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“You need to regardless.” His eyes tighten at my answer, lips thinning, but he schools the expression quick enough. Back is the smile he gave me when I first noticed him standing here. It creeps me out. He creeps me out. “Never mind. Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”
“Did you know that the man you’re sleeping with is a killer?”
That makes me pause and step back, my anger rising. “Why would you say something like that? Show me your badge, or my next move is to call security and the cops.”
“As you wish.” He pulls out a small manila packet from inside his suit jacket along with a bifold wallet. Flipping it open, he holds it to the bars so I can read his name. The first thing I notice is he’s part of the Federal Bureau of Investigations and his name is Shawn Hayes. “Satisfied?”
“Not really.” Some would think this should put me at ease. It’s the opposite. Makes it worse.
Why would a member of a government agency be here?
Why would he avoid showing me his credentials until I mention calling the police? If he’s here under direct orders, he wouldn’t care. He also wouldn’t be fidgeting and looking back every few minutes.
A true professional wouldn’t be skulking in a corner or giving me leering looks.
“Look, I’m not here to make you uncomfortable, Miss Foster.” Agent Hayes comes closer to the gate, shifting his eyes to the area behind me. “I’m here to help you. Get you out of a situation that could end with your body in a morgue.”
“What the hell is—”
“Malcolm Asher is a killer.”
“Leave. Go before I scream.”
“He killed his last girlfriend, London.” Shawn opens the manila envelope and pulls out what looks to be pictures. His jaw ticks as he looks at the first, his expression full of ire as he tosses them at my feet. I don’t look down. I don’t move. Whatever is in those photos I have no doubt will haunt me. “Go on. Look down.”
“Leave.”
“Fucking look before I jump this fence and make you.” The warning in his tone, the way his hand goes to his side makes me bend slowly, following orders. There’s a glint that comes from his weapon as he pulls it out. “Look at what he did to her. Karina Hughes is dead because of him.”
A loud gasp leaves me and my stomach heaves; what’s in the pictures below is haunting. Will forever be etched into my mind. “No. No.” I’m shaking my head, hands trembling as I flip to the next.
A beautiful girl.
Vacant eyes.
A bullet hole right between the eyes.
Her body with a bluish tint in a morgue, bruises littering her body.
Blood. So much freaking blood.
It’s everywhere. Splatters. The floor and the wall behind her.
“He killed her. Took her from those who love her. Still mourn her.”
“Leave,” I say, my voice shaking, but get no response. When I look up, he’s gone and I’m alone.
My body begins to shake, and breathing gets hard. Those empty, blank eyes are all I see.
Every image rushes across my mind in a fucked-up reel, a tiny horror movie that holds my life hostage. Fight or flight kicks in, and all I want to do is bolt. Run away from it all and never look back, however, I can’t.
Maybe I’m crazy, but accepting this at face value feels wrong. Off.
Malcolm would never hurt someone he cares about. You know this.
“What’re you doing, London?” a voice calls from the other side of the gate, the engine of a car running. “You okay? You’re shaking.”
My eyes leave the pictures and lock with Mariah’s. “Help me.”
