She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat and nodded.
Did he really think someone might try to hurt her at the sheriff’s department? Was Nash Barclay that bold?
The deputy arrived with a pair of folding chairs. “Anything else?” His gaze lingered on Marissa’s swollen cheek.
She swept the length of her hair over one shoulder and let the thick strands form a veil over the marks on her fast-heating face.
“No.” Blake took the chairs and opened them, setting one at each end of the table.
Her knees buckled easily as she fell onto the seat.
Blake watched with a heartbreaking expression.
She would’ve asked what he was thinking, but where would that get her? Blake wasn’t exactly a sharer. If he wanted her to know something, he’d volunteer it. Besides, it wasn’t as if that look had anything to do with her, and if it wasn’t about her or her sister, then it wasn’t any of Marissa’s business.
She pulled her attention to the line at the door. “I’m going to collect my first witness.” She had plenty of work to do and all night to speculate about the cause of Blake’s troubled face.
“I’ll be here if you need me.”
If there was ever a Blake Garrett action figure, that would be the tagline.
Marissa faltered only steps from the double glass doors. Her heart rate kicked up, and she felt the chill of fear roll down her spine. “Blake.”
Amidst the white noise of traffic and soft rumble of the crowd, another sound trickled into her ears. “Blake?”
He was at her side in an instant. “What is it? What’s wrong?” His hands were on her hips, his cautious blue eyes weighted with worry.
“I hear his song.” She raised a finger to her lips. “Listen.”
Blake jerked his head around to face the lot. “Stay here.” His eyes widened, and he barreled outside with one hand on his sidearm.
Marissa clutched her chest and crept closer to the open door, torn between wanting the song to be in her imagination and not wanting to be crazy.
Silence fell over the witnesses as they moved against the building in an awkward wave, nudging one another and pointing as Blake rounded each car and surveyed their faces.
West and a pair of agents strode into the lot where Blake stood.
Nash’s creepy chapel song blared from the pocket of a black hoodie.
A sheen of sweat formed on Marissa’s brow. Nash’s hot breath blew fresh on her face, as real and sickening as the day they’d met. She rubbed her heated cheeks and shuffled through the doors, desperate to know what would happen next.
Blake snaked an arm out and spun the person around.
The hood fell back to reveal a homeless-looking woman with ratty blond hair. “I saw him,” she said with a grin.
Blake yanked an old CD player from the hoodie and jammed his finger against the power button, ending the awful tune.
Marissa’s shoulders sagged with release.
“He gave me a coat, money, music and a sandwich,” the woman said. “All I had to do was stand here until I got the chance to tell you.” Her wide toothless smile sent tremors over Marissa’s frame.
Didn’t the woman understand her benefactor was a cold-blooded killer? Didn’t she know? He could have hurt her. Drowned her.
A fat tear rolled over Marissa’s cheek and she sucked in another ragged breath before turning back for the station. Surrounded by law enforcement, and Nash had still been right outside the glass double doors.
Marissa wasn’t safe anywhere.
Chapter Eight
It was after four before Blake had a chance to check in with West again. He knocked on his brother’s open office door and wedged himself in the threshold. “A line of witnesses around the building and no one saw anything.”
West looked up from his file. “You mean no one except the nice homeless woman.”
Blake rolled his back against the jamb and rested his head on the cool metal. “The one who spoke of Nash as if he were the Messiah, bringing her a warm jacket, music from her heyday and money?”
“That’s the one.”
Blake blew out a long breath. “What’d you do with her anyway?” The woman had been gone when he and two of his team members finished scouting the area for signs of Nash nearby.
“I took her statement then drove her to a shelter where she could get a hot meal and a warm bed for the night. I put the sweatshirt into evidence with the CD player and gave her a replacement with a little cash for her trouble.”
“Great.”
West hunched over his desk as Blake stepped into the hall. “Where are you going?”
“To find Marissa. I’m going to see if I can get her out of here. Get some food. Get some sleep.” He’d tried to coax her away an hour ago, but she’d insisted on staying until the last witness was heard.
As if her day hadn’t been bad enough, there wasn’t any news about her sister, and Kara was still unaccounted for.
Blake returned to their table and slid copies of the most promising witness accounts into a manila envelope for later.
Marissa’s head was on the desk, one cheek cradled in the crook of an arm. Her free hand dangled at her side. It would’ve been a peaceful scene, if the marks of a lunatic weren’t displayed across her visible cheek and throat. She’d done her best to hide the evidence behind her hair as “witnesses” made their statements, but the fight was now lost to exhaustion.
“Ready?” he asked. Blake moved to her side, gut and jaw clenched as he imagined the terror and confusion when Nash attacked her. He’d come so close to losing her that day. Except that wasn’t true. He hadn’t known her then. So, how did a woman he’d met less than forty-eight hours ago feel like she’d been a part of his life forever?
“Marissa.” He squatted beside her chair and used his
