by Nyxie Marrs
If we widen our search and check other cities for unidentified women who were dumped, maybe we can gather more information and find a commonality. Find something we can use to catch this guy, there has to be a pattern. I need to go through cold cases of missing women in the area. What connections are there?
I sigh, there's got to be something to save Elara and the other women. Has to be. I turn off my shower and dry off as I walk to my room. After putting on thin shorts and a large t-shirt, I head into the kitchen. Miles is right, I should be sleeping, but I haven’t been. Let alone eating.
I search the cupboards, and of course I haven't been shopping. I don’t even remember the last time I went to the store. There's not a wide selection, so I pick up a packet of crackers which are a month passed expiration date; that isn't so bad, right? It's only crackers, how bad can they get? Not ideal, but I carb up with that whole pack and get to bed.
The same dream invades my night, prompting my lack of sleep. Elara and I are out at the bar, she’s getting over a bad break-up. Asshole was stealing from her and cheating on her, worst of all, he hit her. I showed him what the consequences were for that, unfortunately he only ended up in the hospital. I refuse to sit by and let a woman be assaulted. I never thought that would happen to my sister though. He’s not the only one I’ve rescued a woman from. Some of these abusive men don’t care if they’re in public, which infuriates me more.
In the bar that night, I was in the bathroom for less than one minute. Okay, unrealistic, maybe two. Once I got back to our table, she was gone. I looked at our empty drinks and found that number. Thirty-eight. That number that marked her for the abduction. The damn police didn't do anything and dismissed my theory, not even caring that I'm FBI. Even Rocky thought it was bullshit, so I bagged the glass myself. I knew it was critical.
I wake up in a cold sweat with my heart pounding with shallow breaths refusing to take in more oxygen. Why couldn't I stop it? Or it be me instead? No matter how often it plays in my head, I try to change it, but I can't. I wake up with tears down my face often because no one believes me. No one cares. The women who are stolen, I’m sure are murdered, and no one wants to jump on this case to save lives.
There’s a small hope in the back of my mind that Miles might. He seemed just as passionate about finding these women as I am. He was adamant about me not working this on my own, but that doesn’t matter. I need to get him out of my thoughts.
I look at the time, it's only been three hours. Seeing how I didn't get home until about three this morning, six seems like a decent time to wake up.
I shuffle into the second room in this apartment, it used to be Elara’s. I set everything aside to set up what I needed the night she was taken. An entire desk is drowning in papers, and scratched out notes. A map covers a decent amount of the wall, marked with the bars I suspect he's been to, or suspect women have been taken from based on news reports. Not a single one duplicated either. There’s nothing in common found so far. All different shapes and sizes, although he tends to stay on a thinner side. I suppose dragging a heftier woman out of the bar would look more suspicious.
The types of bars are different too, making it difficult to get an idea of his preferred scene. As far as I know, no one's collected the cups. I stare at the cup Elara had, it’s just sitting in a bag on the desk collecting dust. I need someone to help me out. Those are clues I think he's leaving on purpose. Or hell, maybe he thinks no one cares so he leaves them. What if there are prints? I wonder if Miles can run it through for me. Or if he has the cup from this last abduction. Maybe there’s something on that one too?
I spend my time in this room going over the data repeatedly. There's got to be something that can help me. Something I can grasp. The women who were friends with the victims I've investigated have no clue what happened. The type of glasses from the drinks are all that’s similar so far. I wish this was easier to conclude. I figured a lone woman ordering his preferred drink would spike his interest. Unless he actually has a type and I'm not it, or maybe I’m just not at the right bar. We need to increase the search, and my operation. I wonder if Miles has information on other missing women I can look through. I’ll have to ask.
Before I realize it, it's nine. It shouldn't be too early to let him know when he can show up, right? I hesitate before I type the message. I’m not so sure I should let him in on this. I stare up at my map. Having him around would get me more information to other missing persons in the area. That will be beneficial to have since my loser group won’t move on this case.
Hey, what time were you thinking?
I doubt I'd hear from him for a while. Maybe people can actually sleep when stuff like this is going on. A ding comes from my phone. Well, that was a quick reply, I didn’t have time to put the phone down.
Now could work. If this is Vega anyways. She didn't give me her number last night so I have to guess who this is.
And there's a smart ass first thing in the morning. Asshole number two is back. No point in waiting to reply, he knows I'm up.
That's fine.
I assume he'll take his time. He's a man after all. Not many are known for being punctual. Or maybe those are just the men Elara and I find. Either way, I don't expect much.
I look at my clothes, or lack thereof. I should probably change into nice fitting jeans and a tight fitting t-shirt. I throw my long dark hair back into a low ponytail and let that be it. I'd make coffee but I don't have any. Could I get him to do that? No. I can’t bother him with that kind of pointless thing. The fact he’s willing to help me is enough.
My phone chimes. Great. Maybe he has better things to do.
Coffee?
Well fuck me, he can read minds. I make a note to keep mine out of the gutter.
Sure. Don't normally get anything other than black. I'm not picky.
