Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8) Kaylie Hunter (books on motivation txt) 📖

“I don’t know what she was going to tell me. She was supposed to meet me this morning, but never showed.”

“My mother was weak. I loved her, but there was never anything brave about her. So why now? Why would she help the police?”

“For you. She knew you were in danger.”

Cassie gasped as she raised a trembling hand to her lips. “She sent you.”

“Yes. That was our deal. I save you, and she’d tell me what she knew.”

“It’s my fault, then. That she’s dead. It’s my fault.”

“No,” I said as I lowered my hand to my lap. “And it’s not your mother’s fault. Or even my fault. Only one person is responsible and that’s the person who killed her.”

She dragged the back of her hand across her cheek, wiping away the tears. “Why does that sound so wrong? Too simple?”

I leaned back in my chair, shaking my head. “I don’t know. Guilt. Grief. Maybe regrets. Our negative thinking takes over in situations like this and it’s a natural shift to blame ourselves. But the truth is, the evildoers are the ones to blame.”

Beast had been sitting next to me, but moved to sit between us, leaning his heavy body against our legs.

Cassie looked down at him as she spoke to me. “If Mom wouldn’t have made the deal with you to help me, she’d still be alive.”

“You’re overthinking it. You never deserved for Danny to beat on you, that was on him. That was his choice.  It’s the same thing with killers. They’re the ones to blame. No one else.”

“I hear what you’re saying, but—”

I placed my hand on top of hers. “Yesterday, a little boy was killed in a drive-by shooting. Was his mother to blame?”

“No! Of course not.”

“But she let the boy play in the front yard—”

“It wasn’t her fault.”

I stood, pulling her gently up by the arm as I did. “I know. Just like Lydia’s death is not your fault.” I released my grip on her as I took a step away. “I’ll find whoever did this. I’ll make him pay.”

Cassie released a slow breath. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I don’t know where I’m supposed to be, or…” She looked lost. Frail.

“There’s nothing for you to do here. Your mother’s body won’t be released for at least a few days, if not longer. Go home. Rest. Remember the good days.”

“There weren’t many good days.”

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a photo, handing it to her. Lydia’s belongings had been sent for evidence processing, but I had snuck this photo into my pocket.

Cassie looked at the worn photo of mother and daughter. “Where? How?”

“She kept it all these years. She watched over you. She loved you. Don’t forget that.” I walked away.

At the end of the hall, I pushed the door open to walk into the reception room. I jumped in surprise, my hand covering my heart as it slammed against my ribs. Tasha was standing on the other side of the door.

“You did good, Kid,” Tasha said, pointing toward the hallway. “Now, come with me,” she ordered before turning away. “I’ve got preliminary on your victim. Leave the dog with Huey.”

Huey was the fifty-something receptionist who looked like a biker. Tattoos covered half his body and he had three nose piercings. Despite his rough appearance, he was highly skilled, transitioning between grief counselor and office bouncer.

I glanced over at Huey. “You okay if I leave Beast out here with you?”

Huey looked down at Beast. “He looks mean.”

“As do you.”

A devilish grin appeared. I took the expression as a yes, and hand signaled for Beast to stay. Beast looked around before wandering over to the wall and throwing himself onto the cool tile. I dug a treat from my bag and tossed it to him before walking through the next set of doors and down the hall to Tasha’s office.

Tasha was waiting impatiently and shoved a tablet into my hands as soon as I entered.

I looked at the tablet, swiping the screen to flip through the notes and pictures. “You started the autopsy already?”

“Only the external exam. I knew you’d be anxious for answers. I also confirmed the substance inside the syringe was morphine, though I’ll have to wait for the official lab report on the victim’s blood work before I enter official cause of death.”

“The morphine doesn’t surprise me. Lydia knew something about Pauly’s killer. She was supposed to meet me this morning.” I threw myself into the guest chair which was placed along the wall by the door. Tasha had stopped moving the chair back to her desk years ago, adjusting to my need to see through the glass door while we talked.

“But this—” Tasha took the tablet and swiped until she found what she was looking for. She handed the tablet back, pointing toward a photo “—might surprise you.”

I studied the photo. At first, I thought it was a picture from Pauly’s autopsy. The bruise across the back of the neck was the same. Then I realized that the victim had dirty blond hair. “This is Lydia?”

“Bingo. Identical bruising as Pauly and Roseline on the back of the neck.”

“Walk me through this. How does this type of injury happen?”

She waved for me to follow her and led me into the next room. She lifted the bean-bag manikin from its hook. They made computer modules for this type of thing, but bean-bag Bert, as he was named years ago, was a more user-friendly tool.

“The victims were all on their stomachs,” Tasha said, throwing Bert to the floor. “Then the killer uses his own body to apply pressure on the neck until the victim passes out.”

Tasha partially stood on Bert’s