by V. F. Mason
“So there are more people like me? Kids?”
He shakes his head. “You are the only one he kept alive.”
What? Why?
“Do you remember anything, Ella? Any detail will help us.”
“No,” I whisper, because I’d been at the party while he did what he did to my family.
Well, I have all the freedom in the world now.
Unfortunately, it has a high price.
New York, New York
May 2018
Ella
The car moves smoothly through the traffic of New York while I pick up the folders next to me and study the list of all the people who could have hurt Claire Hendricks. The woman sure got around, from one powerful man to another, although most had nothing but nice things to say about her. No enemies or scandals either, so who could have killed her in such rage?
Maybe a rejected admirer?
Preston continues to type while frowning and wiping away the sweat from his forehead. I take out a tissue from my purse and extend it to him. He gives it one glance, pauses, but then resumes doing his thing, ignoring me once again.
Seriously, what’s up with this guy?
“Your recommendations are splendid, Ella.” Noah drives the car and catches my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Hope you can live up to them.”
I rub my forehead, wondering if this is what it’s like to work for the FBI.
Will I have to face constant smirks and jokes? Although Dean Holt warned me it’s not an easy job, with people constantly facing danger and psychos. They need to find fun in something, unless they want to go insane.
I just never thought I’d be the one they made fun of.
The car stops abruptly and I glance through the open window at the Federal Bureau building, the New York field location of the FBI. The building has impossibly high glass walls with a clean appearance all around.
Noah shows his badge to security, who nods and opens the gate for us, while several other cars wait their turn. The territory is highly guarded.
“Why did you choose our office?”
I’m slightly taken aback by the question from Preston, who has shifted his attention to me. He keeps his locked hands on his laptop while Noah searches for a parking space.
“As in the Behavioral Analysis Unit?”
He shakes his head, moving the hair from his forehead, which makes him almost cute and not like a jerk. “Our office. The headquarters are at Quantico. You’d have a wider scope of experience there.”
The main headquarters of the FBI is located in Quantico, Virginia. They train the academy students there, handle the most important cases, and generally work hard. Other offices in the country are just field offices that handle cases where they have jurisdiction.
“Oh, I studied at NYU, and all my family is here.”
I choose not to mention that Virginia is my home state and I don’t want to go back there, ever. It holds too many memories, memories I try to forget every night. Not that I have much success though.
“I heard people have fun there,” Preston says, and I just blink, because this guy is so freaking random.
Noah finally parks the car and we get out, as he orders someone on the phone. “Make sure everyone is in the conference room in five minutes. We have a lot to discuss.” The way he says it, the tone of his voice, leaves no room for questions or the desire to disobey the guy.
As we ride the elevator to our floor, Preston mumbles something, Noah acts like a statue, and I think about how monumental this moment is in my career.
All the years I’ve worked so hard for this, through constant rejections and sleepless nights, working three jobs at a time to support myself in college just to be able to stand here today and help catch those people who hurt families.
Who destroy lives.
I’ve learned everything there is to know about them, studied their psychology and behavior. Gotten to know what makes them who they are and what their triggers are. How they try to justify their actions because of their upbringing or life circumstances.
The knowledge still doesn't dull the pain of losing my family. But maybe once I save other families, it can shift. I’m not sure I can afford waking up with nightmares for the rest of my life.
“Ella?”
I snap back from my memories to see Noah holding the elevator door for me since Preston has already rushed outside.
“Sorry,” I mumble, and his gaze softens for a second but quickly passes, so it must have been my imagination. “I was lost in my head for a second there.”
“Happens,” he says, and we go through more glass doors that open wide to countless desks with computers where people click on them or drink coffee while talking with their coworkers or studying folders. Noah has a certain direction in mind as he guides me to the right corner where stairs go down a level, sort of like a wing, and several people pass by and greet him.
Finally, we reach a spacious conference room with a huge TV in the middle along with a round table that holds several iPads. People occupy most of the chairs. A couch that has seen better days sits in the background, and the smell of coffee is strong.
At least we all share love for coffee.
“Everyone, meet our new team member, Ella Gadot.” Noah introduces me as they stand up, each one of them extending a hand to shake.
“Andrea.” The only female member is first, bold in her approach. Her long blonde locks go with her sapphire eyes as she winks at me. “I’m the only sane one here. Girl power!” She raises her fist while the guys roll their eyes; a smile tugs at my lips. I can be friends with her. Her gray suit showcases her fit body nicely, and I suspect she probably is a hit here. The woman is beautiful. “I’m a profiler.”
“Jacob Ford.” The man has insane muscles and strained veins on his neck. His James Dean haircut gives him a naughty look while his assertive green eyes don’t appear to miss a thing. “Welcome.” Something about him unsettles me, but I return the grin. Although he speaks the word, I don’t think he likes having me here very much.
“Preston is our computer science specialist, so he mostly stays here. We rarely need his presence in the field,” Noah informs me while Preston drinks his coffee and doesn't pay attention to anyone.
