I don’t hesitate either. Like instinct, like it’s the only thing to do, I reach under her thighs and lift her up until she wraps her legs around my waist and buries her face into the crook of my neck. I start walking. I carry her through every darkened room, down the short hallway, and into her bedroom. We collapse onto the bed, still holding on, still desperate for that spark of warmth that only seems to ignite when we’re together.

We situate ourselves onto the queen-sized bed, and I only let go of her to pull the blankets up over our bodies, then my arms envelope her once again. She’s stoned on sleeping pills and I’m drunk off my ass, and we’re messy, damaged humans clinging to each other as we battle through the storm together, but it’s okay because we’re together.

Cora curls herself into me, close enough that I’m certain she can feel my heartbeat radiate right through her as she drifts to sleep. I wonder if she can feel how broken it is.

As the alcohol haze consumes me and I begin to fade out, I lean down to kiss her forehead, chasing away a rogue strand of hair with my fingers, then grazing them down her cheek, her neck, and the front of her chest.

I fall asleep with her heart pendant clutched in my hand.

Chapter Sixteen

Earl Timothy Hubbard.

I finally find the strength to research the case.

My case.

Our case.

It’s made international headlines, branding Earl with the nickname of The Matchmaker. He’ll be going down in history as a renowned serial killer after eleven bodies were discovered buried beneath his vast acreage. His victims were taken in pairs—male and female, with no blood relation or romantic connection. Earl had boxes and boxes of trophies, trinkets, and evidence stored in his attic, including Cora’s wallet and my leather jacket and car keys. He had journal entries devoted to each “couple”, though, none of the detailed contents have been released to the media. It’s been alleged that, based on the diaries discovered, Earl groomed his victims into developing feelings for one another—and when he felt like they had successfully fallen in love, he would murder them in cold blood. He got off on watching his victims mourn over their lover being tortured to death.

Sick fucking shit.

I think back to that fateful night, dwelling on every little thing I did wrong. Each wrong turn and fatal slip of the tongue.

“She your girl?”

Earl’s question seemed harmless at the time. I had no idea I’d be sealing our fate when I replied with a firm, “Hell, no.” I should have fucking lied, but getting under Cora’s skin was more important. Pissing her off was more fun.

I had no idea I put the nails in our goddamn coffins.

Turns out the guy was a run-of-the-mill sales clerk for a company that makes power tools. I had thought at first he was a dirty cop, but the flashing lights on his vehicle were only there to trick his victims into pulling over. You hear about this shit in crime show documentaries—you never even dream about it happening in real life.