by Mari Carr
Walt took a breath. “Is that a threat?”
“Yes,” Eric said cheerily.
Juliette shrugged lightly. “No…not unless it needs to be.”
“Let me take him, and I promise not to let him die,” Eric said.
Juliette folded her arms. “No deal.”
“You also don’t get to say where I go,” Walt told Eric. But the truth was he kind of wanted to go with the Viking. Which was surprising after the night he’d spent patching up the man’s tortured victims in Bani Walid. Eric was a walking, talking time bomb, and an intelligent person would put at least a couple countries between himself and that.
Even so, Walt was tempted to say yes to Eric’s offer. Or maybe it was more accurate to say he was intrigued and compelled. He didn’t know who Josephine was, but if the woman had garnered such true loyalty and affection from a man like Eric, it was safe to say she must have been an extraordinary person.
“Shhh, Walt. Mommy and Daddy are talking.” Eric patted him again.
Of the triplets, Walt was the emotional middle. Oscar was quick to anger, but it burned out fast. Langston rarely got angry, but when he did, it was explosive.
When Walt got mad, it wasn’t quite as bad as when Langston did, but it was plenty destructive.
Eric had just pulled the trigger on his temper.
Walt pulled back his arm, ready to sucker punch Eric.
Langston grabbed that arm while Oscar hooked an arm around Walt’s neck.
“I’d prefer we all live,” Langston said in a singsong.
Walt took a breath, slightly strangled because of Oscar’s arm. “Let go.”
His brothers released him. Walt brushed at his suit jacket, then turned to Juliette and Eric. “It’s not up to you two to decide where I go.”
Juliette arched a brow. “Technically true.”
“So I’ll go with Eric to help him,” Walt declared. “Not because you said so, not because you wanted it this way, but because Eric did something incredible for those young girls in Bani Walid when he took out the extremists. And now he’s asking for our help. He saved those girls’ lives. And while I didn’t know Josephine, I think she deserves justice too.”
“Repaying a debt,” Franco said with a nod.
Walt looked at Juliette, and her expression was cold, remote. She had no hold on him, but the reality was that she was a very powerful person. And he’d always figured that he would join the Trinity Masters like his brothers, which meant his fate, his marriage was at stake.
Juliette was silent, neither threatening him nor showing any level of acceptance.
Walt took a breath. “And after this, after I help Eric, I’ll come back and I’ll join—”
“A cult,” Oscar snarked.
“You don’t owe her that,” Eric said. When Juliette arched a brow at him, Eric shrugged. “He doesn’t.”
“I know I don’t,” Walt assured the Viking. “But I was going to do it anyway. This way she won’t torpedo my funding or something.”
“Yes, of course I’d yank funding for a medical clinic.” Juliette’s voice was perfectly calm and cool. “I’d also evict orphans on Christmas.”
“With their little frostbitten teddy bears!” Franco sang out.
Everyone looked at him for a long moment.
Oscar cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m gonna go. Let me know if you need data mining. Because if so, I’m in.”
“Eric, if I asked you to, would you rip Oscar’s head off?” Juliette asked, gaze narrowed.
“Yeah, but are you sure? Then the score would be even.”
“Score?” Juliette asked.
“The Hayden sibling game. You’re winning two to one right now.”
“Ah, yes, but now I have dibs on that one.” She pointed at Walt. “A replacement Hayden.”
“But he’s so cute. I like him.” Eric wrapped a possessive arm around Walt.
Juliette pursed her lips. “You’d make a cute couple. You know, Eric, I can think of several women who’d make a great third for you if you join the Trinity Masters.”
“Tempting.”
“Just think about it.”
“I can’t tell who’s fucking flirting with who right now.” Oscar crossed his arms.
“Should it be ‘whom’?” Franco asked no one in particular.
“Oscar, go. You are never helpful in meetings,” Devon said with a sigh.
Oscar grinned. “And that’s why I do it. Peace, fuckers.”
Walt looked back and forth between Juliette and Eric. He was pretty sure they were joking.
“Where in Europe are you going? We’ll organize your travel,” Devon said once Oscar closed the door behind himself.
“Frankfurt. That’s where my forensic psychologist is.”
Juliette looked at Walt and smiled, but her eyes were pinched with worry. “Please keep yourself safe, Walt. I’ll give you the names of some people you can reach out to in Europe if you need.”
“You have spies in my territory?” Eric’s voice was no longer teasing.
Juliette gestured with one hand. “No, there’s now a joint task force that Sophia and I created. Speaking of Sophia, I’m giving you a twenty-four-hour head start before I tell her I saw you.”
“Where’s the solidarity between secret society leaders?” Eric threw his hands in the air.
“And, I won’t tell her where you’ve gone, but I will tell her you’re doing an investigation.”
“They may have figured out what I’m doing by now, but thank you, Juliette.” Eric cleared his throat, then more formally said, “Thank you, Grand Master.”
Juliette grinned. “Don’t thank me, Fleet Admiral. You owe me another favor. I like having you in debt to me.”
Chapter Three
Dr. Annalise Fischer shook her head as she walked into her office and spotted Jakob sitting at her desk.
