Broken Bonds Boxed Set 1-3 (18 page)

Carson studies me closely, brown eyes flicking over my face, and I suddenly regret giving him an inch back there to get close to me. “You’re saying you think the third murder of the rope suspended victim was more his own method and not related to his overall masterwork?”

“Yes.” And for the most part, I have to believe that. Because the alternative is too frightening to admit. That both the victims at the last crime scene were a message to me—and that the UNSUB knows intimate details about my relationship to Colton.

“I’ve already covered all this with Quinn and Wexler,” I say, exasperation edging into my voice. “You’re on a need-to-know basis as far as the full profile goes, Carson. Work your assignments. Or else you’re just going to tick Quinn off even more.”

I glimpse his smug smile from the corner of my vision. “Not when I give him the report about the victims’ connection to The Lair.”

Shit. With the new crime scene taking precedence, I nearly forgot about that detail.

Carson moves forward, not waiting any longer to give Quinn that information. As soon as Quinn hangs up with the reporter, Carson is there, ready to gain Quinn’s favor again.

“Dammit,” Quinn shouts, then cups the side of his face.

“You should really get that root canal,” I say as I walk past, quickly getting out of the line of fire before he can lash back.

Leaving Carson to give the full report on the victimology linkage, I put my full attention on the current victim. With the Bathory crest in full view—something bold that differentiates from the past, subtle hints—the UNSUB is very well trying to tell me something new.

Now that the UNSUB is abducting victims to torture for longer periods of time, that means he could already have another woman. I take out my phone and make a note to update the task force to start scouring the local reports of missing women, starting from the last twenty-four hours and going back through the past month.

“Avery,” I say to myself, “where are you.” I really need the M.E. to give us a timeline. How long the victim was tortured, her time of death…and if possible, an identity. I need to know if this victim was also a member of The Lair.

“Group up,” Quinn hollers. I look over to see him motioning to me and other members of his task force.

Falling in behind the rest, I reach into my pocket for a piece of gum. My nerves are about hacked today, and I’m tempted to just buy a damn pack of cigarettes.

“Listen up,” Quinn starts. “There’s a leak in this department.” Curious grumbles travel the task force. “Shut it. When I find out who it is—and I
will
—that person will never work in law enforcement again, you can bet your ass. But for now, we have more pressing matters.” He points to his first in command on the force, Kyle. “You’re in charge of forming a low key stakeout. I’ll give you the location soon. I want four unis at this location tonight.”

Kyle nods. “Do we have a suspect?”

Quinn runs a hand over his jaw. “We have new information on the victims, and a possible point of abduction. We’re going to watch this spot and the surrounding area closely. I want anything—anything that looks the least bit suspicious—reported to me immediately.”

He finishes giving the task force their new assignments—mine being to backtrack the new information on the victims—then closes out with a reminder to everyone that this is highly confidential information.

“If I hear that it’s anyone on this task force—” his gaze sweeps the group “—I shouldn’t have to repeat myself. I’m tired of this sadistic bastard making us chase our tails. Let’s bring him in, people.”

With the task force now watching The Lair, it’s only a matter of time before Quinn makes the connection between Colton being the first vic’s neighbor. Which means he’ll soon be brought in for questioning.

I start toward Carson’s car, ready to put my own skills to more useful means to find the UNSUB, when Quinn approaches me. “Bonds, I need you for a minute.”

A sinking feeling grabs ahold of my stomach. I know Quinn well enough to predict when he’s about to request something that I’m not comfortable with. “What do you have?”

“Nothing, really. A feeling. I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “But that’s why I need you to look into something for me. Just you.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You mean I can’t include boy wonder over there?”

He gives me a mock smile. “Funny. Carson’s a good kid. Maybe a bit too eager, but that’s not such a bad thing when working a case like this. He did give us the only major break we’ve had on the vics so far.”

Hell. A break that has the ACPD about to swarm all over The Lair, Colton…and then inevitably
me
. My member file is located in that club. I might have joined under a pseudonym, but that won’t deter detectives. Especially stubborn, case-making detectives like Quinn.

“He’s not all bad,” I say, shrugging. “But I seriously do not need to be babysat, Quinn. I work alone. You know this.”

He waves a hand. “I know. But give me a break, okay? Your ass should be in your apartment with, at the very least, two unis keeping watch—”

“Not happening.”

“I got that. So if you insist on staying on this case, I need you where I know you’re safe. I could ring Carson’s neck for taking you to that club today…” His hands ball into fists. “Look. I want you at the station from here on out. No more field work. And I need you to run background checks on the owner of The Lair and all the employees.”

My stomach drops, free-fall. “I can’t do that.”

His eyebrows press together. “Why the hell not?”

Because I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t look into Colton’s past. Because I have to have some semblance of separation between my job and personal life. And because I don’t want to know.

