by Dana Lyons
“Find a killer,” she said. She began the process of creating a profile on AlleyOop under the name Michelle Love. She uploaded her images and filled out the questionnaire, pausing to choose her user name. She’d seen some ridiculous men’s names and smirked, remembering one fool using the handle, ‘Beavergourmet’.
Behind her, her men joked and laughed. She looked over her shoulder at them. Simon nudged Quinn in the arm, provoking him into something. Quinn resisted, pushing back at Simon, nearly upsetting Simon’s chair. Rhys held his cards to his face, his shrouded eyes peeking over the top as if they played for millions.
Like the cards in Rhys’ hand, desire for them fanned out through her body. They were so damn gorgeous, as noted by the real estate agent, even Dreya was intimidated by their beauty. Those exceptional good looks brought joy to her soul for she knew, eventually, they would all be together as Nobility intended … for life.
A tingle raced from her core to run circles around her heart. She had what the women on AlleyOop wanted, times three. Miss Thompson’s behavior pointedly illustrated how fortunate she was to have three Noble mates. When she wrapped her heart and mind around how much Nobility had improved her life, she wanted to shout ‘hallelujah’ and vote to give all humanity a dose.
Lazar, where are you? What are you doing?
She hoped she never ran into him again. Where she once wanted him dead in retribution, the drive to apprehend him and see he received the full letter of the law had slowly seeped away.
This evolution of thought clashed with her training and left her uncomfortable with where it might end up. Nobility had not yet shown her how to live with Lazar running loose among an unsuspecting population. While she still considered him a madman, he had opened the door to Nobility and gifted her with so much she now treasured.
The telepathy, whether at home or at work, continued to both improve and complicate her life. Ever on her mind was the prospect of sex and telepathy with each of her exceptional men. As she watched them, their body language spoke of contentment.
Rhys’ mouth was relaxed, no scowl creased his forehead, and his eyes were bright and engaging. As much as he spoke of his uncertainty about the pack arrangement, he was comfortable with his brothers where he wasn’t with so many others. He abhorred corruption, so the purity of the Noble pack was a draw for him.
Simon wanted in, although what held him back was a mystery to her. He laughed freely, finding more humor in life since returning to Earth, in spite of losing Lazar. Perhaps, like her, he was beginning to see the benefits of Lazar’s meddling. He leaned toward Quinn and gave him a brotherly cuff, earning a slap on the back of the head.
Again, the purity of the pack continued breaking down barriers.
She couldn’t see Quinn’s face, but his voice rang clearly, more at ease and less bitter since they returned. Rhys taunted him with a good-natured smile, waving his cards around before laying them down. A series of exaggerated groans and peals of success erupted as Rhys raked in the pile of change.
Life was suddenly more than she ever dreamed possible, all because she was lucky enough to survive Gideon Smith’s attempted murder by Nobility. She returned her attention to AlleyOop and typed in the name Lucky One. With that chosen, all she had to do was click ‘submit’.
Her finger paused over the keyboard.
This would put her in the line of fire. She’d been there many times. In the military, in security ops, in the Bureau … and each time there was no fear, only the mission. But she was alone then. Now her life was different. Now she had more to live for.
Nobility, making things complicated.
Again, she gazed at her men, knowing how protective they were, how connected they were, how strong that connection made them. No matter where she was, she could reach them if she was in distress. But this created an illusion of invincibility. It was a heady sensation.
One likely get me killed.
Nobility demanded she step into the line of fire to protect another innocent human. For whatever reason she’d survived Nobility, it wasn’t to step back because her life was suddenly rich with potential. She clicked, sending her information swirling through AlleyOop.
Later that night she woke and couldn’t fall back asleep. She climbed from between Simon and Quinn and slipped out to the front room and her laptop. Her mind kept thinking, ‘you’ll see him’, inducing her to believe her freaky eyes would see something in the faces if she searched. She logged on and clicked to start the carousel of photos.
Instead of flying through them this time, she paused with each and went back to read their profile, not noticing the time. One after another she inspected what she could see, and her heart got heavier and heavier with each passing face.
They are so sad.
Whether the faces were photo bombed, or blurry, or poor selfies, each was an attempt to attract love.
My cup overflows; theirs is dry.
If their eyes were visible in the photo, she squinted, seeking reads. All she saw was emptiness.
A tear streaked down her face. She wiped at it, surprised. But she kept looking through the faces, and more tears ran. She sniffled, when a box of tissues suddenly appeared before her.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I thought I was being quiet.” She glanced up at Rhys and behind him came Simon and Quinn.
“You’re crying.”
“The sadness—”
“Your emotions woke us up.” Rhys kneeled down beside her. “Why are you crying?”
“These faces, there’s so much pain,” she sobbed, grabbing a tissue. “Because of my damn-you-Lazar freaky eyes, I see their disappointment, their anger, their loss, their utter lack of hope.”
Rhys stood and pulled her up, wrapping her in his arms. She pressed her face into his bare chest, but reached out and grabbed a hand from Quinn and Simon. “I don’t want to ever be without you, any of you.”