“You didn’t have to come,” she said, though she shouldn’t have bothered wasting the breath. She had known the second she’d told him about her afternoon meeting with the American doctor that he’d show up.
“I did.”
Jakob Bauer rose and stepped aside as she walked around her desk to claim the chair he’d just vacated. Jakob was a Ritter, a knight of the Masters’ Admiralty in their home territory of Germany. The Ritter were the society’s law enforcement—keeping the peace as well as enforcing the society’s rules. They were also bodyguards when needed.
Jakob had been her personal shadow on and off for over four years.
When she’d joined the Masters’ Admiralty fresh out of her doctoral program, a forensic psychologist about to embark on an exciting new career with the Kriminalpolizei, she hadn’t realized she would come to rely on the secret society, less for the incredible connections within both the government and academia, and more for protection.
During her tenure with the Kripo, she’d attracted the attention of a highly disturbed individual. She wouldn’t diagnose him without actually meeting him, though Jakob often referred to him as a psychopath.
Annalise had a stalker.
Even after years of work by the Kripo, herself, Jakob, and the Masters’ Admiralty, she didn’t know who he was or where they’d come into contact with one another. In a way, that was the worst aspect of the situation—with no idea how they’d met, she’d had nothing to give Jakob and the knights to aid in their investigation. No leads to help them track down the person who had destroyed her life.
Five years ago, she’d considered herself an independent, fearless woman. After all, she’d been recruited out of university, not only by the Kripo, but by the Masters’ Admiralty because of her intelligence and drive. She’d wanted to revolutionize the way law enforcement dealt with mental health issues via advanced psychological screening techniques and by embedding mental health professionals within police and legal systems.
When the first note arrived—a vaguely threatening letter left on her doorstep—she’d shrugged it off.
By the fourth l
etter, she was angry with only a few hints of fear.
The fifth letter hadn’t come alone.
When a box had arrived in the mail, bearing the logo of the cosmetics brand she preferred, she hadn’t hesitated to bring it inside. When she opened it, hundreds of winged cockroaches flew out. She’d screamed and dropped the box. Only later did they find the folded note at the bottom. A note warning her not to ignore him.
That was the night she’d met Jakob. He’d been the one to coax her out of the bathroom, where she’d fled from the bugs.
That was the night she’d started to take the stalker seriously. He knew far more about her than just her address. He knew her favorite cosmetics brand, had known she’d take a box with their logo inside. And knew something very few others did—she had a near phobia of flying bugs.
The Kripo had created a task force, as had the Ritter. She’d been sure they would figure it out, would find this person who was stalking her and stop him.
They hadn’t.
Her independence and bravery had been slowly chiseled away over the past four years, eroding with the passage of time, as her stalker continued to elude capture. Every lead—from some security camera footage that captured a hooded figure walking down her street after the fourth letter had been left, to tracking the bug package—had gone nowhere.
Her confidence in her abilities had taken a hit as well because she’d been unable to paint a picture of him. Jakob told her time and again—in his quiet, taciturn way—that she shouldn’t lose faith in herself, insisting the problem was that she was too close to the case.
After the bug box, she’d been surrounded by guards, both the police and the Ritter, but they couldn’t keep that up around the clock. There weren’t enough resources to guard her, and a box full of bugs was hardly dangerous. Disturbing, yes, but not dangerous. Months passed, and when no more boxes arrived, only the odd letter, the task force was disbanded.
Except Jakob. Jakob stayed.
He was dark-skinned with close-cropped hair that was as no-nonsense as the man himself. He had thick eyelashes, an unexpectedly soft, almost feminine feature that she was slightly obsessed with.
Jakob had helped her move in secret into the vacant house adjacent to her own, installing a heavy door in the shared wall so she could walk in her front door, then immediately retreat to her hidden sanctuary, safe behind a steel door.
She’d lived that way for nearly a year, hiding within her own home. Once or twice a week, Jakob came and opened her mail. There were always new letters from her stalker—two to four per week. Jakob would check them, open them safely within a special box with built-in heavy gloves, then pass them to her once they were cleared. She read each one.
They’d grown steadily more explicit and hate-filled.
There were a lot of details in those letters that told her the man was still watching her, and he’d identified most of her security measures. The outdoor cameras on her home were routinely destroyed, each time capturing only glimpses of someone wielding a paintball gun. Even the hidden cameras failed to uncover anything because—beneath the hood—he always wore a balaclava, even in the summer. There had also been threats to drivers with the security service she started using for transportation, the restaurant down the street who sometimes delivered food, and her grocery store.
Little by little, he had whittled down her world until she never went anywhere, and only felt safe at work inside the police station or in her secret second home with its steel doors and barred windows. And the secret of where she actually slept was one thing he’d never figured out.
Then, two years ago, and after years of dealing with the stalker, the bottom had fallen out of her world when the man pursuing her had attacked her twin sister.
Annalise had always been the serious one, quiet and studious, while her sister, Adele, had been the easygoing one, happy, fun.
