by Trisha Wolfe
She nods slowly. “Rules are very important to you,” she continues as she stands and walks to the glass chessboard. “You’ve constructed your life, and your company, around certain rules you deem essential, and a threat to that structure would be quite a stressor.”
Sadie touches a piece on the board, looks over her shoulder at Larkin. Some tentative battle of wills arcs between them. I can see it in the way Larkin’s lips thin. His gaze steady on the chess piece. A pawn.
Finally, Larkin meets Sadie’s eyes and smiles. “I’m not one of your subjects to analyze. You can profile me all you want, but you’re wasting your time. That won’t get you any closer to your goal, Agent Bonds.”
Sadie slides the pawn forward on the board and then faces Larkin. “And we’re not going to become pawns in your game, Mister Larkin. If the Alpha is a threat to you, you’d simply have him eliminated. Game over. But you’ve welcomed us in to do your dirty work.” She crosses her arms and moves closer to his desk. “Either you know who the Alpha is and you realize that you, yourself, can’t touch him. Or you don’t know his identity at all, and you want us to flush him out for you.”
Larkin’s smile is brilliant and practiced. “Touché, agent. You are quite good.”
Sadie cocks her head. “So which is it, and how do you plan to slither away from this unscathed?”
He straightens his back. All facade erased from his serious demeanor. “Ferreting out the Alpha serves to help me as much as it does you.” He inclines his head, letting us know Sadie was right in her deduction. “Why else would I suggest it if it didn’t benefit me? Every single person on this planet is self-involved. We all orchestrate games and have agendas to benefit ourselves.”
“All right.” I jump in. “I’m tired of being on this merry-go-round. Do you have anything useful for us, or is this just a ruse to garner information for yourself? I’m one minute away from having my partner take you in for impeding our investigation.”
He shoots me a glare. Doesn’t like being threatened; Sadie nailed that one dead-on. “What if I told you I might have knowledge as to where the Alpha will be tomorrow night?”
This forces me off the sofa. I approach him with locked fists. “I’d say you have less than a minute now.”
Sadie touches my arm, and I stop. But if whatever he does know can remove Avery as a target…then I’ll get that information. One way or another.
Larkin shares a look with Alexis, and she nods, encouraging him. I don’t understand the dynamic between him and his assistant, but I’m mentally storing her sway over him for later use.
“I do know where the Alpha will be tomorrow night,” Larkin says, squaring his shoulders. “We have one small window of opportunity for all of us to get what we want. And we will do it my way—” he glances between Sadie and me “—because I won’t have the FBI or your clumsy task force fucking it up.”
It’s the first bit of true backbone I’ve seen from Larkin so far. Smug fucker. I smile. I can work with that.
8
Rabbit Hole
Avery
The crime lab has become something akin to Alcatraz. Chief security measures have been enforced, assuring that no one outside the lab techs and law enforcement gain entry. Officers stand guard at the entrance, requiring all technicians and interns to sign in, then they’re checked against the databases.
Not just safeguarding; this lab is under surveillance.
This level of invasiveness is more than unnerving. I feel trapped. Like a rat spinning a wheel, round and round, just waiting for one of my monitors to toss in a stick to trip me up. And then the whole charade comes crashing down.
Honestly, I’m almost relieved it could be over. Exhaustion has started to toy with my mind. Paranoia has crept into my work. I question every look, every statement from my techs. I’m slipping.
And granted, even though the added security ensures the safety of my lab, it also affects my staff. Since the occurrence yesterday… No, scratch that. Since the first time I was taken by Wells, there’s been a lingering thread of fear running through this place.
Although everyone is too considerate to call it out for what it is, it’s there. Hovering just below their forced, kind smiles. They either hate the censoring as much as I do, or they want out, transferred altogether.
They were working alongside a sadistic killer for months…I can’t fault them for wanting to get far away from this madhouse.
