by C C Simeon
This made Hunter chuckle, the first chuckle she’d gotten out of him all day. It was an amazing sound. “Fair enough. Let’s just take a break then, talk about anything except color schemes.”
Amelia didn’t think she was going to get a better chance. Perhaps he would let something slip about Hilton. Hilton was after Hunter, and Amelia had to find out why that was, exactly. Hilton didn’t even have to tell her—Amelia had known as soon as Hilton had gotten her the job and she’d seen Hunter for the first time. And she knew every time that Hilton asked about Hunter. There was nothing but hatred in his eyes. What had happened to them? Did Hunter have something to do with why Hilton had ended up in the foster home? What had Hunter done that had pissed Hilton off to the point of revenge?
Of course, Amelia couldn’t ask either of them outright, so she had to ask other questions with the hope that they would reveal something. And she could never ask Hilton, so Hunter might be a better option.
“I’ve told you all about my childhood and beliefs the other night. I think it’s your turn.”
Hunter sighed and sat forward, his mood shifting to something darker completely. It unsettled Amelia. It reminded her too much of Hilton, which was not something she enjoyed being reminded of. He had the sort of look in his eyes that only belonged to the damaged and the disturbed, as if something horrible in his past had left him scarred.
Finally, Hunter shrugged and said, “There’s not much to tell. I had a twin brother that died in a car accident when we were fifteen. We stole our parents’ car to go to a party and we had a few drinks too many. We figured that I was the least drunk, and I drove. I guess we were both at fault, but he was the one who paid the price. We crashed into another car. I felt too guilty at the time to inquire about the status of the passengers, and when I did, my parents refused to tell me. I suppose it was better that way. Instead of having to live with myself knowing they are dead, I have to live with not knowing. In a way, I think not knowing is better. That way, I can tell myself that they are still alive.”
Amelia didn’t bother with an apology, or even sympathy for that matter. She knew that it didn’t help anyone. If anything, sympathy was worse than ignoring the topic. “Were you two close?”
Hunter nodded, a sad smile on his face. “We shared everything. We used to think it was funny to switch classes sometimes. Somehow, the teachers always knew that we weren’t ourselves, even though we were identical. I supposed we were just two completely different people. He was a rebel, the troublemaker, the bad boy, and I was the jock with the good grades and even better social life. We were polar opposites, but we were best friends regardless. Life really sucked without him.”
Amelia smiled. She wished she had someone like that to share things with. Instead, she had her dogs, and no one else except for Joy. Though, she couldn’t keep a secret even if she tried. “You guys never fought?”
She wanted to dig a little further, suspecting that the accident had nothing to do with whatever Hilton had against Hunter.
Hunter let out a guttural laugh. “We fought more than normal siblings, I can tell you that much. Girls, cars, music, interests, our parents—whatever there was to fight about, we did.
“It is actually quite sad, now that I think about it. I would have liked to think back on our time together and not remember all the fights that I started instead of ended.” Then, as if snapping out of a daydream, Hunter looked at Amelia. “Were there any kids in the foster house that you were close with?”
Realizing that she was not going to get what she wanted from him, Amelia shrugged. “I was always the oldest, so I always helped Aunt Helena with the younger kids. I loved them all like siblings, but we didn’t keep in contact with each other after we left the house. I go to Aunt Helena’s sometimes, but that’s about it.”
“You were always the oldest?”
Amelia shrugged again. “There was a brief period when a kid came that was older than me, but he didn’t really mingle, you know? He kept to himself. He might as well have not been there. I still had my ‘eldest’ duties because he couldn’t be bothered helping in any way.”
“He sounds like a dick.” Hunter laughed.
Amelia laughed, too. “Funny enough, he is the one person I still have contact with, albeit against my will.”
“You don’t like him?”
Amelia thought about Hilton, about his scars and tattoos and the sharp line of his jaw. She thought about his threat of blackmailing her, about the things he’d had her do in the past. “Can’t stand him.”
“Then break contact with him.”
Amelia laughed bitterly. “He isn’t the type to just let something go. He knows where I live, he knows that Aunt Helena is always able to reach me. He probably knows where I work, too. I’m just waiting for his mission, whatever it is, to be over so I can go back to my life.”
“He sounds dangerous.” Hunter sat forward, entwining his fingers on the table.
“He is,” she admitted. “But growing up in the system, you meet much worse people. I can handle people like him. It’s the ones that you don’t know are evil that are the real threat. At least he is real and transparent. He doesn’t lie. That’s the difference between him and a real villain. You can kind of judge what he does next. You can’t do that with someone who lies.”
Abruptly, Amelia got up, deciding that it was the end of this conversation. Hilton was far too involved in her life and if she wasn’t going to find out anything from Hunter, then she wasn’t going to mention that asshole again.
She gathered the papers on the table, then moved around to Hunter’s side. She was angry at herself. Angry for even trying. Hilton was obviously crazy. The car crash was no one’s fault. It was Hunter’s brother’s fault as much as it was Hunter’s. If anyone was to blame, it would have been both of them. Plus, Amelia had looked into Hunter’s past when she first started here. The car crash had only killed his brother, no one else. Whatever Hilton was angry about, it must have been something else.
