by Peyton Bogue
Kai walks around the tape, leaning down so he can see more clearly, and says, “There’s a lot of cartridge casings here. But where are all the bullets?”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Sage says, taking another sip of his coffee. “They’re probably embedded in the ground, right?”
“It looks like there’s human flesh jammed into the dirt,” Kai says, grimacing. “I mean, I think I see bone fragments here, man. And definitely human tissue.”
“The margins aren’t inflamed on the tissue,” a voice says behind them. Sage looks up to see Hazel walking towards them, looking perfectly prim and proper despite the early hour. “The capillaries are withdrawn. Which means that this victim’s heart stopped beating before all this damage was done.”
“Hazel, lovely to see you, as always,” Kai says sarcastically, but he grins at her. “Okay, science nerd. Why would you shoot a dead man over a hundred times?”
“Not my area, Kai,” Hazel chuckles at him, but takes out a tiny evidence bag and throws it towards Sage, who catches it one-handed. “But maybe this has something to do with it?”
Sage holds up the evidence bag, squinting in the light to peek inside of it, and sees a bloody ring with plastic embedded into it. “Does this look like a grommet or something to you?” he asks Kai, tossing it over to him.
Kai holds it up and eyes the little ring, nodding. “Maybe from a shower curtain?” he supplies.
“Techies noted that a shower curtain had been ripped off from the rod in the downstairs bathroom,” Sage says, looking at Kai as he takes another drink of his coffee. “It could have been used to wrap up the body. Easy disposal.”
“One of the techies said to give you this, too,” Hazel says, pulling out a black pill bottle from her coat pocket and tossing it to Sage again.
Sage looks at it, shaking the bottle, but the language on the label isn’t in English. “Any idea what this says?”
He throws it to Kai, who catches it and opens the bottle, looking at the dark gray capsules inside.
“Techie said it’s most likely in Persian,” Hazel answers.
“Persian? So, the guy’s ex-military, a loner, and got a room full of guns. And, now, he’s got medication from the Middle East. Who the hell was this guy?” Kai asks, glancing at Sage.
“No idea,” Sage replies, tilting his head back so he can finish off the rest of his coffee. He sighs as he swallows, then tilts his head back down.
Hazel is looking at him when he removes the cup from his mouth, her eyes tracking over his throat. Sage looks back at her, raising his eyebrows in question. When she notices that he’s looking at her, her face turns a bright red, and she clears her throat quickly, glancing away towards Kai.
“His medical records show that he’s got a lifelong condition of OCD,” Hazel says after she clears her throat again, her eyes nervously darting to Sage. "Without a body, though, I can’t give you much more than that.”
“That’s okay,” Sage says, glancing at Kai. “Maybe this guy was a scientist. Or, at the very least, a researcher. Techies found a bunch of books down in the gun room, all ranging from Journal of Ballistics, Hatcher’s Notebook, and Firearm’s Assembly Part Three. I mean, he even had a mechanics text.”
“So, he was a nerdy gun nut?” Kai asks, confused.
“I don’t know, Kai, but I’m really thinking that he might be a scientist. We both saw how meticulous his workspace was. Everything was exactly in its place. I mean, yeah, he had OCD, right? But only someone researching a certain topic would have that many books on it.”
“And all of his guns were organized by theater of conflict,” Kai says, agreeing. “He had weapons from the World Wars ranging from one wall all the way to the surge in Afghanistan.”
“Exactly,” Sage says. “Maybe the scientist was killed by one of his own guns.”
“We won’t know that until the ballistics report comes back,” Kai says. “But I like where we’re going with this, man.”
Kai fist bumps him, and both Sage and Hazel laugh.
Mikalina sends them back to the precinct after Sage and Kai return from behind the cabin with a request for them to start digging through Dr. Aldridge’s finances. After Sage has called Rhys again and told him that he’s back at the precinct, Kai walks up to him at his desk, his eyes pinched in irritation.
“What’s up, Kai?” Sage asks him, pocketing his phone and resting his forearms against his desk.