Is that too much information? Screw it. He offered, I'll just let him pick. Wait. Does that mean he's already leaving? He must really want to get this information to help the case.
I decide to take a break from all of this overwhelming information, and sit on the couch. I just need to relax a bit before I get back into my work. Maybe with him looking at it, he can see what I'm missing? That would be nice and would help push this case forward.
The second my body hits the soft couch, my eyes shut.
The soft vibrating noise on the table wakes me up. How long have I been out? I grab my phone and blink the blur away. Crap, too long.
“Yeah?” I try to keep my voice from sounding groggy. I can’t let him hear what little sleep I’ve had.
“About time. I've been standing out here for ten minutes, maybe longer. You okay?” Worry? No. No. I’m barely awake, there’s no way he’s worried.
I rub my eyes. “Sorry. Just busy. I'll be right down.” I hang up and look at my phone, twenty missed calls and numerous texts.
At least I only live on the second floor. Quickly meeting him at the door, he turns around with a huge smile on his face. Well it's too early for that kind of pep.
I roll my eyes and force out a breath. “Come on.” I hold the door for him. He watches me for a few seconds. Probably not used to a woman holding the door for him. After muttering a nearly incoherent 'thanks' he steps inside.
“Hope you like stairs.” Maybe that’ll knock his perky self down a bit.
“Not a problem, Vega. Cardio is good for you.” He jokes as he follows me up. Lovely, he's a morning person.
I push my front door open and hold it for him again. With that uncomfortable look on his face, I kind of like making him rethink his ways. Another few seconds and an intense stare later, he steps in and places the coffee on the kitchen counter.
“I’d ask where I can put my jacket, but I seem to not have it.” That smile on his face indicates a joke, but he could be serious. Hell, like I care.
I shrug. “Sorry about that. I just forgot I had it on.” I say as I motioned to the jacket on the couch.
Now realizing
my shirt from last night is laying on the counter and my jeans are still on the floor, clearly leading the way to the bathroom. I’m not used to company. He looks at the jeans and smiles. Wonder what thoughts just crossed his mind. I shake my head and pick them up, tossing them into my room quickly.
“So, I hope you don't mind me picking a coffee for you.” He hands me a cup.
“Not at all. I'm not picky. Anything with caffeine is fine with me.” I say as I take a sip. Caffeine and a ton of freaking sugar! He's trying to kill me, isn't he? But it is damn good coffee, I take another sip. There’s chocolate in it? He smiles once he sees the content look on my face. I think I closed my eyes when I took that second sip loving the taste of this. Why the hell have I stayed with black coffee?
“Thought you'd like it.” He says smugly. “So. Did you sleep?” He sips his coffee and watches me. Why is his relaxed gaze making me nervous? I sit at the small counter, avoiding his stare, and lean back into the chair. He follows my actions and sits next to me waiting for an answer.
I slowly nod. Sure I slept. Three hours is considered sleeping, right? He looks at me like I’m on trial. Like he knows I’m about to lie.
I was too busy being pissed at him yesterday to notice how intense his green eyes are. Or how his hint of a smile makes me want to blush. I hope I didn't. His strong, perfectly chiseled features on his tanned skin are definitely something to stop a woman in her tracks too. That hint of a shadow over his jaw brought my eyes to his lips. This man is definitely a double-take. Hell, triple?
“Yup. You?”
“Of course. So, where's this information you have?” He looks around like I would have this information laying around in plain sight.
I never noticed how impersonal my apartment is. Plain and minimal. There are no pictures of family hanging on the walls, no decorations like I care to live here littered throughout. Just beige walls, a gray couch, a few chairs, and a table. Not like I really cared how my apartment looked, until now.
“In here.” I get up indicating him to follow me.
I open the door and became self-conscious about the mess. Clothes are piled high on her pale blue bed. Her stained wood dresser is sandwiched between the bed and the wall, surprisingly it fit perfectly. My desk and map are currently blocking the closet. No need to have access to it. A small black lamp covered in dust sits on the end of the desk. And of course, there is zero organization in my 'filing' on my workspace. But I'm distraught looking for my sister, and working in a small room, half of which is filled with her things. This room mirrors my life currently, a mess.
He doesn't seem to care, just stepped in and stood in front of my map crossing his arms. Looking over the bars I've selected and my last marked bar as thirty-eight. I shake my head to myself. I should have put thirty-nine on there this morning.
“You've really poured yourself into this. I mean. I can understand because this is personal, but I didn’t think you’d have this much tagged. I have some cold case files at the precinct we should go through. I didn't see anything connecting those disappearances to this case, but you might see what I don't.”
I laugh under my breath. “I was hoping for the same thing here.” I motioned to the papers scattered across the desk.
He looks around and notices the glass in the bag. Then looks to me with a hint of anger in his stare.
“You're keeping evidence here?” Anger hits his eyes. I suppose doing things on my own may make it seem like I’d do anything for this case.
I shake my head. “Not technically. This was from my sister's abduction. The uniforms and Rocky didn't feel was important. I know better, Miles.” For some reason my voice remains soft, making him glance at me with a devilish smirk that makes his eyes glisten, and my knees weak.