Besides, with the FBI introducing—not too subtly—their special medical examiner team, we’ve been sidelined. We’ve become their helpers. I’m not sure why I was even called to the first crime scene today other than they wanted to test me. Analyze my reaction to the vic draped in my lab coat.
Or that could just be my paranoia.
The lab coat has been identified as mine now. Special forensic medical examiner in charge, Aubrey Paulsen, pointed it out only moments ago. He then proceeded to admonish me in front of my own lab, requesting in a not-so-requesting manner for me to take the rest of the evening off.
I’m not going anywhere until the other two victims are brought in. I have to know if there’s another warning against me on their person. I have to know if this will all circle back to me, and my role in the disposal of Wells.
The masked man knew what I’d done, and he threatened to make it known. By escaping and thwarting his plans—whatever horrible fate he had intended for me—I’ve set this in motion.
How will he reveal my secret?
I press my palms against the autopsy cart. The cool steel helps stabilize my breathing. The truth is, I set this in motion the moment I looked Sadie in the eyes and wished for my captor’s death. Once it became reality, there was no turning back. This warped and ugly reality is my reward, and once the world knows, I won’t fear for my life anymore.
Is physical death less of a punishment than the death of my career and reputation? I feel disgusting for comparing such a thing.
Death or prison? I’d rather not have to choose between either.
The double doors swing open with a loud bang and I flinch. My black thoughts are pushed aside as I prepare myself. I dust my hands off on my coat as the transfer crew wheel the body toward the center of the lab.
Doctor Paulsen rests his hand on my shoulder, and I nearly leap away from his touch. “Relax,” he says, but removes his hand. “I’m just going to reiterate my thoughts about you taking the night off, Doctor Johnson.” His light gray eyes and strikingly handsome features turn down in consideration. “You don’t have to be here for this.”
My defenses flare. I should be here for this, as this is my lab. “I appreciate your concern, Doctor Paulsen.” I pull a pair of gloves from my pocket. “But I’m sure you’d want to be present in your own lab in such a circumstance.”
His lips twist into a slight smile. “Of course. And please, you can call me Aubrey. No formalities among colleagues, all right?”
I free a strained breath, accepting with a nod. “Avery is fine, also. Thank you.”
The momentary camaraderie is soon dispelled when the second body arrives, completing today’s body count at three. Aubrey does the honors and signs off on the delivery while I take measured steps toward the second victim.
After completing my examination of the first, documenting the brutality she suffered, I feel I'm prepared to face this next challenge. I’m not, however, prepared for the thick bile that burns my throat at the noxious smell.
I unzip the white body bag and suppress a gasp.
She’s been disemboweled.
This victim still has her skin—but her insides have been eviscerated. Her sternum sliced open, right through her chest cavity down to her pelvis. Split down the middle like a sunbaked, overripe watermelon.
How long did she remain alive through the torture?
I look away, hating that I’ll soon discover the answer to that question.
Aubrey begins recording the vic’s stats, moving right along to the grotesque facts of her death. I liste
n while he details every removed organ, and lists the few remains of her intestines and entrails that spill over her stomach wall.
“Flora Porter was twenty years of age and—”
“What?”
His gaze flicks to me, his examination interrupted. With a click, he stops the recorder. “Is there an issue, Avery?”
Yes, there’s a damn issue. “How do you know her name already?”
His mouth purses into a thin line, his shoulders deflate. “The FBI have a rather rapid response to victim identification. I believe one of your officers has already been dispatched to contact the victim’s next of kin.”
I inhale a stale breath. “And the others?” Where were the FBI and their extensive, state-of-the-art databases when I was weeding through searches on the very first victim? If we’d had that information before I was taken… No. I can’t go there. Nothing would’ve stopped Mister AK Tie from getting what he wanted. The drug. This all comes back to the drug, and God—there’s an FBI medical examiner in my lab, surrounded by evidence of the drug, who will soon link all the connections.
