Gil sucked in a harsh breath.

“Guess there’s a body painter out there with murdering tenancies.” Justin sighed. “Fucked up world we live in.”

“Wha-what are you talking about?” I whispered, stepping toward Justin.

He shrugged sadly. “Another murder. Third girl this year. All the same motive. Body painted and left to starve, all while she was right in front of the police’s noses—”

“Stop.” Gil threw me a hunted, haunted look. “Don’t upset Olin with the graphic details.” His face became unreadable as he opened his arm in invitation. “Coffee first. Then we’ll talk.”

“Think the bastard could be tracked down by the paint he’s using?” Justin asked, moving forward, falling into step with Gil.

Gil didn’t reply, vanishing into his apartment with Justin by his side.

The door closed.

I was alone.

My feet moved to follow. The topic was too harrowing not to know every detail.

But...I paused.

I’m alone.

I needed to go to work. I had responsibilities.

Gil was distracted, and the exit was unpatrolled and unlocked.

I’m sorry.

Sending Gil a silent goodbye, I hoisted my handbag higher and walked out of Total Trickery’s warehouse unobstructed.

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Twenty-Four

______________________________

Olin

-The Present-

“GOOD TO SEE you, Olin. Everything okay at home?” Shannon asked as I plonked at my desk, yanked my phone from my bag, and turned on the work computer.

My breath was choppy from running, and my hair still damp from my very rushed shower, but at least I’d made it home, removed any remaining paint, changed into suitable office attire, and hoofed it over to Status Enterprises only twenty minutes late.

However, twenty minutes was an eternity when it came to being a new employee. I wasn’t exactly giving them the best impression.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I’ll stay twenty minutes behind so I—”

“It’s fine.” Shannon waved her hand, sipping on a thick mug of coffee. “Don’t worry about it. We all have a life that gets in the way now and again. As long as things are good, don’t stress.” Her eyes caught mine pointedly. “So...are they good?”

I plucked a muesli bar from my blazer pocket—my quick fix for breakfast—and nodded. “Yes, all sorted.”

“And that sexy man who dragged you out of here is satisfied the ‘family emergency’ is all defused?”

“Yes.” I opened the wrapper. “He knows not to interrupt me at work again.”

I hope.

“Great!” A broad grin spread over her cherry-glossed lips. She leaned over my cubicle wall with a wink. “He was rather yummy. Got a good catch there, girl.”

I bit into my muesli bar. “I’m very lucky.”

Or very unlucky.

Depending on my mood.

Chuckling, she pushed off from the cubicle. “Happy working. There’s a staff meeting at three. See you there.”

I waved her away and logged into my emails. Nibbling on my breakfast—wishing it was a large plate of pancakes and syrup—I replied to the questions and queries that had come in overnight, all the while Justin’s voice echoed in my mind. “Another girl has gone missing.”

Why did I not know about these murders?

Why did my heart sink with dread at the very mention of a killer with body painting skills?

Clicking on an email, I did my best to focus all while worry gathered in my belly.

* * * * *

By four p.m., my self-restraint snapped.

Justin’s voice was a loop inside my head. “Another murder. Third girl this year.”

My thoughts were awash with gruesome killings of pretty girls camouflaged in paint. I didn’t know if I felt a kindred calling to them because I’d been painted or because I was in love with a body painter.

Either way, my instinctual drive to protect Gil demanded I know more.

Gil.

He had issues and complexities; he was prickly and hiding something monstrous beneath his icy façade.

But he was gentle.

Kind.

And mine.

Mine to guard against new and old horrors.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I opened a new internet search: Murdered painted girls in England.

My lungs stuck together as page results flickered over my screen.

Clicking on a link, I trembled as I read something normally reserved for other places, other counties, other populations.

Tragically, another young woman was found early last night by a dog walker in Nottingham forest. The girl appears to have died from dehydration and starvation while being restrained and gagged in the treetops. The police searched the area a few days prior, thanks to an anonymous tip, but were unsuccessful in locating her due to the significant paintwork over her skin mimicking the branches where she was tied. Because of the camouflage, she was effectively invisible to law enforcement and most likely saw them searching for her before she died.

Today, police have been criticized for their lack of use of sniffer dogs.

This is the third death of similar methods, which leads law enforcement to believe a serial killer is loose in the Garden of England. Two previous girls (Shelly King (22) and Moira Jonston (27)) where found in the shrub garden at Wightwick Manor and Cannon Hill Park. Shelly King was painted to match the undergrowth she was tucked beneath, and Moira Jonston was lashed to a tree with her skin the same texture and shadow of bark.

Both women were already dead upon discovery.

Police urge anyone who might know anything about these murders to call their emergency hotline. They also advise that young women avoid unnecessary travel alone until further notice.

No arrests have been made.

My stomach roiled.

What sort of sick bastard tied up women, silenced them, then made them invisible to the people trying to find them? What sort of killer left his victims to starve to death? Why bother killing at that point? It wasn’t like he got the thrill of taking someone’s life. He had to wait to read about their demise in the local paper, just like the rest of us.

Those poor girls.

Murders happened all the time. The world had turned into a dark, violent place. I’d heard about other crimes far worse...but those dead painted girls wriggled into my bones and scraped out my marrow.

A blizzard howled in my chest.

Gil...

Would he be able to help the police track down who’d done this? Could he even have met them? Did body painters share their tips and tricks? Attend seminars of talent?

There wasn’t any doubt that the killer had to be severely deranged.

Psychotic without a doubt.

He had to have transport.

Perhaps a van like the guy who tried to kidnap me?

I turned into a statue.

No...

I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t outrun the runaway train my brain became.

That guy is a bastard.

He hurt Gil.

He has something over him.

He wasn’t...normal.

Could it be?

If he was the killer, did that mean Gil was involved? What if he was next? What if he was trapped in something even worse than I thought?

The incessant whispers slithered and snaked. I couldn’t stop the what if, what if, what if.

What if Gil has something to do with this?

My heart stopped beating.

He was bleeding and dirty the night he was drunk.

Goosebumps scattered over my flesh as my mind unfolded the night I’d slept with him. How he’d poured alcohol down his throat as if running from something. As if he drank pure regret.