Skin (Insatiable Series Book 1) by Patrick Logan

Author:Patrick Logan [Logan, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Pathological Ink
Published: 2015-08-01T00:00:00+00:00

***

Coggins had been tracking the man for nearly a mile now. He had first seen the hunched figure at the edge of the clearing near where he had shot the dog, struggling to make his way through a line of bare trees.

He must be drunk, Coggins thought initially, watching the man stumble forward, nearly falling with each and every step. A few times the man did actually fall, but he picked himself up with barely a hesitation and continued on his determined path.

Drunk. Or maybe high.

As he watched, the man stumbled again, but he bore onward without even bothering to brush the snow from his—bare!—hands.

Really, really fucking high.

He thought of Alice then, and a wave of disappointment washed over him. He wasn’t really sure why he had told her to come meet him and the sheriff at Mrs. Wharfburn’s—maybe it was to make sure that she didn’t fall even deeper into the rabbit hole, or maybe it was for the same ridiculous reason he was out in the snow; a strange nagging or tugging that just wouldn’t let go. Alice would have been much better off at home, of course, in bed recovering, than out here—driving, of all things—in this weather. But that pull—

The man tripped again, and Deputy Coggins was brought back to reality. Even though he had first seen him more than ten minutes ago, Coggins hadn’t been able to catch him despite the fact that he was wearing his police issue snowshoes and the man was wearing what looked like small boots or maybe even dress shoes. The thing was, the man he followed paid no attention to his surroundings or even his wellbeing, trudging through small shrubs and the thin forested areas without any consideration. Coggins knew that something just wasn’t right about the man—high or drunk or not. This entire situation—the dead dog, the man walking less than two hundred meters in front of him, the strange wind that blew and sounded like a man’s voice—everything was somehow related. He could just feel it.

But it didn’t matter, not now—Coggins wasn’t in much of a hurry. Instead, he was content with just following after the numb man ahead of him, convinced that he would lead him to the source, or in the very least, to some clues, to unlock this mystery.

He scolded himself.

Clues. Okay, Columbo.

Then he saw it and his heart skipped a beat: Sheriff Drew’s cruiser, unmistakable despite the thick layer of snow covering it like a plush comforter. The man, who must have seen the vehicle too—it was impossible to miss the obvious silhouette—unsurprisingly took no notice; he just kept stumbling along his merry little way. Coggins realized that there were more prints—not so much prints as imprints—near the vehicle. And judging by the fact that the still blowing snow had yet to completely fill these indentations, they must have been recent.

What the fuck is going on here? Where are you, Dana?

All of the excitement of following the drunken man suddenly started to wear off and exhaustion set in.

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