by Elle Gray
Copyright © 2021 by Elle Gray
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Also by Elle Gray
Prologue
Residence of Cassie Cooper & Bradley Sunderland; Seattle, WA
Cassie closed the door behind her and threw the lock, then dropped her bag and keys on the small table next to the door.
“Babe, I’m home,” she called out.
When she got no answer, she turned around and looked through the dark house. Only the light on the timer in the living room was on. She crossed to the rounded archway into the hall and peeked in, only to find it empty.
“Babe? You home?” she called out. Still no answer.
Frowning, she walked to the kitchen, flipping on the light as she entered. She went to the refrigerator, her frown deepening. There was no note left for her on the fridge. She tried the table and the counters but still found nothing.
Brad hadn’t told her he was going out, and today was his day off, so she felt a flutter of concern in her heart. He never went anywhere without texting her to let her know or leaving a note on the refrigerator. He was always considerate like that.
She pulled her phone out of her purse, keyed in a quick text message to him and sent it off. She waited for a minute, trying to control her anxiety, then called him. In the increasingly ominous silence of the house, she heard the ringtone Brad used for her chime from the back room.
The feeling of ice water suddenly suffused her veins. Cassie felt a tremor pass through her body as the worst, bleakest thoughts passed through her mind.
Slowly and haltingly, Cassie made her way down the hallway toward their bedroom, terrified she was going to find Brad back there. She immediately started to worry that he’d had a heart attack－the doctor was always getting on him about his cholesterol. Or what if it had been a brain aneurysm? She knew those come on unexpectedly and hit people of any age.
Standing before the bedroom door, she reached out with a trembling hand and pushed it inward, the familiar creak of it opening now sounding absolutely sinister. The room beyond was dark. The blackout drapes had been shut, leaving the bedroom cloaked in a murky shadow that was nearly impenetrable to her eyes.
But she didn’t need to see to know that something was wrong. There was a vibration in the air that wasn’t right, or maybe on some deep level she registered the hint of a different smell－whatever it was, Cassie knew she wasn’t alone.
And whoever was in the room, wasn’t Brad.
Once the door was fully open, gently bumping into the wall behind it, she became aware of the silhouette standing in the middle of the room. A shadow even darker than the room around him, as if he somehow sucked in every trace of light. She felt her knees weaken and her stomach turn over on itself.
“Hello, Cassie,” he said.
Her ears filled with the rough, heavy scraping of the old chain against concrete. Her heart filled with dread. The shackle snapped around her ankle with an impossibly loud metallic click. She pulled at the chain that bound her, but it held her fast.
“Who are you?”
She repeated the question for the thousandth time since she’d been taken. But just like the other nine hundred and ninety-nine times she’d asked, Cassie didn’t get an answer.
“Where’s Brad? What did you do with Brad?!” she shouted.
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with. Not anymore, at any rate,” he finally spoke, his voice smooth and cultured.
Her heart falling into her stomach, she listened to his heavy footsteps receding. They thumped hollowly on the treads as he went up a staircase, leading Cassie to guess that she was being kept in a basement. And when the door closed, she reached up and yanked the hood off her head.
Cassie looked around wildly, confirming that she was being kept in a basement, albeit one that looked like it had been converted into some sort of bonus room. Wood paneling covered the walls, and she sat on a bunk that was bolted to the wall like the beds in a prison cell. Recessed track lighting lined two sides of the room, giving the room a soft glow that would have been pleasant in other circumstances.
In the far corner of the basement, there was a table and a pair of chairs. A red and white checkered tablecloth was draped over the top of the table, and a small crystal vase with a single red rose stood in the center. It was like some deranged and demented sidewalk bistro. A sliding door was built into the wall next to the table, making Cassie think of an old-fashioned dumbwaiter.
Closer to her, a large, plush sofa and a recliner sat on an area rug. A coffee table stood in front of the sofa, and a large flatscreen TV hung on the wall across from it. The overall effect was that the basement had been refurbished and made comfortable. As if it had been turned into an apartment of sorts. He obviously spent a lot of time down there. It was a thought that sent a cold chill of dread racing through her.
“You’re never getting out of here, you know.”
The voice was raspy and weak－and completely unexpected. Cassie jerked in surprise so violently, the chain around her ankle rattled as she jumped to her feet, her heart thundering inside of her. She turned and saw the woman sitting on a bunk like hers. She was pale and drawn, her red hair limp. She didn’t look unhealthy or starved in any way. She was clean and wasn’t wearing rags. But just like Cassie, she wore a shackle around her ankle. The other end of the heavy chain was secured to the floor with a thick iron ring.