Quinn. I need you.
And it hits me then. Connection. The connection. The initials AK on the crest of the necktie…A. King. The forum poster.
I can’t blame this oversight on exhaustion; I refused to see it. My darknet searches for ambergris did lead them to me—it is my fault. And then, somehow, this man unearthed my evil secret to use against me—to guarantee my cooperation.
“Avery?”
I snap myself out of my thoughts. I can’t do this here. I have to hold it together. “And the other victims?” I ask, concealing the tremble in my voice.
“I believe we’re on track with them, as well.” He grabs his tablet and swipes the screen. “Vita Laurent and Sidra Girard have both been identified. Laurent was reported missing by her parents in Prague, but Girard was ‘chalked up’ as a runaway. Girard’s family is still trying to be located.”
I glance around the lab, noticing eyes watching me, bodies stilled in anticipation for my reaction. Natalie clears her throat and resumes her data entry on the trace at the first scene, and the rest follow suit. The room reboots with its usual hum of activity.
Aubrey ticks his head toward my office, silently requesting that we handle this out of earshot. I don’t hide from my coworkers, though. Since the abduction, my life has become an open book.
“They’re foreign,” I say, keeping the escalating panic from creeping into my tone.
With a deliberate nod, Aubrey says, “Yes. From what we’ve garnered, all the victims were originally from outside the US.” He toggles his screen. “Marcy Beloff was initially from Canada before she took up residence in Arlington. She’s the only local victim, however.”
My mind is spinning theories. Everything coming at me at supersonic speed. A dizzying rush attacks my equilibrium. I grip the edge of the table.
“Avery. I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.” Aubrey approaches me with caution. “We’re not detectives or agents. Our job isn’t to speculate or connect evidence with theories. We’re just gathering the facts.”
For a medical examiner who doesn’t read into theories, he’s deducing one about me pretty well right now. “I understand this. But I was also very nearly a victim myself.” I head around the cart toward the last victim. “So excuse me if this case is a bit more personal for me.”
His sigh is audible over the lab clamor. “And that’s exactly why I suggested you take time off.”
That stings. I whirl around, the end of my ponytail slaps my cheek. “Which doesn’t conclude that I can’t be objective and do my job.”
I’m not a confrontational person by nature. I don’t seek out conflict, and I really don’t want to go toe-to-toe with some FBI medical examiner. But I’ve been abducted, drugged, and damn near killed in the past forty-eight hours, and amid it all, I’ve had my lab infiltrated.
The one place that I used to feel the most myself in will never, ever be mine again.
“We need to determine the cause of death for this vic,” I say, directing his exasperated attention to the final cadaver. Once I have conclusive findings to all their deaths, I might actually have a worthy update for Quinn.
I peel away the body bag to examine the last victim. Her toe tag does in fact list her name. She didn’t go easily. She put up a vicious fight. Good for her.
Her frail body is covered in lacerations and contusions. Defensive wounds cover her arms and legs. At least she has limbs…and skin and viscera.
“With each vic, the perp stepped up the method of torture,” I say, thinking out loud. “What happened to you?” I whisper to the victim.
Aubrey shakes his head, and I glance up. “What?” I ask.
“You must work closely with the detectives in your building.” He adjusts his gloves as he takes up a place opposite the victim. “You sound just like them.”
A small smile tugs at my lips. “We are a pretty close unit.” Heat splashes the back of my neck at the memory of Quinn in my kitchen.
“See this here?” He points to a dark ring of bruises around her neck, and I refocus my thoughts. “It appears the victim was strangled as the…perp”—he glances up—“submerged her.”
I find how he came to the drowning conclusion right away. Her skin is bloated, but not of a normal degree due to typical death bloat, and the petechial hemorrhaging, the blood dotting her pale eyes, isn’t pooled at the bottom of her lids, like it would be if it settled there naturally at her death. The offender could’ve submerged her right after she was asphyxiated, the broken vessels of her eyes bleeding out into the water, but I believe we’ll discover water in her lungs to constitute she was drowned.
