Mathews kissed his daughter, then went to the bed and did the same to the woman lying there. She couldn’t have been thirty yet, but she was dying. Grant was no doctor, but it was impossible to mistake. She was bone thin, and her skin had an ugly yellow cast to it. She had dark hollows under her eyes and they barely fluttered when Mathews smoothed patchy wisps of hair back over her balding head. His wedding ring flashed in the bright fluorescent lighting, and Grant realized that this had to be his wife.
“Love you, sweetheart. Be back soon,” he whispered, but Grant heard it. His heart ached for the man, but like with Isabelle, he was helpless to do a damn thing to make it better.
Mathews shut the door behind him as he left his wife’s room. Nothing in his face showed he was suffering. If Grant hadn’t seen what the man was going through for himself, he never would have believed it.
“You should go spend time with your family,” said Grant.
“I’ve got to do my job. The bill collectors don’t care that my wife is sick.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Forget it,” said Mathews. “And I mean that. This is none of your business, and I expect you to respect that.”
“Sure,” he said, though he knew it was a lie. That was not the kind of thing a man forgot easily.
They went to the cafeteria and got coffee. Whatever pain Mathews was suffering, he somehow managed to push it aside long enough to do his job. “Where did Isabelle get the tea?”
“At school. She said one of her students gave it to her.”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“We got that warrant to search Wyatt’s motel room this morning. There were bits of plant matter in there.”
“Plant matter?”
“I assumed it was pot, but after seeing the tea, I think it’s a pretty safe bet those plant bits are what he used to poison Isabelle.”
That fucking bastard. Grant was going to kill him. He was going to force-feed him a gallon of that tea and see how he liked it.
Mathews kept talking while the seething rage swelled inside Grant, taking over.
“I’ll have a sample sent to a lab, but the results could take weeks,” said Mathews.
“You can’t wait that long to charge him with the murders.”
“We won’t have to. The poison wasn’t the only thing we found in his room. Trina Skinner’s body was on his bed.”
“The woman who went missing?” Another victim. Another innocent woman dead. “How?”
“She was stabbed twenty-seven times.”
The paper cup in Grant’s hand collapsed in his grip and coffee sloshed onto the table.
Wyatt really needed to die, and Grant was more than ready to be the one to make that happen.
Mathews nodded. “She hadn’t been dead long. Wyatt must have been holding her all this time. We’re not sure where.”
Grant did not allow himself to think about the horror Trina must have faced since she was abducted two months ago. He was already teetering on the edge of going hunting for Wyatt right now. His rifle was in his trunk. All he had to do was find the man and it would all be over.
If it weren’t for his need to be near Isabelle, his need to know she was going to make it, he’d already be gone. “Why keep her so long and risk getting caught?”
“To kill her in the right order would be my guess.”
“That means he skipped Amanda, killed Trina, and moved on to Isabelle.”
Mathews shook his head. “Amanda wasn’t around, so maybe he decided to move on without her. Either that, or he already got to her and we haven’t found the body yet.”
“No. Amanda’s fine. She called us this weekend and told us not to worry.” Grant’s tone was clipped and cold with denial. Amanda and her little girl were safe. He refused to believe anything else.
Mathews’s mouth flattened like he didn’t quite buy it. “If you talk to her again, tell her to stay put until we’ve caught Wyatt.”
“How long will that take?”
“I wish I knew. You could pack up and leave town if it would make you feel safer.”
“I’m not going to feel safe until he’s back behind bars.” Or dead. Dead would be better.
The harried-looking young man in scrubs came into the cafeteria and scanned the room. Grant’s heart gave a hard thump of anxiety as he rose to his feet.
The man saw him and headed his direction. Grant met him halfway.
“Isabelle’s stable now,” said the man. “You can see her in a few minutes once they get her settled in a room.”
“Is she awake?”
“Not yet. It may take a while.”
“But she’ll be fine, right?”
“We can’t know for sure if there will be any lasting effects from the poison until after she’s conscious.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” demanded Grant.
Mathews put a restraining hand on his arm. “One step at a time, Grant. She’s going to live. Count your blessings.”
Grant jerked away from the detective and gave the intern a hard stare. “Tell me what that means.”
“It means that we don’t know. I’m sorry. Toxins are difficult to treat when we don’t know what they are. We treated her symptoms, and she seems to be recovering.”
“Seems to be?”
“We’ll just have to wait and see.”
The man’s vague answers were threatening Grant’s tenuous control. He wanted to lash out and pound the answers out of this guy, even though he knew it wouldn’t help.
Mathews stepped between them before Grant could do anything he’d regret. “Take us to her. He needs to see for himself she’s okay.”
The man in scrubs looked nervously from Mathews to Grant, apparently catching on to how close he was to seeing violence up close and personal. “Uh. Right this way.”
Isabelle felt like she’d spent the night tumbling inside a dryer. Her skin was hot and parched, her stomach was spinning almost as much as her head, and every muscle in her body ached. Even her eyelids.
It took her a minute to convince them to work, but finally, she cracked an eye open. Grant was the first thing she saw, though he was a bit fuzzy around the edges. He was sitting beside her, watching her with bloodshot eyes. When he saw her move, he jumped out of his chair and hovered over her.
“Hey, beautiful. How are you feeling?”