by Trisha Wolfe
I’m not nearly as strong as I once was. Not nearly as confident in my purpose. Past cases have stripped me of the passion I once harbored for my job. But I’ve been forged out of pain and suffering, and that is the one thing I can recognize in another. Colton has suffered. His pain speaks to mine. And it says more than we might ever admit aloud to each other.
He stops at the front desk to collect his things, and I know he can feel me, even though he won’t look my way. “I’m tired, Sadie,” he says.
“I know.” I slip my hand into his, and he grasps ahold of it tightly. “I’m taking you home.” I note the rough feel of a bandage and look down. His hand is wrapped in gauze.
“Did Carson—?”
“No,” he answers quickly. “I had it out with a mirror at the club.”
I bring his hand up and place a kiss to his bandaged knuckles, then his palm.
He looks at me then. “God, I was so worried. You’re all I’ve thought about. I wouldn’t have let them keep me if I believed for a second…” he trails off, releasing a heavy breath. “I only stayed because that fucker detective swore you were safe. He said you were with a relative, that you knew I was brought in, so I thought this is where you wanted me.”
Damn that phone surveillance. Damn Carson. “I had no idea, Colton. If I had known, I would’ve come sooner.”
He gives me a lopsided smile, which pulls hard at my heart. “You called my brother.”
“I had to. You’ve been in the interrogation box for hours…I didn’t know what you might’ve said. You need a lawyer. Why didn’t you call him?” Or me, I want to ask. But I think I understand why he didn’t. The shame still lingering in his eyes voices his reasoning.
His features pull together. “I didn’t because…you don’t know my brother.”
I let that vague statement hang between us, not yet ready to tackle that very gray area of his brother’s involvement in all this. “Get your stuff. Let’s go.”
He tugs me close and whispers, “Do your job, goddess. I’ll be there when you’re done.” Placing a soft kiss to my forehead, he brings me in closer. “I’m still waiting for you.” Then he releases my hand and walks toward the exit.
His message is clear. It resonates down deep in my soul. Do your job. Find the person who’s spinning a web around the both of us. I don’t have all the facts, but I’ve just given Quinn enough to tip the first domino.
On my way to my office, I pass Carson’s and stop. Something Colton said just a moment ago hits me. I didn’t have my department phone with me last night. And I know for sure that—even though I was tired and scared—I didn’t once give away my location.
A pang hits my stomach, and I wrap an arm around my mid-section as bile rises to the back of my throat. I turn to stare into his office, but his blinds are still closed from when I shut them.
I’m still processing the past two weeks, trying to put Carson at the scenes, going over the messages, the evidence, when I barge into his office and slam the door behind me.
“Jesus—” He looks up from his computer. “Do you ever think about knocking?”
“Run, Sadie, run?” I spit at him.
I give him credit, he plays it cool. His face screws up into a genuinely confused expression. He stands, palms braced on his desk. “What?”
“Don’t. Just don’t, Carson.” I move into the middle of the office, my eyes taking note of the sharp décor. The neat way he organizes his desk. The OCD-like quality of his pens all lined up alongside the files. Then my gaze settles back on him. “When did you sneak my burner phone to get my number? In the car? At the club? Or at the crime scene yesterday?”
Straightening to his full height, he slips his hands into his pockets and walks around the desk. I back up a step, and he stops, looking affronted. “Sadie, honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Does this have to do with the texts?” When I just continue to watch him, he says, “You’re really upset. Maybe you should sit—”
“I’m fine. Just tell me how you knew where I was last night. You told Colton that I was with a relative. No one knew that, Carson. I never once mentioned it—”
“Hell, Sadie. You’ll pull anything to get me thrown off this case, won’t you?” He shoots forward and has me backed against the wall in a second. “I was offering your damn boyfriend some peace of mind. Figured if he wasn’t worrying about you, I might get him to talk. I thought—” he pushes even closer, towering over me “—that I was doing you a favor. If I’d known it’d get my ass reamed today, I’d have just let the guy sweat all night.”