Her eyes held Cassie’s gaze and chilled her to the very core. The woman’s eyes were so empty. So devoid of hope and life. The look of utter resignation on the woman’s face scared Cassie more than anything.
“H－how long have you been here?” Cassie asked.
She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Feels like forever. But I couldn’t tell you,” she said. “It’s a little hard to tell time in a place with no windows, y’know?”
Cassie shuddered and folded her arms over her chest protectively, searching the room, looking for weaknesses or ways out. Searching for something she could use as a weapon to defend herself with. But there was nothing that she could see. Frustrated and scared, Cassie gripped the chain that bound her and started to pull, tugging with all of her might against the iron ring that had
been sunk into the concrete. Not surprisingly, it didn’t budge.
Cassie dropped back down onto her bunk and buried her face in her hands. She tried to fight the waves of tears that rolled down her cheeks but didn’t have the strength to stem the tide. The fear that gripped her was unlike anything she’d ever felt before; fear for herself and fear for Brad. She still had no idea what happened to him or where he was.
“The best thing you can do for yourself is just give in to him,” the other woman said. “Just do what he wants, don’t talk back, and hope he gets bored and puts you out of your misery quicker.”
Cassie turned to the woman, a look of horror on her face. The woman just stared back at her dispassionately. She was nothing more than an empty vessel anymore.
“I fought in the beginning. Fought like hell. He beat me within an inch of my life. More than once.” She laughed bitterly. “It was only when I gave in that the beatings stopped. But when I did that, he seemed to get bored with me. And now, voila! Here you are.”
“Why is he doing this?” Cassie asks.
The woman shrugs again. “I have no idea. Seems to me like he’s trying to play out some creepy ass fantasy. He wines and dines－”
The woman bit her words off as the man’s heavy steps sounded on the staircase. She looked over at Cassie and frowned.
“I’ll be gone when you wake up. Dead probably,” she whispered. “Good luck and remember what I said.”
“Wait what? Gone? Gone where?”
“Silence,” the man roared.
Cassie turned her attention to him as he stood before her. He was tall and had an average build, with a slight paunch around his middle. He had dark hair that was thinning, dark eyes behind his round-rimmed glasses, and pale skin. Cassie cataloged all of these details about him, burning them into her mind, silently praying that a time would come when she could use them. When she could give them to the police so she could pick him out of a lineup after he was arrested.
She continued trying to memorize his details and had gotten to his unusually long, delicate looking fingers and froze when she saw that he was holding a syringe. Her eyes widened and she put her hands up, trying to ward him off as he started to move toward her.
“Please don’t do this,” she pleaded with him. “Please.”
“I’m afraid I must. You are too exquisite to pass up. I really think you’ll be perfect. That you’re the one.”
“Who are you?” she screamed at him.
His smile was warm and sincere, and Cassie found that creepier than anything else about him. He grabbed hold of her hair and yanked her head back viciously. She cried out as he sunk the needle into her exposed neck. Cassie felt the slow burn of the liquid spreading through her veins. She felt the tears spill from the corner of her eye and slip down her cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb. She thought it was an oddly tender, intimate gesture.
And as her darkness crept in at the edges of her vision, her entire reality wavering as if she was underwater, all she could see was his face. He gave her that warm, disarming smile again.
“I’m your whole world now, sweetheart.”
One
Federal Bureau of Investigations; Seattle Field Office
“Welcome back, Special Agent Wilder,” Tom greets me.
I give him a smile as I tie my strawberry blonde hair back. “It’s really good to see you, Tom.”
“Yeah, you too. Now go catch some bad guys.”
“That’s the plan,” I say with a warm laugh.
After passing through the metal detectors and the careful eye of Tom Willets, who’s run security in the SFO since well before I got here－the first time. Tom was the first face I saw at my very first field office after graduating from the Academy. I’m actually kind of glad to see that he’s still here. There’s something to be said for consistency and continuity.
And speaking of consistency and continuity, I roll my eyes when I see Grant Bryant fall into step beside me. I walk on quickly, trying to ignore him completely. But he’s got a few inches on my five-foot-nine frame, which means he’s got longer legs and can keep pace without trying too hard.