From Rhys she went into Simon’s arms while still holding Quinn’s hand. She left Simon and moved into Quinn’s embrace, holding him tight. “You are all me, and I am you.”
“All right, enough sadness, enough crying,” Rhys said. “Let’s go back to sleep.”
She climbed into bed; they transitioned to animal and cuddled close around her. No crying, we’re all here they whispered in her mind. She pushed the sadness away, focused on the warmth and comfort of their presence, and drifted back to sleep.
* * *
Martin checked his watch; it was time to go see Haley. His heart pounded with adrenaline, leaving his mouth dry as he descended to the basement. For this trip, he would go underground. His bag of shoes and tools waited behind his secret bookcase.
He entered the small chamber, closed the bookcase, and paused for a moment, his forehead resting against the back of the case. He remembered a similar moment that cold night in February before he opened the door and let in the men—the home invaders who gave him this idea.
If his mother had not sucked her teeth, if he hadn’t fallen from the tree …
Why didn’t she love me? How hard is it to love a son?
That night in February, anger, sadness, disappointment, the sense of being cheated without cause rushed from his heart and flowed down his arm as he turned the knob, swung the door open, and stepped back.
I don’t want to be unloved. I don’t want to be invisible. I want someone to love me, to see me and know I deserve love.
“Haley.” He sobbed, and choked on tears he hadn’t noticed dripping from his chin. “Please, please be the one.” He scrubbed his face with his hands and pushed the sadness from his mind.
With flashlight in hand, he picked up his bag of tools and walked toward Haley’s block. It was 2:30 A.M., past time for bar traffic, deep in the night when most day-job people were in their deepest sleep. So deep they didn’t notice the front door lock softly turning, the steps at their bedside, the smell of chloroform until it was too late.
The tunnel junction with the main city utility corr
idor came up, and he silently made his way to the manhole cover in the alley next to Haley’s apartment. He paused and stood still. With eyes closed, he cocked his head, listening. Not a sound came above the pounding of his heart, no traffic, no voices. He opened the manhole, slipped out and replaced the cover.
He stayed in a crouch, listening, and looked up and down the alley. Seeing it was clear, he rose and walked calmly to the shrubs, following the landscaping to her front door. Once behind the partition, he paused again, listening. Assured all was still and silent, he slipped out of his shoes and into the new ones, placing the old shoes in his bag. The 3D key slipped into Haley’s lock, turned perfectly, and the door eased open.
Remembering a patch of creaky floor in the front room, he kept to one side and stopped outside her bedroom door. Her breathing was even, smooth, long and deep. He set his bag down and pulled out the chloroform and cloth.
Please be the one.
* * *
The next morning, Dreya and her team arrived at work determined to find a clue. It didn’t take long for Jarvis to call her into his office. “Any news to report?”
“No, sir. We interviewed several men last week but they all had an alibi. As you might expect, not all you see on the Internet is true.”
“What’s your next move?”
“I put up a profile on the AlleyOop site.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Everyone says I fit the description.”
Jarvis took off his glasses and reclined in his chair, studying her. “And what do they say about this move?” He nodded toward her office.
“We’re a team, sir. We proceed within protocols. I’m on security detail as of last night. I’ll have one of them with me at all times.”
His mirco-reads were pretty tight. He was controlling his face; that fact alone alarmed her. But she could see he was curious. And again, she could see he knew more than he was letting on.
“Where are Kingston and Sinclair staying?”
“They’re bunking in with Rhys.”
“Would you and your team consider staying together, as in living together? Or is that too close for them, or you, to maintain appropriate behavior?”
She exhaled softly, buying time, and licked her lips.
What is he after? What is he saying? What does he know?
“We’ve discussed the possibility. Trying to find the right place is problematic.”
“I expect so,” he said. He shifted gears rapidly and picked up his glasses. “Let me know what happens with your profile. I expect, with the three of them, you’re well protected.”
4
Sitting in her office, Dreya grumbled. “I hate having nothing to go on. Nothing irritates me more.”
Their victims’ computers were all set to their AlleyOop profiles, and she stared morosely at the lineup. Until a judge issued a warrant, their access of the dating site was restricted. With so many individuals and personal data involved, she held little hope the judge would roll their way, serial killer or not.
“Tanya, Jenny, Madison, and Annie all had a profile on AlleyOop. All were home invaded, strangled, and the last two are missing an eye. Everyone they messaged with on AlleyOop has an alibi,” she said. “So, what connects them besides their looks and their killer?”
“Maybe it’s not through AlleyOop at all,” Simon suggested.
She snorted. “That’s leaves us with less than the nothing we have. But I can’t rule it out. Take a look again at their lives and find me that commonality. I keep coming back to this dating site, but I don’t know why. It’s as if I’m supposed to see something, that my freaky eyes are going to reveal the killer, like an x-ray or something. You know, see beyond the surface.” She huffed with frustration.
He pulled back and gave her a long inspection. “You’re not going down kryptonite road, are you?”
