Free Hell's Belle by Karen Greco

I could just get this out of my system, maybe I would be clear to focus on my work once again. It was, after all, a matter of life and death.
    I turned off the water and grabbed a towel. I padded out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around me.
    "Let me just throw something on!" I called out. Then I swept towards the changing area.
    Behind the screens, I stripped off the damp towel. I pulled out an old white tank top and a pair of torn sweat pants from the dresser and yanked them on quickly.
    I went back to the kitchen, pulled out another beer, and cracked it open on the counter.
    I sunk down onto the couch across from Max and took a long swig of my beer.
    "So," I said. "You're a Federal Agent? You don't look like a Fed."
    "What's a Fed supposed to look like?" He was mocking me but he was good-natured about it.
    "Not a surfer," I smiled.
    I liked the way his eyes lit up when he smiled.
    "I'm not from around here."
    "No kidding," I chuckled. "California or Hawaii?"
    "California." His smiled broadened.
    "Okay, so why Providence? It's freezing, and the surf sucks in the Atlantic."
    Max laughed. "I'm here helping the police department with some gang trouble. Apparently, I am considered a gang expert. I wrote a book on it once."
    I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had just impressed me.
    "What about you?" He leaned towards me, his arms on his knees. I was grateful for the coffee table between us. "You from around here?"
    I shrugged, took an exaggerated gulp from my beer and looked down at my bare feet. I wasn't ready to answer that question yet.
    Max got up and negotiated his way around the coffee table. He sat down beside me.
    "You went through something pretty terrifying last night, and I don't blame you if you don't want to talk about it, but the dagger at my crime scene today looked an awful lot like the one that did this." He brushed his fingers softly along the raised pink scar that was oddly not healing. 
    "I'm fine," I croaked out. If the slight quiver in my voice didn’t give away how I was feeling about Max, my sudden shiver did. I closed my eyes briefly and imagined kissing him. Bad idea. A fire in my belly roared. My eyes snapped back open.
    "So, can you tell me anything?" he shifted a bit closer.
    I took another gulp of the icy brew, hoping that it would cool me down a bit. "Show me those pictures again," I said, steadying my thoughts. I needed to take another look. If that was indeed the dagger, it was too much of a coincidence.
    Max pulled out his phone and handed it to me. I tried to look disgusted by all the gore, but the composition of the pictures was intriguing. The bodies laid into the shape of a star, similar to the bodies I saw last night. Just less of them.
    "What do you think the dagger was used for?" I asked, my eyes still taking in the crime scene. "Stabbing?"
    "We think it was used to carve their hearts out," he said methodically.
    "Was that cause of death?" I asked. My tone was almost as clinical as his.
    "Waiting on the autopsy," he responded, eying me warily.
    "Did they bleed out?" I squinted, looking intently on the images.
    "We think so." Max pursed his lips. "Why?"
    "That's not a lot of blood for four victims." I immediately kicked myself. Oh yeah, I just own a little dive bar. 
    "I would assume, you know, puddles..." I tried to recover from my gaff.
    "You're right." He looked slightly impressed. "And you know this, how?"
    "I watch way too much TV." I laughed a little nervously when I realized that there was no television in my apartment. "At the bar. Alfonso loves those CSI shows."
    I took another swig. My hands were shaking.
    "Sorry." Max noticed my discomfort and took the phone out of my hands, then he reached over and held them. "Are you alright?"
    I closed my eyes and, for the first time since all this crap began to happen, felt completely exhausted.
    The mysterious Marcello, the ancient dagger, the spike in “unexplained” phenomena that drew me back home. The