by Trisha Wolfe
She shakes her head, and a warm smile slants her mouth. “You being here right now, conflicted over what to do, is proof that it hasn’t, Avery.”
I nod, trying to accept her words, wanting to believe in them. I’m just scared that when I walk out of this club, the choice to do the right thing won’t come as easily to me as she believes.
As she walks me toward the exit of the voyeur room, Sadie says, “This is where I met Colton.”
I send her an unguarded smile. Sadie is the only person I’ve never caught staring at my scar. My gaze drops to hers out of reflex; the jagged scar marring her collarbone—the one she has always hidden until now. Whatever has changed for Sadie, whatever reason she has for no longer wishing to conceal it—at least the demon who branded her granted her that option.
“You’re lucky you found someone,” I say, thinking of how much happier she seems lately.
She pauses at the red rope, turning to face me. “It’s also where I first met Wells.”
A shiver slithers through my body.
“Good and evil. Yin and Yang,” she says. “One doesn’t exist without the other. We have to fight our way through that darkness in order to save the things we love the most.”
And as I follow her out of the room, I watch Colton greet Sadie in the hallway, immediately taking her into his arms. She belongs there.
I nod to him as I pass, noticing not for the first time how his features only seem to shift to a lighter countenance when she’s around. Otherwise, he’s every bit as intimidating as his size and striking dark features allude.
“You should come one night,” Sadie says before I leave the hallway.
I look around, trying to keep my smile in place. “I think this is a bit out of my depth.”
She shrugs. “The invitation is always open.”
“All right,” I say, and mean it. “Maybe one day soon.”
I leave them to adore each other in privacy, deciding I should’ve sought Sadie’s advice on my personal issues before I tried to invent a remedy of my own disastrous making. Had I simply come to The Lair, accepting a different approach, I might not have needed the ambrein at all.
It all feels so pointless now. My fucking sex life. So stupid.
Instead, I’ve not only put my own career in question, I’ve pulled my closest friend into this mess. I won’t let her take the blame, though. No matter what she says, Price Alexander Wells is mine to claim.
6
Torn
Quinn
Plundering through Maddox’s cases is like trying to sort through a pigsty. A dirty, slimy pigsty. The demented twists he represents and gets off of their charges is gnawing at my stomach. I have to eat nearly half a bottle of antacids just to get through the past three months in PACER. The public access records don’t hold all the info I need, but it’s a start.
This is why cops have to leave a case once we make a collar. The alternative to see a case through would drive us mad. I feel like I’m halfway there now.
I’ve somehow managed to make three rows on my board. Maddox’s colleagues. Maddox’s supervisors. And Maddox’s questionable clients. The client column is filling up fast.
When I go in to question the lawyer, I want to know everything about this prick. From when he got his first nut, down to the moment he started running for the District Attorney’s office.
I do all right with the behavioral bit. Enough to put together a decent profile of Maddox. But Sadie would knock it out of the park. She’d have this asshole nailed down before we even approached him.
I exhale a long breath and click a new window open on my laptop. It’s my call to bring her back. I know this. But I first need to sort my own bullshit. Working a case like this doesn’t leave a lot of time for that.
As if on cue, my phone vibrates in its holder. I unclip it from my belt and open the notification. 187 – Courthouse Metro District
Son of a bitch.
I grab my coat, quickly putting away my research on Maddox before I head out. My gut says it’s another pro. It’s in the same general area, which is starting to form a pattern.
Carson’s waiting for me at the front of the bullpen. “Am I riding with you?”
In just under two decades, I’ve had exactly two partners. I learned early on in my rookie detective years that I worked better alone. The first partner moved up quickly through the ranks, making it easy. The second… Well, even before it was official, Sadie was my partner from day one. When you click with someone on a professional level and come to depend on their insight, it just happens naturally.
Regardless of my reservations as to where that partnership stands between us now, I’m not seeking a substitution. Carson’s a skilled detective for his age, but he’s also a weasel. And no one’s weaseling their way into Sadie’s spot.
“Take your own car,” I say as I walk past.
I glimpse the disappointment on his face and damn. I still have a fucking soft spot for the rookies. “We might need to split up once we get an ID,” I add, just to give the guy a break.
“Right,” he says, grabbing his keys.
I lead the way there, flipping on my blue and reds without the siren once I pull up to the crime scene. Another alley, another body dump. But this time, the perp didn’t bother to try to dispose of the body. I spot the vic from inside my car. Her body tucked closely to the brick wall of the building.
As I head toward the unis yellow-taping the scene, Carson comes up beside me. “Different MO? He didn’t discard the body. Maybe this perp wants us to know what he’s done.”
I shake my head. “Lifting dead weight isn’t easy. Even for a strong fucker. Most likely, after the discovery of the first vic, he didn’t bother wasting his time or energy.”
Carson nods.
Once I reach the vic, I clear out CSU so I can study the scene. White female. Early twenties. Her face shows signs of bruising, as do her wrists and forearms. Not as badly as the first vic; I can make out her features, which hold a hint of an undeterminable ethnicity, and some of the bruises are yellow and fading. Her black dress could be cheap or expensive. I need a woman’s perspective on this one. But the vic’s hair is highlighted, and her makeup is heavy and smeared.
