laugh is clipped. “You’re not taking my choice away, but you drugged me. Do you see the faulty logic there?”

Her expression softens. “It’s meant to relax you. Not alter your decision making. You’ll need to be relaxed for what happens next.”

I force a swallow past the thickening of my throat. “You could have just come to me,” I say. “Talked to me. You’re my friend, Devyn.”

“I know this, Halen. And you would’ve psychoanalyzed me, and tried to make me see the logic. But this isn’t about right and wrong. Good and evil. This is so much bigger than all that basic shit.”

My equilibrium pitches sideways, and she reaches out to steady me. I hold on to her shoulder and replace the gentle brown of her eyes. “Then where does that leave us?”

Reaching up, she traps the shock of white hair framing my face. She admires the lock, touching my hair the way Kallum would, before curling the length behind my ear. “You’ll come with me,” she says assuredly. “You want to know how I know this?”

I shudder out a breath, hating the layer of heartache encasing me at losing her.

“Because of that right there.” Melancholy touches her smile, affecting, sincere. “How long before the pain hits in the morning? A minute? Not even a full thirty seconds? How much reprieve do you get before you remember all the death, the loss…?”

A violent ache rips through my chest wall, the pain stealing my breath. The stinging pressure builds behind my sinuses, and a tear tracks down my cheek. I suck in a gasp, lips trembling. “Fuck you, Devyn.”

“I’m not your enemy, Halen.” She palms my face, her thumb swipes my cheek to clear the tear track. “Memory is your enemy. Consciously trying to heal from the pain hurts worse. So much worse. I can help you forget the pain. It’s easier to simply…let go.”

A surge of dizziness crashes over me, and I sway out of her touch. Coffee gripped tight in my hand, I say, “I’ve fought every goddamn day not to give in…” I trail off to catch my breath. “There is no easy way out.”

There is always hurt and pain left in the wake of death.

There is always someone left to suffer the loss.

She presses her lips together, features drawn tight. “Only through pain and suffering do we ascend,” she says. “That’s why it’s you, Halen. Take my hand.”

I wipe my face, lightheaded, as a laugh slips free. “Why would I ever do that?”

“Because, there’s so much you want to know, have to know. And, where he merely dangled answers just out of your reach, I will give them to you freely.”

I lock with her gaze. “Everything has a price.”

“But it’s the price to solve your mystery.”

I look at the police building, to where Kallum is locked within its walls.

I came to this town to replace the lost victims. But I was caught in a web, tangled in a bigger mystery, and I’ve since become the one who is lost.

A warm buzz courses my veins. Acceptance is solace. “What is there left to lose.”

As long as no one conducts a search of the FBI vehicles, then Devyn’s attempt to frame Kallum for the Harbinger murder will be faltered. If I don’t make it out of this, I know Kallum will. Crosby will arrive in town tomorrow. And Kallum always replaces a way to outsmart everyone.

Because I already know what comes next.

I bring the coffee cup to my lips. Holding Devyn’s deep eyes over the rim, I drink.

“Good girl.” Devyn holds out her hand. “It’s time to go.”

The lights twinkle brighter as my pupils dilate. Sounds are louder. Devyn is more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her, a siren luring me with her angelic voice.

I slip my hand into hers. “Take me to them.”