If having an arch-nemesis was really a thing, Grant would be mine. But since it’s not, I’ll settle for calling him the biggest pain in my ass I’ve ever known. He made my first tour in the SFO a living hell. Or at least, he tried to. Grant has never gotten over the fact that I was right about something that solved a case. The problem being that he was wrong and wound up with egg on his face. Like－a lot of egg.
Ever since then, he’s made it his mission to make me as uncomfortable as possible. He seems to delight in doing it, in fact. But the one thing I’ve learned over the years is to not give him what he wants－which is an overly emotional reaction. I’ve learned to fight fire with fire, and snark with snark.
It usually leads to him calling me a bitch before he stomps away like a petulant child, but hey, at least it gets him out of my face. And if demanding the same respect he shows to the male agents makes me a bitch, then so be it. I don’t think I’m asking for too much to ask for respect. But I also know the Bureau, and law enforcement in general, is still a good old boys’ club. We may be wearing the same jerseys, but we’re hardly playing for the same team. It usually feels like we’re not even playing the same sport.
Oh, some progress has been made. I won’t say it hasn’t. But a memo from the Director and a new handbook isn’t going to change things all that much. It’s all window dressing. But hey, it’s good theater. It lets those in charge pat each other on the back and feel good about themselves. The fact is, the good old boys will continue being good old boys. For things to truly change, there has to be genuine accountability for those who seek to hold back progress and continue to treat women and people of color as second rate.
And Grant’s problem with me stems from the fact that I proved to everybody that he is in fact, the one who’s a second-rate agent. Without intending to do it, I exposed his sloppiness, lack of work ethic, and intellectual laziness. I showed everybody that he’s not a great agent, and he’s never forgiven me for it.
While I walked on eggshells around the guy for a little while, looking back on it, I’m glad I did it, and wish I had intended to do that. I personally find his lack of commitment and dedication to the job offensive. I eat, drink, and sleep for the Bureau. I consider it an honor and a sacred duty to be the very best I can be. Serving others and saving lives is, to me, the highest calling.
For Grant, it’s a paycheck. He’s the sort of man who flashes his badge in a bar, hoping to get laid. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if I found out he spends time at home, looking at himself in the mirror, practicing the badge flip. That’s just who he is, whereas I am the job. I love it and I live for it.
“So, I heard you were back,” Grant finally says.
“Didn’t know you cared enough to ask.”
He shrugs. “I don’t really. But it’s all anybody’s talking about. Christ, the way they talk, you’d think they’re talking about the Pope coming to town. St. Blake Wilder is back among we mere mortals－”
“Is there a point to this little reunion? Or did you just need to prove that you’re still a jerk?” I ask.
He stops and puts his hand on my arm to stop me as well. I have to physically restrain myself from breaking his hand and settle for just shrugging it off. He puts his hands up and takes a step back.
“Sorry,” he says. “Anyway, I hear you get to pick your team.”
“And?”
“I want in. I want to be on your team.”
My laughter nearly doubles me over, and when I stand up, wiping away the tears of mirth that are rolling down my face, Grant is scowling.
“You know I’m a good investigator,” he protests.
“You are? When did that happen?”
“Blake－”
“Look, I don’t like you, you don’t like me. And that’s fine. We don’t have to like each other,” I tell him. “But I’m sure as hell
not going to put a cancer like you on my team. I only want people who are all about the job.”
“Come on, Blake. Be reasonable,” he frowns, sounding like he’s actually pleading with me. “I’ve been stuck in this spot for years. I could really use a career boost working on a high-profile squad like yours.”
The idea of my squad being high-profile sends a chill through me. I’m not looking for notoriety. I don’t want fame, or to be holding press conferences. My goal－no, my mission－and that of my team is, and always will be, taking down killers.
“Sorry Grant. My squad doesn’t exist to further your career,” I say, my voice ice cold. “We’re here to do a job. I suggest you do the same.”
“Fine. That’s fine,” he seethes. “I’ll talk to Rosie about it.”
“I’ll save you the trouble and mention it, since I’m on my way to see her now,” I reply. “But you should know, I’ve been given the green light to run my squad, including personnel decisions, how I see fit.”
I turn and walk off before he can respond. I’m done with him and don’t see the need to continue the conversation. Though, I am amused he thought I’d actually pick him to be on my team.
Petty? Maybe. But I genuinely do only want the doers and go-getters on my squad. I want people with sharp minds who can think independently, but also follow orders. This is my first shot at command; all the heat comes down on me. If I screw this up, I may not get another bite at the apple.
