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She wore one of the white, fluffy robes that had been hanging in the bathroom. She’d scrubbed and scrubbed her skin, and even as the water hit her, she’d kept seeing the girl’s face.

Tiffany.

Dead, at the old Murder House site.

“For the record, though, I don’t plan to spread out,” Hunter suddenly announced. “I plan to be in the same bed with you.”

She’d just turned away, but at his words, Shelby spun back around. She’d taken her hearing aid out before getting in the shower, and it waited on the nightstand. Maybe she hadn’t heard him correctly⁠—

“Same. Bed.” He still filled the bathroom doorway. Still just wore the towel. Still looked sexy and dangerous. “It will save us both some effort.”

“What are you talking about?” She hurried to the nightstand and scooped up her hearing aid. A quick slide and it was in place.

A muscle flexed along his jaw as he stepped forward. “Didn’t we prove it last night?”

“Prove what?” Her thoughts felt scrambled. A bead of water had just slid down his muscled chest. She found herself creeping closer to him.

“You sleep better when I’m close.”

“I scream and I punch. You don’t want to be close to me.”

But he kept advancing. “Of course, I do. Close to you is exactly where I intend to stay.” His dark eyes never left her face. “This is a freaking worst-case scenario breaking loose around us, and you know it. A woman murdered, sliced and left at the dedication fountain? On the same night you arrive back in town? Whoever is copycatting the Sorority Seven Killer might as well be waving a red flag. He wants attention. He wants death. He fucking probably wants you.”

“Copycatting?” Shelby latched onto that one word. There were a whole lot of things she needed to address with Hunter, but for now, she focused on that part.

“Hell, yes. A copycat. That’s what he has to be.”

“No.” Not necessarily. Hunter towered over her, all big and angry and…just wearing the towel. “You need to get dressed.” A mutter. Then, “It doesn’t have to be a copycat. Not if I put the wrong man in jail. Maybe we’re looking at—looking at the real killer?”

A hard, negative shake of Hunter’s head. “We learned tonight that your ex was a violent prick even before the attacks at your sorority house. Your blood was on his gloves. Margot’s blood.”

And Kim’s. Kim Shih’s blood had also been found on those black gloves. “He…he said that he came in to help us. That was how he explained the blood.”

“And I call bullshit. Bullshit.” His nostrils flared. His dark hair was still wet from the shower. “You didn’t remember him helping. Has that changed? Those bits and pieces that you say are coming back…do you remember him helping in any of them?”

“No.”

“I don’t buy his innocence. I think that right now, we’ve got a copycat or…” But his words trailed off.

It was okay. She knew exactly what he was going to say. “Or Nate didn’t act alone.”

He stared at her.

“What? You think that idea didn’t occur to me? You think I haven’t been over things a million times?” Especially when she’d had the flashes of the attacker in the gray shirt and ball cap. Her laugh was bitter. Mocking. “There were seven girls in that house. Sure seems like it would be incredibly hard for one man to hurt so many people. Maybe it could have been done. Or maybe…just maybe he had help. Maybe those flashes I’m having are of the second attacker who was in the house. Someone who got away with the crimes before.” She had to swallow the lump in her throat. “Someone who has been free this entire time.”

Someone…who had just killed again.

Chapter Eleven

Just another night in hell.

“Lights out!” The guard raked his baton across the bars in the cell as he bellowed his order and continued down the corridor.

Nate sprawled on his narrow bed, his eyes on the ceiling above him. The stupid shirt itched him again. The scent of bleach burned his nose. And, as always, rage twisted in his gut.

“Hey…psst. Buddy!”

It was the new idiot next door.