Sucking in a breath, I keep my head tilted back, my eyes on him. “You still didn’t answer my question.”
Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, he grins. “You really making me as a suspect?” He laughs, and I grit my teeth.
“How did you know where I was?”
His smile falters. “Fucking hell, you’re going to get my ass in trouble, you know that?” He expels a long breath. “There’s a tracking device on your car. Okay? The task force knew where you were last night. And it wasn’t too hard to figure out who you were visiting there yesterday, seeing that Emily Bonds is registered at Resting Pines under her real name.”
Shit. I bury my face in my palms, take deep breaths.
“Hey,” Carson says, wrapping his hand around one of my wrists. “It’s okay. You’re under a lot of stress. I mean, this case is getting to everyone. But the damn killer is singling you out personally. No offense taken, all right?”
I release a clipped laugh. “I’m losing my mind.” I look at Carson then. Really look at him. Smug, boyish charm and all. “You’re too arrogant to be a real suspect, Carson. Too simple, too. Accusing you was probably an insult to the killer.”
His hold around my wrist tightens as he forcibly lowers my hand between us. “Not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not, Sadie.”
“Well,” I say, yanking my arm free of him. “You were almost human there for a second, but I guess you can take it however you want.”
“Maybe I will.” His gaze dips lower, traveling over my chest.
“God. Grow up, Carson.” I press my palms against his chest to push him back, but he stays firmly in place. Then his hand is at my waist, slipping inside my jacket.
“What’s wrong? I thought you were into the rough stuff. Or do only potential suspects do it for you?” His hand roams lower, his fingers dipping beneath the seam of my jeans to feel my skin. His other hand captures my wrist and brings it up, where he glances at the link of rope. “Maybe I should tell you all the dirty cop things I’ve done—then tie you down. That would be pretty arrogant of me, huh? To assume that I know what you like. But you are kind of obvious, Sades. I think I got you pegged. We could go back to the club, disappear around a corner, and I’ll finger fuck you until you squirm—”
My knee meets his groin, cutting him off. He doubles over and I push him off me. “Not if you were the last arrogant bastard on the planet, rookie.”
Holding himself, Carson coughs and leans a shoulder against the wall. As I reach for the door, he says, “So, is this how you get me thrown off the case?”
Keeping my back to him, I say, “I’m off the case, Carson. You’re Quinn’s number one now.” Then I leave without any more explanation. He’ll soon discover Colton is gone, and I’m responsible for that. I’m not sure if Carson was trying to work Colton over in order to get a confession, or if he was trying to bate Julian. Either wouldn’t surprise me. He’s got a major hard-on for “the one that got away.”
I pass Quinn on my way to my office. Our eyes meet, and something unsaid travels between us. It’s heavy and loaded with misconceptions. But I still have faith in him that he’ll work the profile and not let Carson’s theories muddy the water, even if this case is burying him. Maybe his faith in me will return once he starts digging around Lyle Connelly.
Until then, I’ll have to work that angle alone.
I clear my desk and grab my files. I load all
my work on top of my laptop and unhook it from the charger and I pack that, too. Then I leave a note on my desk, telling Quinn I’m taking a couple of personal days. The other cases can wait. I text Wexler, reiterating the same, then I place my department phone next to the note.
A few curious glances and raised eyebrows are shot my way as I exit the bullpen. Then I’m greeted by a cool breeze in the parking lot. I inhale the scent of fall, and decide that my new office could work great in the outdoors.
I pile all my files and laptop into my backseat, then I head around to the back of my car where I run my hand along the undercarriage until I locate the GPS tracker. I pry it loose and hold it up. Damn Quinn.
Damn cops in general.
I toss the device to the ground and stomp on it, cursing Quinn for giving that weasel Carson access to my whereabouts. He may have had the best of intentions, trying to protect me during this insanity—but Quinn should know better.