But the dark voice cresting inside me whispers this is the very excuse I’ve been waiting for. I lash out at that voice, indignance burning fire-hot in my veins. I’m not that person. She’s not me—I won’t let Colton be devoured by her.

“Bonds,” Quinn says, breaking into my cycling thoughts, “this isn’t really a request. I need someone I can trust, who’s not leaking like a damn faucet to the media, to do this. I don’t want to start dragging in random suspects and have the department come down on me if it’s not warranted.”

“Fine.” Accepting my responsibility, I decide I’m the best one for this assignment. It’s better I look into Colton’s past rather than someone like Carson. “I’ll take care of it.”

He nods once. “Thanks. Let me know what you find.”

I leave him, feeling the pressure of my job bearing down on me. I knew it was possible it would come to this—that I’d have to delve into Colton’s past. Over the last week, I’ve fought the temptation to do just that many times. Not wanting anything to come between us.

No matter how I aspired to give him the trust he’s offered me so freely, my past has made me an untrusting creature. It’s the rules I’ve always lived by. I’m about to test Colton’s assurance of having nothing to hide.

O
ne seemingly minor
action can trigger a domino effect that results in a drastic outcome.

It’s called the butterfly effect.

A tuft of snow is kicked loose from the mountain top, and down it travels. Down, down, gaining momentum, increasing in size, until it’s an unstoppable force. An avalanche.

The same snow, kicked in precisely the same manner and place, will have varying degrees of results. The course and aftereffect of the snow cannot be predicted nor controlled. It is ruled by chaos. The only thing that is known for sure is the link, the connection, that lies between the initial action and the aftermath.

Chaos is such an unruly fiend. Some want to believe their actions—no matter how inconsequential—have no influence on a catastrophe. Blame chaos. She’s the merciless mother, the creator of such heartache. It is all out of our control.

But there’s always a connection.

You may have to search hard, dig deep, to unearth it, but it’s there. Two people cross paths who would otherwise never come into contact during their lifetime, had it not been for one or the other’s small, trivial action. A chance meeting.

Or is it?

Once chaos has set the pendulum in motion, fate steps in to make her claim. Chaos and fate. These two deceptive beauties work flawlessly together. A fantastic chess match where all the pawns are eliminated—one-by-one—until the queen is checkmated.

And that’s the purpose, isn’t it? To come out on top. The victor. Against all odds, against all the pain, suffering, trials—against the destruction of the unpredictable—human beings persevere to triumph. Some are too hypocritical to admit it, but we all have a little devil lurking inside, nudging us to stomp out the weaker competition to seize the trophy.

History is full of these fools.

I rather like chaos, myself. The art of control is best learned through this condition. You cannot dictate the outcome, but you can finesse it. Caress it tenderly and guide it lovingly, carefully maneuvering all the players in place.

If you’re diligent enough, you can even wager fate.

Oh, in the end, all fingers will point to me. I will be analyzed and scrutinized, and it will allow them to sleep easily at night, knowing the blame rests with the
killer
.

But, although I was a part of the equation, I was not the one who set this particular course in motion. I was merely one of the fools who seized upon the opportunity. Truthfully, it would be remiss for me to take all the credit. I could not have orchestrated a game board like this all on my own.

Even I need the help of the unwitting to channel all the elements into a great, master design.

Each has a part. And when everyone plays their role dutifully, the final reveal is all the more powerful.

I run the damp cloth along the stretch of blade. The white fibers soak up the blood, leaving the silver gleaming. Tool maintenance is of utmost importance. Can’t have any cross contamination. That muddies the water. I learned this from my mentor, who was proficient in forensic science.

Not that I would ever use a dirty tool; I loathe filth. A neat and tidy workplace denotes control and demands respect. We must respect our process as much as we enjoy it. And I do enjoy my work.

It’s changed some over the past year. I was forced to find my own way. With my mentor taken from me so…abruptly, I admit, I was lost for a short time. Vengeance can infect the brain. Can cloud reason. But ultimately, that was humiliation taking hold.

So I went back to the basics. Watching. Detailing. Plotting.

I guess you could say it forced a sort of cooling off period. A chance to revaluate myself, my work, and
her
. I’ve learned so much since then. The more I discovered about her world, the more I recognized our link.

We were meant to be.

How fortuitous.

Chaos thrust her into my life at the sacrifice of my mentor, but fate has declared her my match. Checkmate.

So finally, after nearly two years, it’s time to get rid of the pest. I can’t blame him too much anymore, because his action—the one, inciting incident—that caused the pendulum to swing, is what brought her to me.

Maybe I owe him my thanks for that—but I think, rather, it’s time to throw down the gauntlet and take fate back into my own hands.

T
he rattling boom
of house music pulses against my chest, my nerves, heightening my anxiety. I’ve been sitting on this damn stool in the corner of the voyeur room for an hour, just waiting. This is where I first saw her.

