Depraved by N. Isabelle Blanco

Author:N. Isabelle Blanco [Blanco, N. Isabelle & Garcia, Dee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-07T22:00:00+00:00

“Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.” - Joshua 1:9

The catacombs turned out to be a bust. A giant bust, I should say.

And yet, I can’t seem to get my head out of there.

Hours later and I still feel like there’s something I’m missing. I can’t figure out what the hell it is, though, which is only adding to my already astronomically proportioned frustration with this case.

I expected there to be more tucked away behind that door, maybe a clue or even just a small hint. Like I said, nothing. Nothing at all. It’s a one way entrance/exit, meaning there’s no possible way the killer could be using it as an escape route.

But as I stood within its dark, eerie depths, something deep within told me this was it, this was how she pulled it off. I searched high and low, tried finding some hidden pathway or entryway, but again, nothing. I even went as far as asking Father Wilson if blood—or any trails of blood—had ever been found there. His answer? He didn’t know.

Figures.

He did, however, go on to say the janitor might have seen something. Makes sense, honestly, so I asked him to get me that contact information.

That’s all I’ve got from my impromptu visit.

That and this gnawing ire that’s triggering my self-destructive needs—both of them. My mind keeps ping-ponging between heading to the store for a bottle of Jameson, or texting Kiera for a spontaneous meeting.

She wouldn’t deny me, either, I know it, and damn if that doesn’t make my dick even harder inside my sweats.

It’s late, though. I waited too long, lost in the computer and my research into St. Cecilia’s building plans, to bother her now. It would be inconsiderate.

Wouldn’t it?

Damn it.

Scrubbing my hands down my face, I head into my kitchen and pour myself a glass of cold water. When chugging that isn’t enough to purge me of my needy thoughts, I place the empty glass in the sink, turn on the cold water, and lean down to splash my face.

Would love to say one time is enough, but my demons are much more powerful than a few drops of water.

I splash my face a few more times, all but soaking my hair, and turn the water off. Rising, I reach for the towel to wipe my face dry—

The window on top of the sink, directly in front of me, faces the street, with its multitude of old-fashioned looking lampposts lining each side. In the glare of those lights, there’s no missing her . . .

Or the shiny reflection of those lights on black latex.

Hands limp at her sides, feet braced apart on the street directly in front of my condominium, she tilts her head as if seeing me . . . and flashes me that creepy, gleeful smile.

Barking out a curse, I rear backward, heart racing. I slam into the

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