One black heel is on, the other off. I glance around.
“Looks like we have a Cinderella,” Carson says. “I already checked the area. Nothing else in the vicinity linking to the vic.”
“Okay, good. See if Avery’s on her way. I need a couple of pointers on the wardrobe.”
Carson sends a quick text, then says, “Could be a serial rapist. He’s not mutilating the vics. Not putting on a show. Not leaving behind any signatures.”
“We need COD first,” I note. “But you’re right. These kills seem to be cause and effect, more out of necessity. We’ll know more once the lab can confirm if she was raped.”
And I hope Avery can. As sickening as it is chasing a serial rapist, it’s a lot easier to stomach than mutilated corpses and copycat serial killers mimicking ancient countesses.
Something neat and straightforward.
I’m directing CSU on processing samples from her bare foot, collecting any trace she might’ve picked up from the kill site, when I see Avery walking up.
My chest tightens. I have to physically press my hand against my ribs to calm the palpitations.
She sets her kit down and pulls a band from around her wrist to tie her long blond hair back. Even in her shiny lab jacket and cargo pants, her shapely curves are noticeable. My mind wanders, recalling how her short robe inched up to reveal her thighs…and I have to look away.
I’m a fucking mess of a man.
As Avery approaches the scene, her deep brown eyes meet mine. “Detective Quinn.”
I flinch at her cool greeting. Before I can address her, she acknowledges Carson and then squats next to the vic to start her examination.
Carson shoots me a curious glare, but he’s smart enough not to probe.
This is exactly why
you don’t cross that damn line with colleagues. If I could go back, I’d kick my ass for even thinking about going to Avery’s last night. What did that achieve?
But as I watch Avery work, her swift and sure movements collecting trace and the way she delicately handles the vic, the sadness in her eyes—eyes that have seen too many victims without ever becoming void of emotion—I’m convinced. Avery gives so much of herself to the job, the least I can do is be there when she needs somebody.
“Quinn. Take a look at this.”
At her request, I promptly order Carson off to start the canvass of the local establishments, and kneel next to Avery. “You find something interesting?”
“I wasn’t sure before…” she says as she lifts the hem of the vic’s dress. She pushes it back to reveal the upper thigh. I lean in to get a closer look at what Avery points out beneath the band of the vic’s underwear. “I found something similar on the first vic. I thought it was some kind of tattoo in the process of removal. The raised design was badly damaged due to a burn she sustained. But now…seeing it again…”
“It’s a brand,” I say. And the perp was trying to get rid of the evidence the first time around.
“I’ll work up a sketch. I’ll match it to what I can determine of the first vic’s marking and compare. But they do look similar in design.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking one last look at the brand before meeting Avery’s eyes. “Try to get me that sketch as soon as possible.”
Her mouth presses together. “Sure thing.”
I jot down notes as Avery records her findings. She describes the dress as designer. I make an additional note to track down where it was purchased.
“I’ll need to perform an autopsy to determine cause of death,” she says. “There’s nothing to indicate she died in a similar manner as the other vic, so I can’t conclusively say whether you’re looking for the same offender. I’ll let you know as soon as I have COD.”
As she packs up, I observe her stiff movements. And when she tosses her gloves into her kit with more force than necessary, that pain beats to fucking life in my chest. I wish I could reach in and tear it out.
Knowing I’ll probably regret asking, I go in anyway. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she clips.
With an internal groan, I cross my arms. “We’re not going to get anywhere unless you’re honest with me.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “Honesty. All right.” She clicks her kit closed and stands. “I saw Sadie today.”
Avery has a punch like a damn wrecking ball.
“Whatever your hang-up is,” she continues. “You need to get over it. We need her working this case.”
Speechless, I turn away, trying to collect my thoughts. Within the seconds it takes me to wrap my head around her accusation, Avery is already marching down the alley. Hell. I take off, picking up my pace once I pass the unis.
“Mind elaborating just a bit,” I say as I fall into step with her.
“Not really. I think it’s pretty straightforward.”
She turns the corner around the building, and I’m right behind her. “Stop for a minute.”
Surprisingly, she does. She doesn’t look at me, but I can tell by the rise and fall of her shoulders that she’s upset. I proceed with caution.
“I know you and Sadie are close, but you’ve never gotten irate over any of my and Sadie’s disagreements before. And there’s been plenty.” When she doesn’t respond, I move in front of her. “So is it me? Did I say or do something wrong last night?”
The corner of her mouth hikes. “Men. So vain. Even you, Quinn. If I take issue and call out some bullshit on the job, then it has to be something you’ve done, right?”
I step toward her, my tone lighter. “But you are calling out the bullshit on me. So yeah, I think it’s a logical leap.” I can’t help the smile twitching at my lips.
Avery’s forehead creases, her lips purse. “Well…okay. Anyway. I would just feel better if Sadie were here also.”
“Me, too,” I admit. This gets a raised eyebrow from her. “But that’s beside the point. You’re holding something back—something that’s eating at you.”
