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Carson cocks his head. “I couldn’t get past Julian’s alibi before. So I had to drop it. I made one critical error back then; I was so focused on Julian that I failed to see that there were two killers, not one.”
An ache burns my throat. I push past the pain and say, “You think Julian had a partner. A killing team.”
He nods slowly. “Your profile missed that, too. But that’s okay. They’re really good at what they do. And I mean, who better to cover your back than your own brother? I know he has what I’m looking for.”
The air leaves the room, forcing my lungs to struggle for their next breath. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m stepping close to Carson and staring up into his face. “Have you told this inane theory to Quinn yet?”
He holds my stare. Licks his lips. “This inane theory is actually one of Quinn’s.”
And in a moment, all Quinn’s probing about teams and how they work comes back to me. He never quit testing the theory that there could be more than one killer; a team working together. He just wasn’t working that angle with me.
I back up, keeping Carson in my sight. “You have the wrong person,” I say, reaching behind my back for the doorknob. “If you bring Colton Reed in for questioning, you’re going to waste even more time. Your obsession with his brother just won’t allow you to see that.”
His eyes narrow as he crosses his arms. “Your profile lines up with Julian pretty well, Sadie. Once you see that, you’ll also realize you just didn’t think to profile a second killer.”
My mouth pops open to say more, but I force my lips closed. Wasted breath on my part, and I’ve heard enough from him. I shake my head and leave before I’m forced to do bodily harm to the prick detective.
As I make my way back toward my office, the page in my pocket feels hot, burning with the evidence of Colton’s inciting incident—the trigger that derailed him. In the hands of a detective like Carson, it’s damning evidence that could help build a case against Colton. Paint him as an accomplice in a murder.
But Carson doesn’t have all the specifics.
Critical details that bridge speculation and fact. Those variables construct an unbelievable, beastly reality that Carson could never conceive. He’s still too much of a rookie; unable to think outside the box. And although he’s twisted the profiles to meet his needs, his obsessive work did enlighten me on a possibility that I didn’t consider before.
I’ve been hunting for the UNSUB in all the wrong places. College, colleagues…past, unsolved serial cases. Though I was getting close, I wouldn’t have been able to make this leap without Carson. I finally have a real starting point to start digging. Although I know—from our rocky start—Quinn isn’t going to like this new angle. I need to get some tangible evidence before I bring it to him.
I grab my jacket and bag. After locking up, I leave the madness of the department behind, on a mission of my own disastrous making. In the hallway, I slip on my jacket and feel my burner phone vibrate against my hip.
I pull it out and light the screen. One missed call from Colton.
My heart stutters. Gripping the phone tight, I check the call time. Fifteen minutes ago, when I was ready to tear Carson apart. It’s like the universe is mocking me. Colton and I are connected so irrevocably that he doesn’t just know what I need; he knows when I need it.
I’ve been selfish. Colton offered me redemption and acceptance, and a safe haven to feel free. He said it was a power exchange. That what he gave, he took back equally, but that’s not entirely true.
I’m like a black hole. Sucking all the air and light from everyone around me. The only thing I will ever be able to offer him is pain. I knew this from the start, but I thought—just maybe—he would be strong enough to endure it.
He sets me free, and my love is fear. That is the true exchange between us.
As I push through the door to the M.E.’s lab, I know that I’m about to cause him even more pain. I?
?m going to rip his bandage away and reopen his wound. I just have to trust that I’m strong enough for him to break against.
Truth is the most brutal punishment. It forces us to learn who we are.
“Avery, I need your help.”
The M.E. spins around, a scalpel in her hand. “Jesus, Sadie. Try not to creep up on people when they’re holding objects of death.” She sets down the instrument and begins to pull a sheet over the body.
“Wait. Is that the riverbank vic?” I start toward her, but she holds up a hand.
“I’ve had a long night, Sadie. I just started the autopsy after finally getting the mother’s approval. I’m not ready to answer anything just yet.” She rolls off her gloves and combs her fingers through her long blond hair.
“I’m not here to harass. I know you’re working as hard as you can.” I lean against the table next to her. “The victim’s mother lives here?”
She cuts her eyes at me. “You can’t help it, can you?” I suppress a smile, and she sighs. “No. In New York, and I know it’s painful, but the autopsy is needed.”
With a soft groan, Avery turns around and pushes up the sheet to reveal the vic’s legs. “The bruising around her ankles is worse than around her wrists or any other part of her body. And when Quinn let me in on the decorative blood at the scene, I had a theory… But I need to finish my examination first.”
I allow my gaze to take in the dark, battered skin. The color is nearly black compared to the rest of her pale flesh. “She’s so white. She looks like a ghost.”
