His slaughtered heart mourned while the anger morphed into fury—a rage so powerful he wouldn’t push it back down, even if he could.
Fury drove him. That made him excellent at his job. Kept him chasing after the walking evil, day in and day out.
But… this feeling was new.
Fury cloaked his soul in a darkness so severe, there would be no escape. He wanted to exact his revenge on the evil who had done this to her, and to his family.
His broken, broken family.
“Mara, I will find the monster who took you from us.” Then, he reached under the blanket and clasped her pinky in his own. A stupid childhood ritual going back decades.
“Pinky promise.”
One gentle squeeze before he let her go, his heart wrecked, the need for revenge taking over his soul. He covered her face with the comforter. In that moment, all the color in his life melded to black.
Nine months after Mara’s murder, March.
Carrera
With his worn,leather duffle in hand, Carrera strode inside the J. Edgar Hoover building in DC and made his way to security. Once cleared to enter, he rode the elevator upstairs.
The last nine months had been a whirlwind. He’d taken an undercover assignment in Delaware, then another in Tucson, then another in Seattle, then another in… he couldn’t fucking remember.
Anything to keep moving. Slowing down allowed the pain of losing his sister to slither back in. He needed to stay sharp on those undercover gigs, so he worked ‘til exhaustion, slept for a few hours, then did it again. The routine had turned him into a machine. A machine hell-bent on revenge.
He exited the elevator, made his way toward his department. Truth was, he was burned out, he missed his family, and his cruise line company wasn’t thriving like it had been.
Time to return to ground zero and face reality.
He entered the Violent Crimes Unit, tossed a nod toward one of the Special Agents before making his way toward his boss’s office. Stopping in front of her closed door, he knocked.
“Come in,” she said.
He entered, his gaze sliding from hers to the man seated across from her desk.
“You want me to come back?” Carrera asked.
“No,” she said. “Now’s good.”
The man rose. “Thanks for your time.”
After he left, Carrera stepped in.
“Good to see you, Carrera,” his boss said. “Have a seat.”
Carrera’s phone rang. It was the homicide detective from Mara’s case. His fingers twitched to answer, but he’d wait until he was done talking to his superior.
He silenced the call, sat in the chair across from her. “How are you doing, ma’am?”
“That’s my question for you,” she replied. “When did you get back?”
“My flight just landed.”
She glanced at his single piece of luggage. “How was Philly?”
“We made the arrest.”
“Nice work.” She broke eye contact, clicked around on her computer. “I’ve got a few undercover assignment options for you.”