She tried to collect all of the color swatches, angry at them, too, for not impressing the customer, but some fell on the ground instead. Amelia swore and bent over to pick them up, but Hunter was faster and when he came up, they locked eyes. His gaze was soft but strong, caring yet stern. She wanted to drown in his eyes. They stayed like that for a moment, not sure what to say. All her thoughts about Hilton disappeared, and it was just the two of them. Amelia felt her chest being pulled toward him, as though destiny was pushing them together.
At least, she liked to believe that it was.
That moment was more intense than anything they had shared in the past, and it scared Amelia. She was the one who broke their eye contact first. If locking eyes made her feel this way, how was she ever going to resist anything more? She didn’t think she wanted to, though. She didn’t want to, but she knew that if she was going to protect herself and Hunter from Hilton, she had to leave the conference room that instant.
But she didn’t leave. They worked the rest of the day in silence, knowing that as soon as one of them said something, they would both break.
Chapter 10: A Child’s Love
Hayden had been looking at photos of the crime scene for hours. She knew what every laceration looked like, knew the location of every wound. She could close her eyes and see the dead body in front of her as clear as day. As disturbing as it was, she couldn’t peel her eyes away from it.
There had to be a clue somewhere, something the killer had left behind that she could use to find him. Things were never this clean. There was always a fight. There was always a tissue under a fingernail or fingerprints at the scene. But with this murderer, there was nothing. He was either highly trained or incredibly careful.
Either way, it made Hayden’s work a lot more difficult.
Not to mention the current state of her marriage, which was close to nonexistent. She had even decided to bring her work home, regardless of the strong feelings she had against it. She had to be home; she had to
show Hunter that she was willing to try in their relationship. But it became very obvious that he was not willing to do the same thing.
Hayden didn’t know what hurt more, the fact he wasn’t willing to leave his work or the fact that she had driven him away with her accusations. Hayden felt like a complete idiot after their encounter, and she didn’t know what to say to him to make it better. Was this what was going to ruin their relationship completely? Would her stumble of judgment rip them apart forever? It was a terrifying thought and she didn’t know what was worse: dealing with the serial killer or having to face life without Hunter.
He would come back, she had to tell herself that. She had to stay positive about one thing in her life, at least. Besides, she had a murderer to catch, and saving the lives of the people of New York was currently more important than her relationship. Everything would work out.
She looked up from the photos, scooted back on the couch, and leaned her head against the cushion. The remnants of the crime scene still imprinted in her mind danced on the ceiling above her. She had gone through every possible scenario. Could the killer be anyone the victims knew? It was a possibility, but it didn’t bring Hayden any closer to finding him. The victims were so different, so random, she couldn’t begin to imagine that they surrounded themselves with the same sort of people. Hayden had even entertained the idea of the killer being a service worker, but hours of digging revealed that none of them had had anything done in the past month. And all the work done before that had been completely random. The old lady had had a plumber fix her sink. The drummer had had a cable guy come to his apartment, and the latest victim was a handyman—he did everything himself. It seemed as though the killer was picking victims off the street. Whoever was unlucky enough to pass him at the wrong time paid with their lives.
Hayden sighed and sat up straight, eyeing the door. Her husband hadn’t come home yet. It wasn’t unlike him to stay at the office until an ungodly hour, but with everything going on, she couldn’t help but wonder. She kept replaying the image of him bleeding to death, over and over again. If the victims were truly random, what stopped him from being the next one? What prevented the killer from ambushing him as he hailed a cab? The thought was horrifying. She couldn’t bear it.
The spark between them hadn’t been there in years—not since college, if she was completely honest—but she still didn’t want anything bad to happen to him. He was her family, the father of her child. She couldn’t bear the thought of Levi growing up without his dad. And she couldn’t bear the thought of Hunter being on the streets because he didn’t want to come home to her.
It was her fault that he was out there, and if he was attacked, that would have been her fault as well. That was something that she could never forgive herself for. She was trying to distract herself from the serial killer, and she’d become the killer of their relationship, instead. She wanted to kick herself.
She hoped he was okay.
“Mama?” said a small voice, clearly still half asleep. Hayden rushed to turn over the photos on the coffee table as the little boy approached her, wiping the sleep from his eyes. When she was certain there was nothing out that could give him nightmares, she opened her arms and motioned for him to come to her. The black-haired boy rushed toward his mother, blue eyes barely visible under his heavy lids.
“Can’t sleep, huh?” Hayden said as Levi got on the couch next to her, laying down with his head on her lap. She stroked his soft curls. “Neither can I.”
“Where’s Daddy?” he asked, and Hayden sighed, rubbing her forehead in irritation. Not at the child, but at the situation.
She shouldn’t have to tell him that his father was still at the office, or more likely, a hotel. It was nearly midnight. He should have been home by now. He should have been home with his family, fulfilling his role as a husband and a father. She supposed she wasn’t in any position to be angry—she had spent countless nights at the station, devoting all her time and energy to her cases. Her career was all that had mattered to her back then, and she knew it was his turn to focus on his. But with this maniac on the loose… Hayden fought back her anger. It was her fault, not his. He had to cool down first.