They act friendly, but I know better. In such professions, you have to prove your worth first. They trust their team members with their lives, and such trust is not easily given.
“And Kierian who is late.” Noah sounds angry as his eyes focus on the door behind me. I turn around to see one of the most handsome men in the room.
Although he has muscles, he is more on the lean side with a defined six-pack that his black T-shirt emphasizes while his black jeans give him a rather dangerous posture. His black hair is done in a man bun while his five o'clock shadow gives him a brutal yet hot look. But the most mesmerizing part of him is his beautiful exotic silver eyes that oddly enough do not go with everything else. They appear to hold so many secrets, not that anyone will likely ever find out what they are.
I should know, since I had a one-night stand with him two weeks ago.
Groaning inwardly, I really hope he never mentions it to anyone, because there is nothing like starting work with that kind of reputation.
Hooking up with a coworker!
My brows furrow at his looks, because FBI agents mostly keep haircuts short and no facial hair. In other words, they don’t stand out so no one pays them attention. Exceptions are undercover agents.
Then it dawns on me that Noah mentioned one of his team members has recently been undercover working on an important case for locating a serial killer who targeted people in small towns. He must be that agent.
Kierian smirks at Noah while he salutes him with his coffee cup.
“Good morning to you too.” He then gives me his hand. “Welcome to the team. I’m the only nice one here,” he jokes, while the others groan, clearly used to his behavior.
My eyes narrow at his words, his handsomeness diminishing rapi
dly. So he is going to act as if we don’t know each other.
Good, but it doesn't mean he is allowed to speak to me with such familiarity. I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, when Andrea does it for me.
“Kierian, no need to show you are an asshole from day one.” But they share a smile, so she doesn’t mean the heat of her words.
Well, okay.
The team sure is an interesting bunch of people.
“I need to speak with Eva. Once I’m back, Preston will present the new case to us. It’s urgent, so no slacking,” he warns, and everyone nods, while Andrea pats the seat next to her. “Come sit with us till we wait for the case to land here. You want coffee?”
Oh my God, am I really about to get my first case?
Psychopath
She smiles at something Andrea says while picking up her coffee, and her eyes close in pleasure as she takes her first sip. She twirls a dark curl with her index finger as she listens attentively to all the information on the previous case. Although she acts at ease, I can see tension in her shoulders as if she doesn't know if they accept her.
She almost reminds me of a doll with her pale, clear skin that will probably look magnificent with blood smeared all over it while her beautiful brown pools fill with tears and fear from what I make her feel.
I always preferred blonde hair on women, but her dark locks somehow dimmed the purity of her demeanor and made her more approachable to me.
To my desires.
My cocks hardens against the zipper of my jeans as my hand tightens on the pen I sign the reports with, but not from the images of her taking my dick while she is spread on my bed.
Oh, no.
It’s from the idea of her spread on my bed while I use my favorite knife on her skin, to mark it with different cuts that will give me her moans and screams. Then I’ll fuck her with all the blood spread between us, forever binding us in a divine way.
Her picture alone as my trophy won’t do her justice.
She should have stayed in the center and worked with cognitive psychology, not stepped into my world.
Because she became my prey, and sooner rather than later, I will get her.
I just have to play my cards right.
Chapter Four
Unsub
Richmond, Virginia
June 2006
Ella
The sun shines brightly, lighting up the entire field while birds chirp in the trees. A light breeze touches my skin, but I want to snap it away as it reminds me of my whereabouts, and I hate nothing more than the fact this weather is amazing for such a day.
The velvet jacket scratches my skin because it’s too hot for such clothes, but I don’t care. The priest continues to read passages that seem related to the situation, while people are sniffing or crying and sending pitying glances my way in the process.
Not that I focus on them, numbly watching the three coffins in front of me that hold the people dearest to my heart.
Their lifeless bodies are cold, so cold I can’t even remember their warmth anymore, even though it has been only five days.
My nails dig in my palm, shooting pain to my brain, which I welcome, because it’s the only thing keeping me alive. The only thing that allows me to be brave enough to face each new day, even though everything in me screams to run, to beg someone to kill me. So I won’t be alone, so I won’t feel the exhausting desperation as my world crumbles around me.
The majority of newspapers and TV reporters call me lucky because I’m the one person who managed to escape the serial killer.
Lucky.
How ironic.
The priest must have finished at some point and the men come to lower the coffins into the ground as people stand to say their final goodbyes. Most of them are my parents’ coworkers, neighbors, parents from Sarah’s school. Even my school’s teachers showed up, giving me their support.
I slowly walk to the coffins, knowing full well everyone’s eyes are on me as the thorns of the roses hurt my skin. I plucked them from our garden, because they are my mom’s favorite.
Were.
I should learn to use past tense when thinking about them.
I taste the salty tears streaming down my cheeks as sobs threaten to escape, but I can’t allow it.