Every minute that passes and she doesn’t walk through that door…I’m losing control. She won’t come here—but still, I keep waiting. Delusional with the belief that she needs me as badly as I need her, and that prolonging until later tonight is simply too painful.

I toss back the last of my bourbon and then force my gaze away from the entrance. A scene on the stage is unfolding. Two women are chained to a man, and they’re taking turns striking him. One with a leather whip, the other with the slack from the chain. It’s edgeplay night in the voyeur room, and although admittance is extra exclusive tonight, I’ve made it known that Sadie is an ultra exclusive member.

Enjoying the scene without her has no appeal. I glance back at the double doors, tempted to take a drive to the police department. Demand to see her. It’s only a matter of time before she makes the connection…and I need to be the one to tell her first. If I’m going to confess my sins to anyone, then it should be Sadie.

Regardless of what she does after, she deserves to hear the truth right from me. I swore to her that she could trust me, and if she finds out on her own, what little trust she’s been able to invest in us will be destroyed.

Onyx saunters up and places another bourbon on the table before me, pulling my attention away from my painful thoughts. Her lips stretch into a thin smile, her deep eyes conveying what she’s too polite to voice. That I look like a wreck.

As she walks back toward the bar, I run my finger along the cool tumbler. Beads of condensation streak down the glass. Another drink is the last thing I need. False courage won’t help.

Giving up my haunt, I leave the corner table and the voyeur room, not looking back. If she can wait, then I have no choice. Besides, there’s a pile of confidential reports from the captain of the ACPD sitting in the office that I have to go over again—even if it breaks me.

Wexler didn’t just send over the profile—he gave me copies of the crime scene reports. Julian must have something more on him than just dressing in drag and getting lashings from a Domme.

When I first glimpsed the crime scene photos, a sickness took hold of me. And as I pored over the images, each scene becoming bloodier, more macabre, panic tore through my chest, crushing the air from my lungs. A cold, clamminess prickled my skin, sending a shock of awareness right through me.

The connection is too obvious to deny.

Tamping down the rising fear, I insert my key to find the office door already unlocked. My back tenses as I push it open.

Julian is seated at the cherry oak desk, still wearing his crisp black suit from the engagement party. He doesn’t look up from the case documents spread across the desktop.

I close the door behind me, shutting out the noise from the club. The many monitors stacked along the back office wall are on, but the volume has been muted. A long silence stretches out between us as I stand here, watching him take in what I’ve already discovered. The moment recognition hits, Julian’s eyes are on me.

“I should’ve looked into her better,” he says, steepling his fingers over his mouth. “Dammit. Did you know she was an agent with the ACPD?”

I nod once.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me? No, you know what? I get it.” He laughs mirthlessly. “But, Colt—I have fucking lawyers, doctors, police officials, and even their fucking
captain
on the members’ list. You should’ve said something. Did you ever think she might’ve been sent here undercover? To investigate us—”

“She wasn’t.” I take a seat in the cushioned chair before the desk. Look him in the eyes. “She’s not. Though maybe you should’ve been more careful. Blackmailing the higher-ups in the department wasn’t the smartest thing, Julian. Especially for someone who has so much to hide. That’s just tempting them to dig into your past.”

His slitted gaze cuts through me. “Our past.”

Pressing back against the chair, I lift my chin. “Well, there you go. Your fucking greed put us both on the line.”

“I didn’t bring them here today, though. You did.” He digs out an image from the documents and tosses it on the front of the desk facing me. I look down. The gruesome shot of a mutilated woman strung up by rope stares back at me. “Look familiar?”

And the sickness is back, worming its way through my brain and clutching my lungs. My silence is answer enough for my brother.

He sits back in his chair, mirroring my position. “Was there ever any news about catching that serial killer downstate?”

“No.” I look away from the morbid image and at the mounted monitors. “The killings just stopped.”

“After Marni,” he says, and my gaze swings to him. “They just suddenly stopped after Marni. And then now, nearly two years later, in this city, one of the crime scenes looks suspiciously like the Roanoke serial killings. Actually, this scene here”—he drops his hand down on the photo with a loud
smack
—“looks too damn close to Marni’s crime scene, don’t you think?”

My jaw locks tight. “I didn’t mutilate Marni,” I say through clenched teeth, the physical pain of stringing those specific words together constricting my chest.

His blue gaze stays locked on me. “Do you think that one detail is going to matter to them? To your profiler?” He studies me closely as he props his elbows on the desk. “Colt, the detectives downstate didn’t go near you. You know why? Because I was the boyfriend. Suspect number one on their list. They probed and accused me, drilled me, until my lawyer presented them with an alibi. By then, you were already gone. And I never mentioned your name.”

Anger stirs my blood. “You want a thank you?”

