As he walked away, the urge to say “I love you” flared so brightly on the tip of my tongue, but the words didn’t come out. All I did was smile and give him a corny-ass finger wave that caused him to give me a crooked grin. And those words were burning a hole through my tongue as I walked back to the kitchen.
Miranda was sitting at the table, a bottle of water instead of wine in front of her. Jason was standing, leaning against the kitchen island.
“I almost told Cole I loved him,” I blurted out.
Jason blinked slowly. “Wow. That was random.”
“Why didn’t you?” Miranda asked, twisting in her seat.
“I don’t know. It just seems too . . . it’s too soon,” I said, walking around the island to the fridge, in bad need of the full sugary power of a Coke. “And really bad timing to drop those three words.”
“Is there really any perfect time?” Miranda folded her arms across her chest.
Jason grinned as he moved to the other side of the island and leaned into it. “I’d say anytime other than the mayor of the town admitting to killing women and then shooting himself would be it.”
She shot him a look. “Okay. I’ll give you that, but that’s all.”
“Where’s Cole heading to again?” Jason asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.
I took a drink of the carbonated goodness and then lowered the bottle to the counter. “He was going over to the mayor’s house.”
“Why?” he asked.
Fiddling with the lid, I shrugged. “He wanted to see the scene for himself.”
Miranda glanced over at Jason. “Is it some inherent cop thing that makes him want to visit a crime screen?”
“I think it’s more of seeing everything with his own eyes kind of thing.” I took another drink as they stared at me, and the look on Miranda’s face said there was more. And there was. These two people were my closest friends. I could share my suspicions with them. “Do you guys . . . think Mayor Hughes really did those things?”
Miranda’s dark brows knitted together. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “He killed himself and left a letter saying he did those things.”
“Tyron said it looked like a suicide, but he hadn’t been over there yet. I don’t even know if the agents had been there at that point.” Stepping back, I leaned against the counter. “It just . . . it doesn’t make sense.”
“Crazy typically doesn’t make sense,” Miranda replied. “And serial killers are a special brand of crazy.”
“Actually, serial killers are usually the opposite of crazy,” Jason said, shrugging one shoulder. “They’re usually very smart.”
“Killing people for pleasure is the height of insanity,” she replied. “That’s my opinion and I’m sticking to it.”
I looked at Jason. “So you don’t think the mayor was a serial killer?”
His gaze slid to mine. “I don’t know what to think, but he admitted to everything, right? The vandalism. Cutting off Angela’s finger and sending it to you? We may never know why he did it.”
A fine shiver curled down my spine. Angela’s finger? My heart dropped. “What did you say?”
His gaze came to mine. “What?”
Ice dripped across the base of my neck. “You said he . . . he cut off Angela’s finger and sent it to me. No one has confirmed that it was her finger. I didn’t even tell you that was in the suicide note.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“No,” I whispered. I knew I didn’t tell him that. We just had this conversation. “I . . . I didn’t.”
Miranda frowned as she looked up at Jason. “She didn’t tell me that.”
“Well, it doesn’t take a huge leap of logic to assume that’s what he did,” Jason explained. “The finger was missing from Angela and . . .” He trailed off, straightening.
My lips slowly parted. It was safe to assume that if anyone was copying the Groom, they’d cut off the ring finger. “The police had never confirmed that Angela was missing a finger or that it was sent to me.”
“Shit,” Jason muttered.
A cold, harsh realization slammed into my gut as I pushed away from the counter. Air lodged in my throat. Panic burst through me. “Miranda—”
Jason whipped around so fast, I almost couldn’t believe it was possible. His fist connected with her temple, the fleshy thud knocking the air out of my lungs. She didn’t even have a chance to cry out or blink.
Miranda slid out of the chair, crumpling onto the floor. Once down, she didn’t move. Shouting, I started toward her, but drew up short when Jason stepped in front of her.
“I wanted a little more time.” Jason reached up and removed his glasses, carefully folding and slipping them into the front pocket of his shirt. “But this was bound to happen.”
Chapter 28
Oh my God.
My heart beat frantically in my chest as my mind raced to catch up with reality.
It was Jason.
Oh my God, it was him.
Jason spared a brief glance at Miranda. “I really didn’t want to hurt her. I like her. Did she tell you about us? I was hoping that when this was over, she and I would take it to the next level.” His gaze slid to me. “You, on the other hand, I fucking hate.”
“If . . . if you like Miranda, then please, let me help—”
He shot forward so quickly I didn’t have a chance to move. He grabbed my hair with one hand, and then I doubled over, crying out as his fist caught me in the stomach. Air punched out of my lungs and pain radiated down my spine as he yanked my head back. My arms pinwheeled until I reached back and gripped his arm.
Jason jerked me back up and against him until our faces were inches apart. “Oh, you fucking bitch. You’re going to pay attention to me and not her. I’ve waited too long for this for you to be distracted. Would’ve preferred some real good alone time but I got to make do.”
I stared at him with wide eyes, seeing a face that I trusted but not recognizing the mask of hatred and fury.
“Do you understand me?”
When I didn’t answer, pain exploded across my jaw. Starbursts blinded me as Jason let go of my hair, and I fell forward, my knees smacking off the floor. I caught myself with one hand.
“On your knees.” He laughed, and that sound sent chills down my spine. “How familiar.”
Slowly, I lifted a trembling hand to my cheek as I worked my jaw. A fiery ache shot across the side of my face but it didn’t feel broken.
“You don’t even get it, do you?” He circled me. “But damn, Sasha, you were getting so close to figuring it out.”
I lifted my head as my thoughts swirled to make sense of what was happening.
“I overheard you saying it yourself the other night. What if there . . . was always two of them.” He stopped directly in front of me. His smile was cruel and cold. “What if there wasn’t just one Groom the whole entire time?”
“Oh God,” I whispered, horror locking me into place.
“What if there were two who worked together? One who was smart enough to make sure there was no evidence of his presence left behind. One who spent the last ten years being smart. You know, not-killing-where-you-eat kind of thing.”