“Damn,” she mutters. “Anyone ever tell you that human lie detector thing kind of makes you an asshole?”
I smirk. “Only all the time.”
Wiping her hand across her forehead, Avery leans her back against the building. She looks up at me. “I think I’m in trouble.”
The faces of every guy I’ve seen her with over the past couple of days flashes before my eyes. I’m mentally beating the shit out of each one, as I demand, “Who is it?”
“What?” She squints. “No. Nothing personal. God, not that.” She bites the corner of her bottom lip, and that action does something to me. I draw closer to her, unable to deny the pull. “I would’ve told you sooner, but I was shaken. I already sent the sample to forensics, though. I’ll have more information tomorrow.”
“Then just tell me,” I say, my patience wearing thin.
She licks her lips, hesitant. “I may’ve found—no. I did find a good amount of ambrein in the vic’s system.”
My shoulders tense. I get closer, lowering my voice. “Your drug. The one you developed?”
She nods. “I didn’t get a chance to analyze it, but I know the compound was mine. Partially, anyway. It had been altered.”
“Altered into what?” My hands lock into fists inside my trench coat pockets.
“I don’t know.” As her eyes search mine, I spot real fear in hers. Not the panicked terror I witnessed in her brown irises that night on The Countess. But the kind of anxiety that makes you question yourself. “All I know is that you were right. I might’ve inadvertently given the wrong people the cocktail. If these women are connected, and this vic has the same compound in her system…I don’t know what it means. But I might know who’s responsible, Quinn.”
Real fucking fear plows through me. “Have you told anyone else?”
“Just Sadie,” she says quickly.
A stab of pain spasms beneath my ribs. I shuffle around my pocket and pull out an empty roll of antacids. “Sadie,” I repeat. I need to get ahead of this. If Avery is somehow mixed up with some bad people, I don’t need Sadie going all vigilante.
Not again.
“You need to separate yourself from this case,” I tell Avery. “Hand it over to someone you trust in the lab. I’ll get you a detail of unis until—”
“No.”
I close in until I’m near enough to smell the scent of lavender in her shampoo. “I don’t tell you how to do your job. Don’t tell me how to do mine.” I stare down, holding her gaze. “Until I make the connection, and I know you’re not in any danger, or can’t be implicated…you don’t touch this. We’re doing this one by the book.”
“This one?” Her voice is soft, questioning. But her eyes drill right into me.
Damn. I don’t make these kind of mistakes. Only here recently, and only now more and more when Avery’s involved. My control is being tested. Like now, as she cocks her head back challengingly. Daring me with the truth.
My jaw tightens. “Don’t make me be an asshole, Avery. If I have to get you removed from the crime lab, if that’s what it takes to protect you, then that’s what I’ll do.”
Her eyes narrow. “You need me,” she says.
Against my will, my body responds, my arms bracketing either side of her body. “I need you safe—”
“You need the answers I have. I’m the only one who can tell you how the drug was altered. I’m the only one who knows my formula. And I might not have names, but I have locations. I can put together a sting—”
I clasp her chin. “Like hell. You’ll give me everything you know and I’ll handle it. The less you’re involved, the better.”
Her gaze slits into a glare, but she doesn’t pull away from my touch. My fingers burn where we connect. “You don’t trust me.”
“This has nothing to do with trust
,” I say, enforcing conviction into my tone. Regardless of any suspicion I harbor about the last case, what I suspect of Sadie’s involvement, or what I assume Avery may know…the truth of the matter is Avery’s safety.
“You’ve been through enough already,” I add. “It’s best if I take care—”
She scoffs. “That’s it, then. Fragile Avery. I don’t need to be sheltered, Quinn.” She windmills her forearm, breaking out of my hold, but I grip her shoulders and keep her against the wall.
“You don’t want to be treated like a victim, then stop acting like one. You’re smarter than this. You know protocol, you know procedure, and you’re not fragile. But you will damn sure get yourself into deep shit trying to prove it like this.”
She blinks. “You don’t see me as a victim,” she says, the question in that statement clear.
“No. I don’t.”
Her hand snakes up to rest on my chest. My heart pounds, beating the fuck out of my rib cage as she leans into me, her sultry mouth just inches from mine. “Then prove it. Prove that you don’t think I’ll break if you touch me—really touch me.”
Her body heat presses against me, and it’s torture. I watch her mouth part, her tongue trace her teeth, tempting me closer. My hands grip her arms to hold her back, but I could just as easily pull her to me. And I almost do…
“That won’t prove anything, Avery,” I say, forcing myself to release her. “Other than I’d be a bastard for taking advantage of…the situation.”
She mock laughs. “And what situation is that? My poor, delicate mental state?” She shakes her head. “Saint Quinn. Always doing what’s right.” She steps around me, but pauses near to whisper, “But just think how much fun it would be if you relinquished that righteous control of yours.”
I plant my hands against the wall, my fingers digging into the brick. My teeth grit until my jaw aches as I let her walk away. Then I take the long way back around the building toward the crime scene, allowing my aching balls to walk off the shame.
