Epiphany (Legacy of Payne) by Christina Jean Michaels Page A
Authors: Christina Jean Michaels
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he’ll be so happy to hear from me again.”
“I think you should stay far away from this, Mackenzie.”
I liked the way my name rolled off his tongue. “It’s a little late for that. He threatened me—that’s why Brad got involved. They exchanged a lot more than just words.”
He cursed under his breath. “Let me handle this, okay?”
I chewed on my lip and nodded. If I wanted to know the guy’s name, I could find out on my own easily enough.
“I should get going.” He got up and shuffled his feet. “Can I borrow a pen?”
“Sure.” Wondering what he was up to, I grabbed a lottery pencil from near the register and handed it to him. Though our fingers only connected for a fleeting moment, the warmth of his skin seared down to the tips of my toes, and they nearly curled as my thoughts ran away into forbidden territory. I’d started the day angry with him and had grown more furious as the hours passed. Now he’d defused my anger as easily as a bomb squad dismantled an explosive.
I’m in trouble.
He wrote something down on a napkin. “Here’s my number.” He held my gaze longer than necessary, and as our fingers brushed together again, I wondered if he felt it too. “Be careful, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, stunned that I held his number in my hand.
“I’m gonna take off and let you finish your shift in peace.” He hesitated. “Thanks for being there last night.”
“No problem.”
I watched him go, and the rest of my shift went by with such ease that I questioned every minute, waiting for the next chaotic moment to thrust itself upon me. On the way home, I tossed Aidan’s words around in my mind.
Be careful.
What had he meant by that? Did he think I was in danger? I shivered, suddenly getting the distinct feeling that someone was watching me. I studied the empty road, the trees surrounding me with their colorful leaves, but as far as I could tell, no one was there. As I approached my apartment, I ran a hand along Six’s car in the driveway and considered waking her to talk about my conversation with Aidan.
Tomorrow.
Surely Six would be able to decipher man-code. Tonight my bones ached for sleep. I stumbled into my apartment, double checked the locks on the door, and fell into bed.
And as the night morphed into dawn’s early shades of gray, I dreamed of Six’s murder.
7. Forty-Eight Hours
The woman screaming was me, yet it was also Six. Echoes of her death lingered in the shadows like vague memories; they haunted from every corner of the room. Fear clung to my clammy skin and ached in my throat, and every gasping breath brought the smell of dampened earth, wet leaves, and the undeniable scent of the sea. I untangled from the bedding and jumped to my feet, found yesterday’s jeans and pulled them on. My front door banged against the wall as I charged into the early morning gray.
I skidded to a stop and beat my fists on her door. “Six! Open up!” A glance through the gap in her curtains revealed nothing but dark, empty space. I was starting to accept she wasn’t home when the newspapers under my bare feet caught my attention. I bent down and picked them up—two of them. The morning’s headline was as dismal as the sky:
Boise Hangman linked to Sanders’ case.
Police are investigating a possible connection between the Sanders' case and the killer believed to be responsible for a string of murders in Idaho. The Watcher’s Point Herald received an anonymous letter signed by the “Boise Hangman” in which the perpetrator claims responsibility for the murder of Chloe Sanders.
A spokesperson for the sheriff’s department said the letter has produced new leads, and they are doing all they can to find the person responsible for Sanders’ murder. Authorities would not comment when asked about the possibility of a copycat. Anyone with information is asked to contact the sheriff’s department . . .
The paper slid from my frozen fingers. Now was not the time for Six to go
“I think you should stay far away from this, Mackenzie.”
I liked the way my name rolled off his tongue. “It’s a little late for that. He threatened me—that’s why Brad got involved. They exchanged a lot more than just words.”
He cursed under his breath. “Let me handle this, okay?”
I chewed on my lip and nodded. If I wanted to know the guy’s name, I could find out on my own easily enough.
“I should get going.” He got up and shuffled his feet. “Can I borrow a pen?”
“Sure.” Wondering what he was up to, I grabbed a lottery pencil from near the register and handed it to him. Though our fingers only connected for a fleeting moment, the warmth of his skin seared down to the tips of my toes, and they nearly curled as my thoughts ran away into forbidden territory. I’d started the day angry with him and had grown more furious as the hours passed. Now he’d defused my anger as easily as a bomb squad dismantled an explosive.
I’m in trouble.
He wrote something down on a napkin. “Here’s my number.” He held my gaze longer than necessary, and as our fingers brushed together again, I wondered if he felt it too. “Be careful, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, stunned that I held his number in my hand.
“I’m gonna take off and let you finish your shift in peace.” He hesitated. “Thanks for being there last night.”
“No problem.”
I watched him go, and the rest of my shift went by with such ease that I questioned every minute, waiting for the next chaotic moment to thrust itself upon me. On the way home, I tossed Aidan’s words around in my mind.
Be careful.
What had he meant by that? Did he think I was in danger? I shivered, suddenly getting the distinct feeling that someone was watching me. I studied the empty road, the trees surrounding me with their colorful leaves, but as far as I could tell, no one was there. As I approached my apartment, I ran a hand along Six’s car in the driveway and considered waking her to talk about my conversation with Aidan.
Tomorrow.
Surely Six would be able to decipher man-code. Tonight my bones ached for sleep. I stumbled into my apartment, double checked the locks on the door, and fell into bed.
And as the night morphed into dawn’s early shades of gray, I dreamed of Six’s murder.
7. Forty-Eight Hours
The woman screaming was me, yet it was also Six. Echoes of her death lingered in the shadows like vague memories; they haunted from every corner of the room. Fear clung to my clammy skin and ached in my throat, and every gasping breath brought the smell of dampened earth, wet leaves, and the undeniable scent of the sea. I untangled from the bedding and jumped to my feet, found yesterday’s jeans and pulled them on. My front door banged against the wall as I charged into the early morning gray.
I skidded to a stop and beat my fists on her door. “Six! Open up!” A glance through the gap in her curtains revealed nothing but dark, empty space. I was starting to accept she wasn’t home when the newspapers under my bare feet caught my attention. I bent down and picked them up—two of them. The morning’s headline was as dismal as the sky:
Boise Hangman linked to Sanders’ case.
Police are investigating a possible connection between the Sanders' case and the killer believed to be responsible for a string of murders in Idaho. The Watcher’s Point Herald received an anonymous letter signed by the “Boise Hangman” in which the perpetrator claims responsibility for the murder of Chloe Sanders.
A spokesperson for the sheriff’s department said the letter has produced new leads, and they are doing all they can to find the person responsible for Sanders’ murder. Authorities would not comment when asked about the possibility of a copycat. Anyone with information is asked to contact the sheriff’s department . . .
The paper slid from my frozen fingers. Now was not the time for Six to go
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