One of the last lines of the profile stresses that the UNSUB could be a member of law enforcement. Quinn’s flaring need for control and to make sure that I’m safe shouldn’t override his common fucking sense.
Now seated behind the wheel, I reach into the backseat and grab the top file. Let’s see how I fare off the grid completely.
I open Marni Holloway's folder and begin a new profile. If I’m going to confront Colton and demand that he let me help him…then I need all the painful, hard facts. Everything that he’s been running away from for the past two years.
A loud knock bangs against my window, and I startle.
My head lifts from the grid worksheet to see a lab tech. Shit. Hand to chest, I gulp in a breath before turning the ignition to lower the window. “Hell, you scared me, Simon.”
“Sorry, Agent Bonds. I just heard you were leaving…” he trails off, politely trying not to imply just how quickly word travels in the department. “And I wanted to get you this message from Avery before you left.”
He hands me a sealed envelope. “Thank you, but is she not in today?”
He grimaces. “She called in sick this morning.”
“What?” She said she was feeling ill, but Avery never takes a day off. She’s nearly worse than me. A wave of guilt roils my stomach for putting pressure on her to get me a workup on the rope quickly.
“I know, right? Hell has frozen over.” He gives me a lopsided smile before he waves and heads off.
I tuck the note into my binder before returning to my worksheet and the information I was able to pull up on the Roanoke killer’s last victim. I reach for my phone to call her, and curse. No phone. If Avery somehow got me the results before she took off, she’s the goddess. And I owe her those drinks.
Free
Colton
As I wake, the first thing that I think about is Sadie. Stunning jade eyes. Soft, delicate curves. Disarmingly fragile. Chasing her demons away, fighting for normalcy in a fucked-up, anything-but-normal world. So beautiful it makes me ache.
The second thing that comes to mind as I roll off the couch is the very real way in which she gifted me her trust. Without question. Oh, the questions are coming; she’s a behaviorist who needs to measure and analyze until all the pieces match up. And she’ll figure it out. Without me even filling in the blanks, she’s so smart—she’ll do what that jackass detective couldn’t. But right in that moment, when she could’ve turned away, she didn’t. Even as Carson produced evidence of my crime, her trust held steadfast.
Fuck, Carson’s probably still pacing that interrogation room, clinging to that one shred of evidence, trying to connect it to a pattern. There’s no pattern; just a twisted moment in time that I wish I could bury. Only some things were never meant to be buried.
And as I sit here, craving the very thing that will be my undoing, Sadie is out there unearthing that truth. There’s a length of rope tethered between us, anchoring me to her. Julian’s right; she’ll crucify me. And I can’t help but feel I might have a little masochist inside me, anticipating her punishment.
I run a hand over my face, feeling the scruff along my jaw. I check the time on my phone and then head to the bathroom for a shower. I’m an hour late getting to work, but I think Julian will give me a pass. Even after I planted my fist in his face, he owes me for last night.
Jefferson is hanging out in the living room as I enter with a towel draped around my shoulders. I scrub the end over my damp hair and nod to him.
“Long night, bro?” he asks, looking over my still, very worn appearance.
“Long two days,” I say. I fall down on the couch and notice him holding a piece of paper. “What’s that?”
“It’s for you. It was shoved under the door when I got in. I only read enough to know it was yours, but uh, yeah. Doesn’t seem like the friendly type.” He leans over to hand it to me, and I note the tremble of his fingers. “Look, man. I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s some seriously fucked up shit going down right now. I was thinking of heading out of town for a while.”
As I read over the note, my blood roaring in my ears, I manage to say, “I think that’s a good idea.”
“You could come with,” he says, getting to his feet. “Get out of the city for a while. Let things chill out with your brother.”
No. That’s not happening. “I’m good.” I look at him as he shrugs and heads toward his room. “But thanks.”
“Just thought I’d throw it out there,” he hollers.
