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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.
Revelation
Sadie
I’ve been in this position before. Torn between what I know and what I feel. What is required of me, and what I require of myself. There’s a part of me that questions how far I’ll stray before karma catches up. But the other part—the determined girl fresh out of training with vindicated revenge in her blood—can’t stop.
This is the first time I’ve been at a crossroads. But, even if I knew the destination at the end of either path, I’m not sure that would sway my course. I’ve come too far.
I hit “Enter” on my keyboard and quickly look away from the screen filling with data. I have never turned a blind e
ye to evidence before—but I have handled that knowledge questionably at times. My heart is urging me to turn a blind eye now, for completely selfish reasons.
Outside the glass walls of my office, chaos has broken out in the department. Officers scurry, fielding calls from the tip line while trying to weed through the many reports coming in from the people flooding the station.
Even at this hour, the calls keep coming. People who believe they have information on the “Arlington Slasher” or “Blood Count” have been showing up since the press conference this morning. Only the most pertinent parts of the profile were released to the public, but that was enough to get a reaction.
I’m just not convinced this method will lead us to the UNSUB. He’s careful not to leave any evidence linking back to himself; he’ll be just as cautious in his social life. The profile even stated that. If someone happened to get close enough to him, they probably wouldn’t live long enough to give us a report. He knows the area well, but that could mean he’s done his research, not that he’s from here. The logic is as simple as the very crude saying: don’t shit where you eat.
The UNSUB wouldn’t hunt in his own backyard.
As the officers continue to try to get a handle on the overflow in house, I turn back to my screen, not ready, but as prepared as I can be to take this next step.
I click the results and begin scrolling down the page. Colton Reed doesn’t have a very lengthy history. At least not one that’s on file. The details of his life are simple, common. Even boring.
I release the breath I’ve been holding as I continue to read. Colton’s last known residence was Roanoke. Never married. No known children. No felonies or misdemeanors. Not even a speeding ticket.
He attended George Mason University in Fairfax where his parents lived, presumably where he grew up, and then went straight into his field of study after graduation.
He worked for a major civil engineering company in Roanoke for five years as a site project engineer. He was promoted to a top engineering position before he apparently quit and left the state. No known forwarding address. Nothing. For almost two years, no new information on Colton Reed has been reported.
I sit here, staring at the screen, rereading every word and trying to render an accurate profile of the man I know while compiling this new information. Everything he’s revealed to me aligns with this account and backs my own observations. Colton is detail oriented. Organized. Is efficient at analyzing people and situations. He doesn’t take commitment lightly; he lived in the same area for most of his life, worked there and appeared ready to make a life there until he removed himself from all radars.
What doesn’t fit is how he went from a straight-laced career to a bondage rigger at a BDSM club. So I apply what I know: his brother owns the club. Colton said he needed help. That resolves the how…but what about the missing time between? Where are the pages to fill that gap?
Theories are taking form; triggers that may have spurred a sudden departure from Colton’s norm. Something monumental had to set off this unexpected behavior. Up until two years ago, Colton was predictable. Dependable. Above average, but he also flew just far enough below the radar not to draw attention.
