“Good … good,” he murmurs without explaining any further. “Make sure no one else is following you. See you soon, Miss Riley.”
“See you soon.” I hang up and stick the phone in my pocket, taking a quick glance around us. This end of the park is empty this time of night; the crickets near the bayou chirp in an off-balance way that makes my nerves feel raw. When I turn to face Jordan, his expression matches the grim feeling that has settled over me.
“Why can’t we meet him in the middle of a hot, sunny afternoon?” I say quietly to Jordan as we start walking toward the Mason Park Community Center, which is near the sports fields. Shadows move across the ground in the distance, close enough to be seen, but far enough that I can’t make out any details. I can’t help but feel like someone is watching us.
Jordan scoffs and shakes his head at me. When I give him a look, he frowns and says, “Your Mr. Masters does seem to have a bit of a flair for the dramatic.”
“He does.” I smile softly to myself. “I just hope that’s all this is.”
“Me too,” he answers immediately.
“Do you know specifically where they found Hillary?” My voice sounds tight and Jordan leans closer before shaking his head quickly.
“They said it was near a popular jogging path, but didn’t give specifics on which one.” He frowns and looks down at the path we’re on. “There are so many in this park, it could’ve been anywhere.”
My eyes immediately scan each path in the park around me. In the darkness, each one looks more frightening and ominous than the last. Every branch seems to be an arm reaching out; every howl of wind through the branches could mask a distant scream; every minute we are here feels like it brings us an inch closer to Hillary’s fate.
I quicken my pace and pull my jacket tighter. “The sooner we can finish this and get out of here, the better.”
We walk past the empty sports fields, their lack of light and life making them seem dismal and lonely. It’s odd how these reminders of happy times somehow become incredibly depressing the instant the crowds leave and the lights go out.
Every movement and sound draws our attention with each tense minute that passes. I glance over at Jordan and see his gaze shifting from side to side with nearby sounds, with the rustling of a branch.
He catches my eye and attempts to smile. “Isn’t this the part in the scary movies where everyone dies or we find a skeleton or something?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve seen this one. It’s usually the girl in the bikini who dies first.” I gesture toward my jeans and purple striped T-shirt. “We should be safe.” I try to play it off, pretending I’m not as scared of what we could run into as he is.
Jordan puts on a brave smile, too, then shrugs. “Don’t be too sure, Riley. You don’t know what I’m wearing underneath this.” He points to his dark blue jeans and red shirt, then winks. A surprised laugh bursts from me at the imagery.
“Excellent point.” I squeeze his hand and think I see the grove we’re looking for up ahead. I whisper the rest. “Although, if you are wearing a bikini under that, I think there may be an entirely different discussion for us to have.”
We both freeze when I hear a woman’s voice yelling up ahead, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. My entire body breaks out in a cold sweat, and Jordan instinctively steps in front of me. As we jog a few steps closer, I see two figures in the grove where we are supposed to meet Mr. Masters. From this distance, it’s hard to tell, but they seem to be fighting.
My thoughts settle on one possible scenario: the woman is the next victim of Valynne’s killer, and maybe if we hurry, we can stop him from killing someone else. I glance at Jordan, and can see he’s thinking the same thing. We both break into a run.
Before we get to the grove, an earsplitting boom rends the air and Jordan and I dive toward each other, tumbling to the ground. My eardrums are vibrating and I keep staring at Jordan to make sure he’s okay. He seems to be doing the same thing with me.
When we realize we’re both fine, we crawl into the shadows of the nearest tree and peer through the branches as quietly as possible toward the grove.
Now there is only one figure standing—next to a large mound on the ground.
A gunshot? That isn’t the East End Killer’s M.O. My panicked mind searches for some other explanation as we move a few steps closer: a mugging gone wrong perhaps?
Should we run? Should we help?
Then pure fear slides through my veins as I realize that Mr. Masters should’ve been here already … that maybe he beat us here and one of the figures in the grove is him.
I hear footsteps and a woman runs into view. With her back toward us, I see a gun dangling from her fingers. Her entire body quivers. I gasp and grip Jordan’s arm.
Even from this angle, I would recognize her frizzy hair anywhere.
She turns at my gasp and lifts the shaking gun in my direction.