I’ve barely reached the end of the letter before I’m off the couch and in my room throwing on clothes. Within a minute, I’m out the door, still wet from the shower. The brisk night air is a smack to my damp skin, but it’s just the wakeup I need.
I stare down one end of the street, then the other. Shit. Fuck! I dial Sadie’s number, listen as it rings and rings. Pick up. Pick up. It goes to voicemail and I dial again. As I take off on foot toward her apartment, my phone vibrates. I stop to open the message from an unknown sender.
It’s just a pic. No text. An image of the voyeur room. Then I zoom in on Sadie, sitting at her table by herself. She’s watching the stage. And someone is watching her.
My heart bangs violently against my chest as I run in the direction of the club.
The damn letter replays on a loop. I can’t make it stop.
Colton,
She’s so special, isn’t she? It’s a shame we can’t share, but I was never one to share my toys. Now pets…that’s a whole different thing. I’ve been breaking my pets for ages, and wouldn’t have minded sharing the credit for that little beauty you gifted me, but I’m a man of particular tastes. Though it is the highest form of flattery, I find imitation insulting, especially when the work itself is lacking. You deserve all the praise for that job.
But I do appreciate the sentiment. So much, in fact, that I thought it only right to deliver you a gift in return. I know the ACPD is enjoying it; they seem apt to give you all the praise you deserve. Who would’ve thought that a length of rope could cause so much trouble for you?
Maybe next time you’ll remember just how important the details are. It’s not nice to rip off an artist, Colton. We tend to take it very personally.
I did want to express my thanks, however, for bringing this astonishing creature to my notice. Without you, she may have gone unseen. She likes to creep in the shadows, doing her dirty little deeds. Right under everyone’s noses, she’s so tricky.
I can’t wait to show her my tricks.
Regards,
(As she so named me) The UNSUB
My feet pound the asphalt. I’m not even breathing, can’t take a breath until I’m with her. The same sick fuck that wrote that letter is there. Right there near her. And I’m still so far away.
I round the corner of the building and slam into someone. I get shouts and a push, but I don’t stop. My heart rate jacks as the bass hits my ears. I’m in the door and then shoving my way through the crowd, not slowing until I reach the stairs.
The voyeur room is at the end of the
hallway, and I force myself to breathe, take slower steps, cautious of everyone I pass. Once I enter the room, I glance around, taking in every body at every table. Every sub lining the black wall. Every person on stage. Then I start toward Sadie’s table.
A woman wearing a red wig is sipping a glass of pink champagne, but it’s not her. “How long have you been sitting here?” The question leaps out of my mouth with my labored breaths.
Pulling back, she looks up at me with a furrowed brow. Then her lips twist into an easy smile. “All night if you want me to. But I’d rather we—”
“How long?” I demand.
Her smile dips into a pout. “I don’t know. About half an hour?”
Panic gripping me, I look around the room. Then down at my phone and pull up the image again. It’s Sadie. No wig. No disguise. It’s her.
I take off toward the bar to ask Onyx…and stop short. My heart crashes right through my fucking chest.
Sadie’s standing at the corner of the bar, her hair swept up off her shoulders, her scar just visible through the sheerest part of her black dress. If you didn’t know it was there, you might not notice, because every other part of her painfully beautiful body is calling for your attention.
And I try to take it all in. My eyes want to devour her as badly as my mouth does. What’s more, she’s such a shock to my system—pure relief coupled with my desire for her—that I damn near come unhinged.
I decide that’s exactly what needs to happen, and I move in. Her eyes widen as she braces to absorb the impact. I crush her against me as my hands first go to her waist, her back, then bracket her face. I don’t know where to start first.
“I guess I made you wait too long,” she says, trying to diffuse some of the intensity.
“I’m going to kiss you,” I say. “In the middle of the voyeur, with everyone watching.” If that bastard is still here, I hope he sees. He won’t ever touch her as long as there’s a breath in my body.