Kai sighs, opening the file in his hands. “Ballistics came back on all of the guns. None of the calibers match the ones that killed our victim, but the bullets in the kitchen and the bullets outside of the cabin match.”
“There weren't any hits on any of those guns?” Sage asks.
Kai shakes his head. “Half of them have never even been fired, man. He was probably just a collector.”
“Damn,” Sage groans, feeling annoyance bubble in his chest.
“And it gets worse,” Kai continues, flipping through the pages of the file. “The caliber of those bullets is rare. You can’t even buy rounds like these in the United States. And they’ve never even been used in a crime in the States before.”
“Well, someone brought them into New York. Five of them were put into our victim, and even more went into him outside the cabin,” Sage says, running his fingers over his eyes. Exhaustion rears steadfast in his veins, and all he wants to do right now is crawl into bed with Rhys and sleep for a few days.
“Techies came back with more news, though,” Kai says, closing the file and sitting it down onto Sage’s desk. “They used laser trajectories to map the path the bullets took. Looks like our killer was sitting at the counter when the victim was shot.”
“We assumed that the killer surprised him,” Sage says, a little confused, “but he welcomed the killer into his home?"
Kai nods. “Techies also found evidence that the two shared a beer together.”
“So, Aldridge knew him,” Sage surmises.
“Looks that way,” Kai says, moving so he can sit down into his own desk chair with a huff.
“Well, our victim’s paper trail is pretty straightforward. He’s got a PhD in artillery mechanics, so he is a scientist. Currently unemployed. He bought his cabin in 2010 and has lived there peacefully ever since,” Sage tells him, opening the victim file and pulling up the expense records on his computer. “Never married, never arrested,” Sage continues. “And he was never out of the country except for Gulf War I.”
“I think you’re wrong on that, actually,” Kai says, motioning for Sage to give him the file he dropped onto Sage's desk.
Sage hands it to him, quirking an eyebrow. “How am I wrong?”
“Hazel called and told me she ran the Persian medication. Only Aldridge’s prints were on the bottle and the label, and the pills inside were hexadecylphosphocholine, which is the drug of choice for the treatment of the leishmaniasis parasite.”
“How did you even just pronounce those names?” Sage asks him, laughing as he swipes the file out of Kai’s hand. “Hazel’s going to be so proud when she hears this. And she called you? I thought she only ever called me?” he adds teasingly.
“Oh, don’t worry, Sage,” Kai says, smirking. “You’re still her favorite. She only called me after she couldn’t get a hold of you.”
Sage blinks for a second, confused, but then he nods in understanding. “I was on the phone with Rhys,” he tells Kai, who just waggles his eyebrows. Sage moves to lightly punch him in the arm, but Kai dodges him before his hand can make contact with his bicep. “So, what’s so special about this parasite?”
Kai leans back in his chair. “That particular bug, and the medication to get rid of it, resides exclusively in the Middle East, according to your lady friend.”
Sage rolls his eyes, skimming over the file. “How do you even get a Middle Eastern parasite into Prospect Park?”
“You don’t,” Kai replies. “These two evidence trails have contradicted themselves. He's clearly been out of the country
. Which brings us back to you being wrong.”
“Why am I the one who’s wrong?” Sage scoffs at him.
“Because I’m always right,” Kai replies, grinning smugly.
“Yeah, okay,” Sage mutters. “Well, techies found hair in the shower drain, which your best pal, Hazel, is running now. Let’s let it decide who’s right.”
Kai throws a pen at his head, but Sage ducks and misses it, laughing.
◆◆◆
When Sage is finally able to get home that night at around eleven, he's practically dead on his feet, collapsing straight into the couch with a groan. He’s been awake and on his feet for the better part of forty hours, and his entire body feels heavy with exhaustion.
All he wants to do is crawl into bed, wrap around Rhys, and sleep for the next week.
Sage can hear Rhys moving around in their apartment, and the door to the room they’ve designated their home gym opens with a soft creak second later. Light footsteps sound on the carpet and then clack onto the wooden flooring, and then Rhys’s shirtless and sweaty torso comes into his line of view.