“He’s working, kiddo. He told me to tell you that he’s meeting with Santa tonight. Apparently, Santa wants to discuss your Christmas presents.”
Levi’s head shot up, excitement visible on his face. “Really?”
Hayden lulled him back onto her lap, stroking his head again. “Yes, but he said he will only tell Santa to go ahead with his plans if you keep it a secret and go back to sleep.”
She felt his little body stiffen. Hayden noticed that his Batman pajamas were getting a little too small for him. It was his favorite pair. She wasn’t ready for the tears that would inevitably come when they had to throw this set out. One problem at a time, she reminded herself. It would probably still be okay for a month or two. Hopefully, by then, the killer would be caught. Otherwise, she’d have two maniacs in her life—one a murderer, and the other a screaming toddler.
“Can I tell Jeremy?” he asked.
Hayden smiled. Of course, he’d want to tell his best friend. Levi was obsessed with Christmas; it was the perfect way to distract him from the absence of his father.
“Sure,” she humored him. “But you have to tell him to keep it a secret, too.” Hayden knew it wasn’t going to stay a secret for long, not that it needed to, but giving Levi something to work for got him excited. He wasn’t like other kids who just wanted things. He liked to earn what he got. Even if he didn’t always complete the tasks he was given, it made for some good entertainment around the house.
“Now, off to bed with you,” she said, giving his hair one more pat. “I’ll tuck you in again.”
Levi shook his head. “I want to sleep with you, Mama.”
Hayden smiled. Of course, he did. He always wanted to be with her when his father wasn’t at home. She wasn’t going to go to bed before her whole family was at home with her, so she kicked off her shoes, had Levi sit up, and lay down on the couch. Levi was quick to become her little spoon.
Hayden wrapped an arm around him. “Sleep now, kiddo. When you wake again, your dad will be here.”
As she waited for his breathing to slow, for his body to go limp and for sleep to take him, she continued to watch the door—all the while hoping that her husband would step through it.
He never came, and Hayden fell asleep with the image of a mangled, bleeding, dead body in her head. She hoped her husband was safe. She hoped the killer hadn’t taken Levi’s father from him. She hoped Hunter would make it home alive so they could rescue what was left of their relationship. She hoped she didn’t have to give an excuse to Levi to explain why Hunter wasn’t home yet in the morning. It was one thing for Hunter to disappoint Hayden, but it was completely different to disappoint Levi. That made Hunter a bad father—Hayden wasn’t sure how she felt about the fact that her husband was so willing to just leave his child.
Chapter 11: Time
Amelia’s night consisted of thrashing around in bed, unable to fall fully asleep. Whenever sleep agreed to take her, she could have sworn she heard something in the house. Quinton and Kevin were restless, too, and Amelia had to close her bedroom door to keep them from exploring the house. She never had that problem.
Usually, they were content on their beds in her room, or, if it was particularly cold, on her bed. But that night, they were having none of it. They whined and scratched at the door, and Amelia convinced herself that it had gone on for far too long to be an intruder. Burglars got in and got out. If it was the Midnight Butcher, he should have been there an hour ago. It was 1 am, and it had been going on for three hours.
After the millionth growl from Quinton and a small little whine from Kevin, Amelia decided that enough was enough. One foot after the other, she sank into the plush, fluffy carpet, and pulled on sweatpants. If there really was an intruder, she didn’t want them to find her in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and p
anties.
Her heart pounded in her throat but she was too annoyed to really care. If there really was someone in her house, she wanted them to attack her already and get it over with. This playing with their food wasn’t going to work for her. Not at all.
She retrieved an old army knife from her bedside drawer and approached the door.
“You two are going to sit here and be quiet! If they kill me, I don’t want them to find you two, got it?” Quinton and Kevin both tilted their heads in unison, and she nodded in approval. “Good boys. Now, shh,” she said before opening the door slowly, only wide enough for her to stick her head out.
The hallway was dark, the moonlight that leaked into her bedroom the only light that fell on the floor. Amelia sighed and opened the door further, stopping just before she heard the familiar creak. She really had to oil those hinges. That was, if she survived the night.
Closing the door behind her, Amelia tiptoed down the hall, relying on her memory to guide her as there were no windows in the hall except the one at the very end. She liked to keep covered up because it was facing the street where any weirdo could have looked in. She wished she wasn’t so paranoid. The light from a window would have been more than enough to light the hallway. Now she was moving at a snail’s pace because she couldn’t remember where exactly everything was.
Finally, she reached the stairs and the only thing she heard was her heart hammering in her ears.
There was nothing there, she kept on telling herself. There was absolutely nothing there, and she was going to feel like a fool when she got to the bottom and no one attacked her. Yes, that was what was going to happen. She repeated it enough times to actually believe it.
That was not what happened.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, strong arms grabbed her and pushed her up against a wall. Her knife went flying from the force of it, and she wanted to kick herself. Before she could make a sound, her mouth was covered by one big hand, and her wrists were caught with the other hand and held high above her head. Panic flooded Amelia’s veins and she kicked and thrashed, taking advantage of all of the practice she’d had tossing and turning in bed.