The Angel of Indian Lake - Jade Daniels #03

Paul edges up to the open grave. “Who’s he?” Paul says about this “Greyson Brust,” and then reaches for the lens, points the camera to the light snow to her left, his right. She’s the one holding Paul’s phone now, directing them to the pin Waynebo dropped, that he insists is so top secret that this message is probably going to self-destruct—sorry, Paul’s phone. Daniels is seen standing behind a dumpster as night falls, her hand cupped around a cigarette so as to hide it in the darkness. It’s Jo Ellen, just standing there, all her weight on one leg, a crossbow bolt buried in her left shoulder up to the plastic fletching, her blue mechanic’s coveralls black with blood, her face lit up like there’s a spotlight on it.