Not here, not now, maybe not ever.
“I love you,” I whisper, and throw the roses on each of their graves, wiping my face while Agent Bates comes closer, placing his hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I just shrug, not wanting to nod or give any other reaction.
Why don’t they understand their words don’t bring comfort to me? I don’t feel bad for acting this way; they should know better.
“Ella, none of your family wants to take you in,” he states, and I snort, although it lacks any humor. He wants to have this conversation here?
As if it’s a surprise. My dad’s side never liked my mother, so it is no wonder they’ve refused. “Normally, it would have meant that you’d have to go to foster care until you turn eighteen.” I frown at this information, finally meeting his eyes as he continues. “But the Donovan family offered to take you in until your graduation, and this way you will not have to move or jeopardize your future.”
What?
On instinct, my head moves in the direction of Chloe’s family, who stare at us tentatively, as if searching for my reaction to this news.
Nothing in my life will ever be normal again, and I’m not sure what I want to do with my future. But for them to honor their friendship with my parents like this and be willing to give me a roof over my head when they don't have to?
At this vulnerable moment in my life, it means everything.
Ignoring the agent, I rush to Chloe, and in a second, I end up in her arms, sobs shaking my body while she holds me tight, not letting me fall. She soothes my back with her pats, while I cling to her. She is the only thing left in my life.
“They are gone, Chloe,” I say hoarsely into her neck as she whimpers in pain.
“I know, honey. I know.” And because she doesn’t try to reassure me or give me bullshit that someday it will be better, I hold her tight, hoping that someday life will not be a never-ending nightmare.
New York, New York
May 2018
Ella
I continue to sip my coffee, while Andrea asks, “So what’s your experience in the field?”
“I worked for a few years with a private investigator.” My reply doesn't impress Jacob as he raises his brow.
“To land a job here, you’ve got to have at least seven to fifteen years of experience in law enforcement. The only exception among us is our man Preston.” He points at the guy who shuffles channels on the TV while checking something on his iPad and then huffing in frustration. “He got in because he hacked someone he shouldn’t, and the FBI always keeps impressive talent.” Yeah, this information is common knowledge. People sort of don't have a choice but to work for the government, unless they prefer to spend time in jail.
“Well then I was an exception.” I try to lighten up the mood, but none of them seems impressed. Andrea just plays with the spoon in her cup while Kierian leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze never leaving mine.
“What makes you so special?”
Before I can answer his question, Jacob rudely interrupts me.
“So we lost Jenny because you are someone’s daughter or have a connection here?” He squeezes the cup harshly, and I’m surprised he doesn't break the thing.
So that’s the source of his anger? I should have expected that.
They informed me a few weeks ago that their agent Jenny was injured during one of the cases, and she couldn’t come back to work due to psychological trauma. They gave her several chances, but at some point, they had to give up. She had worked with these people for around five years, so no wonder they see me as an enemy now.
Their loyalty lies with their friend.
“I don’t have any
family working in FBI.” Any thought or mention of my family unsettles me as it takes me back to all those awful moments I’ve experienced. None of them misses my breath hitching, and even Preston turns around to give me a curious look. “Like I said to Andrea earlier, I worked in cognitive psychology while also helping a private investigator get to the bottom of psychological crimes. I applied several times to work with the police, but they declined.” I don't feel like sharing with them about my past, so I keep it vague like that. “But then—”
Noah enters the conference room, takes the situation in, and finishes for me. “She was the one who caught Smith.”
A shudder runs through me as memories of that day wash over me like an ocean wave, the images playing like a movie in front of my eyes.
The crazy person who entered the train and claimed he had a bomb, the panic among people, his demands to the law. Thankfully, I convinced him not to do anything drastic, and the police came in time to save us all.
All because I could recognize the signs of a psychopath in him so easily; it was like a natural-born talent in me. That gained the attention of the FBI, and since I’d applied for years for any kind of position in BAU, Noah’s call was a gift from heaven.
Preston whistles and then turns on the monitor while the lights go off, and everyone forgets about me and focuses their attention on the case. “Yesterday, the New York police department got a call from the Hudson River area. A body was found, or what was left of it anyway.”
He clicks and several pictures of scattered and chopped flesh appear, and I almost spit my coffee even though the rest of the team has no reaction.
They are probably used to it by now, but holy crap! Kierian even manages to grab a bite of his doughnut. How can he eat while looking at this?
“Animals already ate most of it, but it’s clear that someone just destroyed certain pieces, keeping the body intact as a whole.” He clicks again and we have a zoom in on the pieces. Everything is smeared in blood, while one piece of a person’s hand lies in the middle of the forest floor. The fingers are chopped and fingernails are gone. “Oddly enough, wolves or coyotes did more damage than the unsub. At least on the outside it seems that way. They scanned the teeth, and the victim is thirty-five-year-old Thomas Parker. He didn’t return home from work four months ago, and his wife filed a missing person report.”