Sage brings his head up from where he’d been laying it flat on the couch and gives Rhys a sleepy smile, saying tiredly yet fondly, “Hey, Ree.”
Rhys bends down over the back of the couch and places a soft kiss on Sage's forehead, breathing heavily. “Hi, baby.”
Sage feels himself grow concerned at the sound of exertion in Rhys’s voice. He can tell from the way Rhys is panting a little and the slight sheen of sweat glimmering over his chest that Rhys had been in the middle of a grueling workout for at least a couple of hours to get him to look this sweaty and flushed.
Sage had called Rhys just half an hour ago to tell him that he was finally on his way home, and Rhys had sounded completely fine and happy to hear that Sage was finally going to be able to relax for the night. Sage hadn’t heard any signs of exertion in Rhys's voice on the phone, but he doesn’t know how he could have missed it when Rhys sounds this out of breath as he continues to pant in an effort to catch his breath.
Rhys can run for miles without breaking a sweat, and it’s no different when he isolates himself in their home gym to kill hours at a time just continually sparring with a punching bag, doing hundreds of sets of sit-ups and leg workouts, or doing even more chin-ups and pull-ups on the industrial strength pull-up bar he’d installed in their home gym back when they’d first moved into their brownstone.
Which means that Rhys is incredibly built, much to Sage’s continuous appreciation yet immense horror.
He doesn’t like it when Rhys overworks himself like this.
“God, Sage, you look exhausted. How bad was it?” Rhys asks him sympathetically as he continues to take deep breaths.
“I’m alright. Just really tired. Did you get in a good workout back there?” Sage asks, trying to steer the conversation back on Rhys as he reaches up and runs his fingers over the inside of Rhys’s right wrist. Rhys’s pulse is racing beneath his fingertips, and Sage feels himself frown before he even realizes he’s doing it.
“Yeah,” Rhys replies, nodding. “I'm not done yet, but I heard you come in downstairs and I wanted to see you.”
Sage kisses the inside of Rhys’s wrist. He mumbles questioningly against Rhys’s skin, “How long were you back there?”
Rhys tenses immediately at the question, exhaling a breath deeply from his nostrils. He knows where this is going, but he only hesitates a couple of seconds—debating whether to lie or not, Sage thinks—before he finally answers, “Six hours.”
“Six hours?” Sage repeats, sitting up more to meet Rhys’s gaze. “Rhys, that’s not safe. That’s how you overexert yourself, sweetheart.”
“I’m a werewolf, Sage. I don’t get overexerted,” Rhys scoffs softly at him, shaking his head.
“Rhys, we’ve talked about this,” Sage reminds him, sitting up completely on the couch. “You promised that you wouldn’t overwork yourself. You could have gotten dehydrated and passed out and ended up hurting yourself, Ree. And I wouldn’t have been here to help you!”
“I wouldn’t need your help, Sage. I don’t get dehydrated, you know that,” Rhys says, and Sage watches as he rolls his eyes exasperatedly.
“You promised me that you wouldn’t go as hard anymore because you know I worry about you, werewolf or not. You’re still a person, and I don’t care that you’re a supernatural being. You still have breaking points, Rhys, and when you continue to push yourself like this—” Sage starts, moving to his feet to gently explain to Rhys why he’s being a little reckless, but Rhys cuts him off sharply with an abrupt snarl.
“I don’t need you to scold me,” Rhys growls, “or to treat me like I’ve gone and broken this big promise to you because I haven't, Sage. I’m not your project, and I’m sure as hell not one of your suspects that you can interrogate. I can handle myself. I know when it’s too much.”
Sage’s jaw hardens. “I’m just trying to explain to you why I’m worried about you, Rhys. Because I love you and I care about you, not because I’m trying to scold you.”
“You’re being ridiculous, Sage,” Rhys replies, his fists tightening at his sides.
“I’m being ridiculous? Great,” Sage scoffs, crossing his arms. “I’m not the one who’s going to get myself injured.”