He pushes a few papers around, actually looking at my research like it matters. “You knew it was your sister when you got there?” Ah. The interrogation voice. I have to say, that strong and deep tone made my body jolt involuntarily. But I didn’t expect to talk about Elara so quickly.
Tears form at that thought, I can’t let that happen. It won’t progress the case if I show vulnerability, or break down. “I was with her that night.” My voice shakes. I tried to hide it, but he can see it. Watching me and really taking his time reading my reaction. I’m trying my hardest to push these tears back. I can’t break from the smallest question that pertains to this case.
“You were?” That shock in his voice briefly touched his expression. Wonder what he’s going to think now. I was with her when she was taken, how did I not stop it? How did I not see it? Blame me because I’m an agent and I should have been able to prevent it. I do.
“We were out. She was getting over a bad break-up.” As that asshole laid in the hospital. “I took her out for a few drinks. I went to the bathroom, I swear less than two minutes, and she was gone.” I sit at the desk and rest my head on my hand.
“I'm sorry. And no one thought anything of it?”
I shake my head. “No. Witnesses say she walked out of the bar willingly, but couldn’t give identifying details of the man. Their cameras weren't working so we got nothing.” A few tears make their way down my face. I briskly wipe them off and pick up the glass. “No one thought this was important. I almost missed it myself. When I brought it up, I was brushed off.”
Chapter 8
Miles
I've gotta say, she knows what to look for. This research has good detail and theories. No one has theories so far unless it's about taking women from bars.
I watch her as she pushes through that rush of sadness and gathers herself. I wanted to comfort her, but I get the feeling she wouldn't like that very much. Having this be a personal case is really going to cloud her judgement. At least I thought it would. I step closer to take another look at her map, checking out the details of the bars. Looks like her personal involvement focused her attention on this case. Good, that should help us move forward, and hopefully figure out those cold cases.
“How long have you been with the FBI?”
She lifts her head. Her eyes are slightly puffy with the light trail a tear left down her cheek. I look away quickly, I can’t see her break down like this.
“Few years. I'm into analysis, and mostly to catch this fucker. I get a look at the evidence and reports, try and determine what we are looking for.” Analyzing, huh? Bet she’s real good at judging someone by their initial meeting. I’m screwed if that’s the case. She probably got a skewed theory about me from our first meeting.
“You mean who we’re looking for?” I look to her to see a hard stare directed at me.
She scoffs. “Hell no. ‘Who’ indicates this is human. The people who commit crimes like this aren't human.”
“Good point.” I turn my attention back to the map, I don’t want to make her uncomfortable by watching her pull herself together. “So what do you have marked off?”
She stands next to me, wiping her face with the back of her hand. Then takes a sip of coffee. I swear I heard a moan with each sip as she closed her eyes. Glad to know she enjoyed my pick for her.
“Possible locations he would go. This is where we were at.” She briefly points to number thirty-eight, then grabs a marker and tags the one thirty-nine was at. Taking a step back and stares at the mark like it will bring clues.
“How'd you determine which bars?”
“Well, I've investigated since number thirty. Each location has been different, so it’s all a guessing game at this point. I may have spent my fair share of time in bars scouting.”
She continues to look at the board, not even concerned about what I think. And I think she shouldn't be alone doing this. I'm surprised she hasn't been tagged by the killer actually. Five nine, dark brown hair with lighter caramel streaks through it. Gray eyes conveying the mystery of this woman, and legs for days that have haunted me since we met. I look her over as she takes a few more sips of coffee. She’s absolutely beautiful, and she’s alone?
“Should have a part
ner. Or at least a boyfriend or girlfriend, a friend of some sort to go with you.” Well, I hope that wasn't noticeable.
“If you're trying to fish for information about me, just ask. No boyfriend, no girlfriend, and I've spent my time on work so much that I don't think I have friends anymore. Since Elara was taken, I've isolated myself. As you can see.” She said pointing to the board. So I was obvious. Surprisingly she’s forthcoming about that information.
“Why not just sit at the bar? Not trying to be bait, but looking for who he would take?” Why not look for other victims instead of putting herself out there as one?
“Didn't think about it. But then again, I'd love nothing more than to meet the bastard and kill him. After I find my sister, of course.” Her body tightens at that comment making me want to calm her worry. But the dark tone she has worries me.
“Wouldn't it be better to follow him rather than be taken and probably knocked out?” I'm hoping I can sway her to just people watch. “I'd love to go with you. Better to have two on the lookout.” Not like I’m going to let her do this by herself any longer.
We're still staring at the board like it's going to pop up more clues or the answer will suddenly appear the longer we look it over.
She turns to me. “Mind if you run this through for me? I couldn't get anyone to do it. I was hoping for prints of some sort. Long shot I know. But hopeful.” She hands me the glass. I look at it closer. A short tumbler glass with a solid base, similar to the one we picked up the other day. The number is crudely etched on the bottom too, indicating it’s scrawled out by hand. If you weren’t looking for it specifically, you’d easily overlook it.
“The numbers are sloppy. How is he getting a hold of the drinks to use his specially marked glass?”