“Dammit. Listen to me!” He stands, knocking his chair back. The screech of the legs scraping the hardwood floor grabs my senses, grinding against my mounting nerves. “You’re not cutting out of town this time. The detectives already have your name on file after today—”

“One detective. Carson.”

Julian’s face contorts, hard lines twisting his smooth features. Without a word, he storms over to the corner of the office and throws back the rug. Removing a section of the flooring, he pulls out a small gray lockbox.

“You keep that shit here?” I say, getting to my feet. “He could’ve had a warrant.”

“Doesn’t matter. He’ll be back.” He riffles through the box until he finds what he’s seeking. Then with a measured breath, he tweaks out an image and holds it up. “This Detective Carson?”

A throb starts at my temples, radiating to the back of my head. I blink hard, turning away from Julian. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

He mutters a curse. “That’s the asshole who questioned me relentlessly.” Moving closer to me, he says, “What are the chances he just showed up here? Zero. He came here for me. He knew I owned the club.”

But Sadie didn’t. I press my fingers against my brow, trying to work away the growing headache. My diverging thoughts all attack me at once. Either that detective hasn’t made the connection to Julian yet, or he’s keeping her in the dark. But why?

“Colt, did you hear me?” Julian’s voice snaps my last bit of patience, and I reel on him.

“This is my mess, Julian. I’ll handle it.” I push past him on my way to the door. “Like I always do.”

He grabs my arm, hauling me to a stop. “That’s the last fucking thing you should do. Your way of handling things is exactly why we’re in this mess. And it’s about to get a whole lot messier. Just like Marni. You just couldn’t leave
my
girlfriend alone—”

My fist connects with his face. My already battered knuckles meet flesh and bone in a blinding second of rage. My hands are wrapped around his collar, jerking him upright in the next blink.

“She begged you!” My throat is raw as the words scrape loose. “And you left her. No, I won’t fucking leave it alone. I’m not a goddamn coward—” I stop short, the fear in Julian’s eyes crashing through the haze of fury.

I turn my head toward the monitors and see Sadie on the main level of the club. Her back is to the camera, her red wig glaringly obvious against her black dress. My fingers uncurl from his shirt, then I’m moving toward the doorway.

“You need to leave that one alone,” Julian says, halting me just outside the door. “She’s going to crucify you.”

“Maybe so,” I say over my shoulder. “But her punishment will be pure and quick. Unlike the months I’ve spent suffering your guilt, just because you weren’t man enough to give Marni what she needed.”

Then I leave my brother to fester in his own self-made hell.

If telling Sadie the truth is what I have to do, I’ll tell her. Right now. Before that detective can nail me. I wonder what tipped him off: the one murder that stood apart from the others, or Julian himself. If he had it out for my brother during Marni’s investigation, I doubt it’s a coincidence he just happened to show up here, in the same city as the recent killing spree where Julian now lives.

None of that matters now, though. Although Julian helped destroy Marni, he didn’t kill her. The truth will clear him of that—then this will all be over.

As I descend the stairs, the hard thump of music grows louder. Colored lights bounce along the walls in sync with the beat. My feet hit each step with purpose, freeing me. Every step toward Sadie and the truth snaps a link of chain from my binds.

I enter the main level with my gaze scanning the crowd. The dance floor is more crowded now, the night bringing in the curious. Only the upper levels are member exclusive. Sadie knows this; so why is she down here?

A flash of red catches my eye, and I take off in pursuit. I spot her in the middle of the floor, dancing with some guy. Pushing through the tightly-packed bodies, I weave my way toward her, my gaze sharpening on her gyrating hips pressed up against his. Her arms linked around his shoulders. His hands roaming her waist and back.

My neck aches as my muscles bunch. Liquid fire courses through my veins.

Only a few feet away now, the guy stops dancing. He takes notice of me barreling toward them. I can’t get a clear view of him—features obscured by the dim lighting and people.

He ushers her off the dance floor, getting lost in the crowd for a second as dancers move in around them. I stop and change direction. He’s leading her toward the side exit—why is he
touching
her? Why is she
allowing
him?

Picking up my pace, I advance, anger and fear fueling each determined step that gets me closer to her. I watch them dip through the door, and I’m right behind them the next second, pushing it open. The door smacks hard against the outside wall before swinging closed behind me.

I’m just feet away from the building when I stop. I look down the alley, then toward the street. Lampposts illuminate the hazy night as cars zip past. They couldn’t have gotten far. What the hell?

My surging adrenaline climbs higher, my rapid heartbeat pounding in my ears. Finally a moment of clarity breaks through and I pull out my phone. Tapping Sadie’s number, I hold it out to the side, waiting to hear hers ring. She has to be close.

Pain splinters the back of my head and I drop the phone. I hit the asphalt on my hands and knees. Another quick burst of pain attacks my head before the night blinks out.