Rhys rounds back on Sage, angry. “What the hell is your deal? I told you I can take care of myself.”
“What’s my deal?” Sage repeats, baffled. “Rhys, you're literally trying to start a fight with me for no reason! You’ve been testy for a month now and acting strange. And now you’re getting angry with me because I’m trying to have a conversation with you about something I’m worried about and you’re shrugging me off!”
Rhys snarls lowly. “You think I wanted to start a fight? I haven’t seen you for nearly two days, Sage. I’ve barely seen you this entire week. You think I really want to start a fight with you right now? I have told you multiple times that I’m fine, that everything is okay with me and that you have nothing to worry about. How is this my fault? You’re the one who won’t leave well enough alone.”
“Because I’m fucking worried about you!” Sage shouts angrily. “You’re not listening to me, Rhys. You’re not acting like yourself. You haven't been acting like yourself for the past month. I know you like to work out, but you can’t overwork yourself like this. I’m not telling you to stop working out, Ree. I just think you need to take it a little easier. At least when I’m not here. You may be an Alpha werewolf, Rhys, but even you have a breaking point."
Rhys’s breathing picks up harshly, and his eyebrows scrunch together in anger. Sage can see that he’s beginning to lose it, and then he says intimidatingly, “I’m fine. I know my limits. Stop trying to order me into doing what you think is right, because you’re wrong.”
Sage stares at him in shock. After what they’ve both said tonight, how the hell would Rhys think that Sage is trying to order him? Rhys has always told him that stuff like this doesn’t affect him, that just because he’s the Alpha doesn’t mean that he’s somehow above Sage, that they’re not anything but equals, but clearly this weirdness that’s been brewing inside of Rhys for this entire month is having a bigger effect on him than Sage had realized.
Sage doesn’t even know how to respond to that. He hesitates before saying, “I’m not trying to order you to do anything. I just want you to understand that what you’re doing is dangerous. I know you’ve been having issues with your control over your shift, Rhys. I’ve seen you struggling. Is that what this is?”
Rhys’s gaze snaps harshly to Sage’s, and Sage’s heart skips a beat when he sees that Rhys’s eyes are Alpha red.
In all of their arguments, no matter who starts them, Rhys has never once shifted during them. He normally has impeccable control over himself, and he’s told Sage multiple times that he tries not to get worked up during their arguments because shifting when he’s angry is a really bad thing, almost as bad as shifting when he’s upset.
Sage’s heart races in his chest, and he takes a step back when Rhys takes one forward.
“I don’t need you to worry about me, Sage. I’m fine. I’m in control. I’m the Alpha, and I don’t take orders from anyone. Not even you.”
Sage’s heart drops at Rhys’s menacing voice and the glare on his face. He’s so dumbfounded that it takes him a moment to formulate how he should respond in a way that doesn’t make him sound or feel hurt and angry by Rhys’s words, but his throat feels tight, and no words come to him.
He can see that Rhys is beginning to shift more into his anger as his claws sprout slowly from his fingernails, but Rhys looks just as startled as Sage feels when he realizes he’s wolfing out, like he hadn't even felt his eyes changing.
Sage has never been scared of Rhys, and he’s not scared of him now. This entire situation, though, is enough to make his insides uneasy and his heart sink with dread.
“I’m too tired to argue with you, Rhys,” Sage says, backing up slowly to the side table by their front door, where his keys are, and moves tediously so that he doesn’t startle Rhys.
Sage knows that Rhys would never hurt him, but he’s always overtly cautious when Rhys shifts. If trying to calm him down and reassuring him that he’s safe isn’t going to work, the best thing to get Rhys to relax and to shift back is to leave him alone so he can calm down on his own.
“Wait,” Rhys says suddenly, digging his claws into his palms when he smells the bitterness of burnt cardamom and smoke in the air, like the scent of Sage’s anger and dismay has pulled him right out of his shift. “Where are you going?”
Rhys is trying to ground himself, Sage realizes, by bringing a shock to his system, like digging his claws into his skin, so that it forces him back in the moment before he completely wolfs out.