Adele lived and worked in Tokyo, living an interesting, glamorous life there. She rarely came home to Germany, though they spoke at least every other week. Annalise hadn’t wanted to worry Adele. Hadn’t wanted to mar the happiness she saw in her sister’s face. Once it was over, she’d planned to tell Adele, but not until the man was caught.
Adele also loved surprises, which was why Annalise hadn’t known Adele had tacked a few days onto a business trip and decided to come visit. Though they lived continents apart, Adele had a key to Annalise’s house.
Adele arrived late one night and let herself into Annalise’s house, ready to surprise her twin.
She hadn’t locked the door behind her.
And Annalise, safely asleep next door, hadn’t heard her sister’s alarm when the stalker followed her in. Hadn’t heard her scream as she was raped.
Once the stalker realized he had the wrong sister, in a fit of fury, he cut off all of Adele’s hair, telling her that it was so he could distinguish between them in the future. Adele had crawled to a phone and called the authorities when it was over.
Annalise hadn’t known anything was wrong until Jakob, who’d been alerted when an ambulance was dispatched to her address, had called her.
Her sister’s light had been extinguished after the brutal attack.
Since then, the sister Annalise had adored and wished she could be like was gone, replaced by a silent, angry stranger who stared at her with accusatory eyes. Before the rape, they’d been more than sisters, closer than the closest of best friends, but now Adele refused to speak to her, to see her. She had completely shut her out, claiming she couldn’t look at Annalise without remembering the rape, without remembering what had happened to her.
And Adele, rightly, blamed Annalise for not telling her or their parents what was going on. If Adele had known, she wouldn’t have made a surprise visit. If she’d known, she would have been more careful.
If, if, if.
After the attack, the German admiral, Dolph Eburhardt, insisted Annalise once more have full-time protection. The reinvigorated task forces had been sure they would be able to catch him, using evidence from Adele’s attack.
Jakob had been assigned as her bodyguard, a role he’d already been playing. A job he had taken very seriously since then.
Even after the trail ran cold.
Even after every lead had been followed, every possibility explored.
Even after she’d given up her job at the Kripo, no longer able to effectively perform her duties, her confidence and independence both ground to dust. She’d lost her objectivity and the ability to compartmentalize, which was necessary in her line of work.
Annalise was perfectly aware her one-sided longing for Jakob was most likely driven by the fact the two of them had been in close contact for an extended period of time and her interactions with other men had whittled down to practically nil. The only other men she conversed with were colleagues from the university and her male students.
Clinically, she knew the “why” behind her feelings, and it was more than just proximity and a lack of other people who could serve as suitable prospective romantic partners. It was quite natural for people to develop feelings for either their caregivers or rescuers, and he was both. He’d served as her Prince Charming and white knight and was the only person who really knew her anymore.
Jakob, a strong, silent presence, had stayed by her side as her life changed. And now, because she was meeting with someone she didn’t know, he was here.
“I know you have other duties to attend to, Jakob.”
He put his arms behind his back in parade rest. His standard pose and one she was very familiar with. He didn’t say anything, but the body language spoke for him.
I’m not going to let you meet a strange man on your own.
She sighed, wishing she had the courage to insist Jakob leave. In truth, she hadn’t slept well last night, anxious about this afternoon’s meeting. She’d been surprised when an American medical doctor, Walt Hayden, had contacted her. The email said he wanted to talk to her about the profile of a serial killer he was tracking.
Why was a doctor tracking a serial killer?
She’d forwarded the message to Jakob, and the Ritter had run background checks. Dr. Hayden ran a clinic in Africa, so maybe the local police force was overwhelmed and he’d stepped in.
Still, why would he come to her?
There were plenty of Americans he could have gone to. Maybe the suspect was a German national or someone she’d profiled before.
She’d tried to tell him she didn’t do that sort of work anymore, even going so far as to give him the names of other profilers in the Kripo who could assist him, but Dr. Hayden had insisted that it be her.
After retiring from the Kripo shortly after her sister’s attack, she’d accepted a position at Heidelberg University, about an hour south of Frankfurt. Her life had fallen into a comfortable, if boring, routine that consisted of her ping-ponging between her new Fort Knox-like home on the university grounds—and therefore monitored by university security and protected by the very fact that the university was never really quiet, with students constantly coming and going even late into the night—and her office. Her office was in the psychology building, which was next door to the lecture hall she used, both a seven-minute walk from her faculty housing.
Teaching abnormal psychology was far easier than her job with the Kripo. The people she discussed in class were already safely captured or dead, their names and faces known.
If Dr. Hayden had contacted her a few months earlier, she would have unequivocally rejected his request for a meeting. But lately it felt as if she was starting to come out of her skin. Hiding from the real world, drowning in the guilt she felt every time she thought of what her sister had suffered, hadn’t done anything more than allow an evil man to remain free. While she couldn’t profile her stalker, perhaps she could help bring whatever man the American was looking for to justice. Maybe the distance—helping hunt a man who was half a world away—would be easier than trying to profile someone she knew was loose in her city.
“You researched Dr. Hayden,” Annalise said. “You said he is who he seems to be. Did something change?”