“We should open the vic up to confirm.” I turn toward my tray of tools.
“From the degree and number of contusions along her neck, and the varying placements…” He pauses as he pulls back the bag shielding her torso. “Yes, she has bruising on her chest, too.” He presses his fingers along her rib cage and applies pressure. “At least two broken ribs.”
I feel the blood drain from my face, cold and prickling in its wake. “He resuscitated her.”
His gaze meets mine, his mouth curved in a hard frown. “Many times. To drown her all over again.”
My eyes are drawn to the other victims, their gory demise, their brutal torture. Their suffering was excruciating. And yet, they only had to endure it once. As I look at the last victim again, her skin pale and drained of life, her unseeing eyes dull, I break down.
My bones are liquid by the time the last COD report is submitted. My muscles burn, my shoulder that was wrenched during my struggle in the lab yesterday throbs, the pain medication having worn off hours ago.
Aubrey insisted on staying after I let my techs go for the evening. They’ve seen me nearly broken before, but my breakdown earlier was shocking even for me. I’m too drained to be embarrassed. The fragile walls I’ve erected could come tumbling down any second.
All Aubrey has to do is ask the right questions—about the drug, about the men who abducted me. In a moment of sheer exhaustion, I’d confess everything.
He doesn’t ask, though. He records facts and findings, and doesn’t entertain theories. I do admire his work ethic and skills, but I couldn’t answer to the FBI the way he does. There’s an almost military structure and code that makes me claustrophobic just being near him.
As I massage my shoulder, working out the ache, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and look down, my heart unsure whether it wants to stop beating or rejoice.
Quinn: I’m parked out front.
I hadn’t actually thought about what would happen once I left the lab. This morning where Quinn, rather domineeringly, insisted I stay with him feels like ages ago. So much has transpired since then.
I wonder why he hasn’t just come into the lab like he usually does, until I recall the security officers guarding the entrance. I hurriedly reply that I’m on my way out.
In my office, I tuck the flash drive where I saved my reports on the victims into my pocket, then lock up. I awkwardly wave to Aubrey as I head toward the double doors. There’s suddenly a pull in my belly, some string tethered within my body, drawing me in Quinn’s direction as if by aberrant force.
I’ve successfully avoided him all day, even though I promised to keep him updated. I just…couldn’t. I couldn’t pretend to be on top of this job while everything inside me was fighting to keep breathing through the suffocating madness of it all.
Quinn’s demanding, authoritative nature reminds me too much of the scientist I used to be. Besides, from the moment I saw the tortured victim, and realized these girls are dying because of me…
I knew my secret is no longer mine to keep.
It’s time.
I just wanted to postpone the inevitable as long as I could. Savor the comforting feeling I get when I think of Quinn’s hands on me. His mouth caressing, lingering. Because once he knows the truth, those moments between us will evaporate into oblivion as if they never existed.
As I nod to the officer stationed outside the main door, I spot Quinn leaning against his dented car. And Sadie on the other side.
Immediately, a vise-like grip clutches my airway, and the cool, evening air makes me shiver. There’s a hint of dead leaves in the air despite there being no trees in the parking lot. It’s the kind of foreboding you sense coming in a movie, when the main character is creeping toward an unavoidable, doomed outcome.
I walk steadily toward them, aware that I’m the idiot girl in my own movie, heading straight for a cataclysmic end. My only hope is that I’ll be able to repair the damage from the fallout between Quinn and I in the sequel.
Either way, I’m exhausted from secrets. I know Sadie will try to stop me, talk me out of it, for my own good…but I’m ready to face my consequences and do whatever I have to in order to stop the evil that has descended over all of us with these murders. If Quinn can suss out just one clue from my horror story with Wells, if there’s any connection at all to him and these villainous men, then it’s worth my freedom.