“No. I don’t think I have superpowers, but I do have this freaky eyesight, and what’s it worth if I can’t use it to find a killer?”
Rhys walked in, a smile on his face. “I went to see the judge with the DA and convinced him to give us a partial information release. In response, AlleyOop is giving us all the names who looked at our four victims the most number of times.” He spread the pages out across the table.
She picked up a sheet and groaned. “You’re kidding.” She fanned out the pages. “How many names is this?”
“Too many. I’m going to take this to IT and have them collate this data into something we can work with. Where’s Quinn?”
“He went to get food, and Simon’s on detail,” she said. “So, come back and eat.”
No matter how much she went over what they had, all she ended up with was aching eyeballs beneath her contacts. She rubbed her forehead, dreading every minute that passed. Until they came up with a lead, she and every blonde in the city was at risk.
“Food,” Quinn announced as he walked in. He spread out a small feast from the Chinese place on Pennsylvania. Rhys returned from IT with the collated data and parceled out the pages while they loaded up plates and settled in to eat.
Nibbling on a spring roll, she scanned the pages. “Tell me we have a winner.”
“We have several,” Quinn said.
“I don’t need several,” she complained.
“Well, the bad news is no single name is in the top number of views for our victims.” He tossed the pages on the table.
“Let me see the original list,” she said.
Rhys passed her the full packet. “What are thinking?”
“I’m looking for a name that is common to all four of our victims, just not in the top number of views.” She scanned the names and picked out several, then passed the list to Simon. “Check these out.”
She went to the next victim and ran her finger way down the list. “Here. Ian Zane is way down on the list for both Madison and Jenny.”
Rhys picked up another page and went over it. “Yep. There he is on Tanya’s list.”
“I gotta see his profile,” she said. “After Mr. Harrison, I realize how little honor there is out there.”
Zane’s profile pictured him with long black hair. Behind him on the wall, a large photo showed him kissing a supermodel. Dreya typed his name into her keyboard and Zane’s DMV photo and history came up. “Well, dude’s clean. A minor weed bust and a drunk in public back in the day, but nothing recent.”
Simon rose and put the remaining food in the break room fridge. “Sounds to me like a house call is required. Shall we?”
At Zane’s address, they parked down the street and watched his residence for a few minutes. “Someone’s home,” Quinn said. “That’s his registered vehicle, and I see movement in the windows.”
In the approach to Zane’s front door, Dreya was conscious of a heightened sense of security around her. A glance showed all three of her team were on alert. Rhys went to the front and knocked, leaving her sandwiched between Simon and Quinn. She let him grandstand, for the moment.
A man matching Zane’s description opened the door. Rhys flashed his badge. “Mr. Ian Zane?”
“Yes? I’m Ian.”
Mr. Zane leaned out to inspect the rest of the team; his face instantly wrinkled with concern. From the reads off his expression, she knew he wasn’t their killer.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“We have some questions for you. May we come in?”
Zane stepped back and waved them all in. Dreya walked around while Rhys collected Zane’s alibi. She admired the large framed photo on the wall of Zane kissing someone with vaguely familiar long hair. Since she already knew Zane wasn’t their killer, she turned her back on the framed photo and gazed out the loft’s extensive glass wall.
She pointed out the window. “I remember that building. What was there? An empty warehouse, wasn’t it? When did they turn it into industrial apartments?”
“Oh, that was in 2016,” Zane said. “What’s this all about?”
Rhys pulled her over to whisper in her ear. “He’s got an alibi, loo
ks good.”
Out of curiosity for how solid Zane’s alibi was, and to test her growing ability with reading faces, she lifted one eyebrow in question.
“Out of the country, passport stamps.”
“Ah,” she said. “I expected as much.”
“You don’t think Zane’s our guy?”
“No—I read him when he opened the door. I’m getting better at that. But I think the AlleyOop photo was taken from across the street by our killer.”
She turned to Zane. “Mr. Zane, did you post a profile on an online dating site called AlleyOop?”
“Alley what?”
“AlleyOop, sir, AlleyOop. Did you post a profile and view these women?” She held out the photos.
He didn’t bother to look at them. “No. I’ve never heard of AlleyOop because I don’t need to shop for dates. What’s this about?”
“I believe your identity has been stolen.” She stared at the industrial apartment building across the street and projected where the photo of Zane was taken from.
A stalker across the street, building a firewall of false identity.
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
Our suspect pool is invisible. A hacker. That means nothing is safe … and nowhere is private.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Zane. Sorry to bother you.”
“What happened?” he asked. “Did someone break the law in my name?”
“No crimes committed in your name that we know of,” Dreya answered. “Have a good evening, sir.” Quinn held the door as Simon and Rhys exited. On the way back to the car, her thoughts spun with this new lead; it was a lead to kill the case, not solve it. “Dammit!”
“I’ll go back to the judge,” Rhys said. “We have to get into AlleyOop’s backside.”
The message tone on their phones went off in a synchronized blast. She closed her eyes and clenched her lips, not wanting to look.
Rhys saved her the bother. “We have another murder. It Looks like our killer struck again.”
