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“If the UNSUB made contact once, he’ll do it again.” A trace of fear flashes across Quinn’s face. “It’s more than for your protection, Sadie. You’re the closest link we have to the killer right now.”
That’s what I’m counting on.
Turning toward Carson, I raise an eyebrow. “You have a problem working with a profiler?”
The newest detective smiles, his straight white teeth contrasting attractively against his tanned complexion. “Not at all, ma’am. I think I’ll rather enjoy it.”
I give him a smug smile in return. I can almost feel Quinn’s smirk burning into my backside as I leave the conference room. If I didn’t have more important things to do, I might challenge Quinn’s latest order—but he hit too close to the mark back there. He always does.
While the captain warns the single women of Arlington to be on their guard against a serial killer still on the prowl, I’ll be paying a special visit to a woman I’ve thoughtlessly neglected over the past two weeks—one who might be in danger should the wrong person start prying into my background. Right now, she’s my first priority.
After I hand off the press release to Captain Wexler, I make quick work of gathering my private notes I keep buried in my desk, and swap out my department-issued phone for the burner phone I bought right after they tapped mine.
Quinn can bitch all he wants later, but no one is tracking my movements today.
I lock up my office and then slip past the gathering officers and agents crowding the front of the ACPD building as they gear up for the press conference.
The UNSUB may have gone dormant for now, but I’m not giving him time to regroup. I have to keep the people I care about protected. Even if that means protecting them from me.
Pang
Colton
Most people don’t know how to handle real fear when they experience it for the first time.
There are all types of fear, but I’m talking about bone-rattling, heart-gripping fear that catches you off-guard. Not the flutter of your heart when you realize you’ve missed a payment and your electricity is about to be cut off. Or the sharp pain that constricts your chest in a near, head-on collision. Not even the late-night worry that suffocates you when a loved one doesn’t return.
Those are all palpable, but there’s a deep, dark fear that levels them all.
Fear of loss.
The climbing panic that clutches you whole and won’t let you drag in a breath the higher it escalates. That all-consuming fear.
They say fear won’t kill you all by itself. But if ever it could, that’s the one to do it. It blocks out all logic and leaves no room for anything else. It devours love, and trust. It hollows out your soul.
I’ve felt this fear before. I’ve been decimated by it. It ate away at everything in my life until I was its bitch. It sucked me dry, stripped me raw, entrails shredded. It’s the worst kind of fear because there’s nothing you can do to make it stop. Just have to wait until the moment you’ve been dreading finally happens.
Then…the blackout.
The final abyss of grief.
Julian likes to play through these emotions, try them on, display them for the world like a brand new suit. I’ve watched my brother make the appropriate facial expressions when offered condolences. I’ve heard the hitch in his voice when he says her name. He’s practiced. And he’s good.
That’s why when the news of his engagement hits, and I find myself standing in a crowded living room pulling at the collar of an annoying, starchy dress shirt, I have the very urgent desire to ditch the engagement party. To flee the city. Get as far away from his artificial life as I can before it infects me.
Only Sadie is keeping my feet grounded.
Someone who’s suffered—really suffered—should get a second chance. But the truth of it is, if you’ve truly, irrevocably suffered at loss’s sadistic hands…you don’t.
There are no second chances for those lost souls.
You breathe. You eat, drink, fuck. Then you sleep only to wake up and do it all over again. But you do not get a second chance.
I believed in this truth for a long damn time, until the moment I saw Sadie. She was my gift from the abyss; an offering of truce. I had paid my dues, and somehow I had earned that rare second chance. Hard fought and won. My beautiful prize, Sadie.
That’s why I refuse to let her push me away.
Someone claps me on the shoulder and I tense. Spurred out of my dark thoughts, I turn to face Jefferson, relieved it’s my roommate and not the fucker I call my brother—the second chance stealer.
