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Waiting for this dark, fateful moment.
Exhaling heavily, I punch in her name, then lift my phone to my ear and wait while Delilah wraps her hand so tight in mine, leaning into me.
She’s all the silent encouragement I need.
Even so, my heart almost cracks in two as a woman answers.
“Hello?” Her voice is weary.
“Hello, Marina Santos?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“My name—” I stop. This is the part of the job I hate more than anything. “My name is Officer Lucas Graves. I’m with the police department in Redhaven, North Carolina. Ma’am, I’m afraid I have some news about your daughter.”
Her hitched, broken breath says she already knows before I say a word.
She’s on the verge of tears as she whispers, “No. No, no, don’t say it—”
“I’m sorry,” I force out. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Santos. I wish I didn’t have to.”
There’s no answer but the chaotic sob of a mother falling to pieces.
I close my eyes, feeling Delilah stroking my arm, holding back her own tears as we let Mrs. Santos cry for as long as she needs to.
It feels like days, but it’s only a few awful minutes where there’s nothing but her muffled grief, slowly fading into spent gasps.
“I knew. Oh, God, I knew it,” she says softly, her voice so scratchy. “I just didn’t want to face it. It’s been so long...”
“I know, ma’am. I was the same way with my sister. The men who hurt your daughter also hurt my sister, but they’re gone now. They can’t ever hurt anyone again. I’ll send over all the information.” My lungs shudder on my next breath. “We never found my sister’s body. But Emma, she’s waiting for you here, ma’am. You can bring her home and put her to rest. If you want to make arrangements, we’ll help you get that sorted, too.”
Fuck, I’ll pay the expense myself to fly her home.
My heart sags to my knees when I hear Delilah fighting back tears.
A pained whimper sounds over the phone. “These men—they killed my Emma?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s correct.”
“And you... you stopped them? For your sister. For my daughter.”
My fingers tighten on Delilah’s so damn hard, and she nuzzles into my shoulder.
“Yes, ma’am. I had to for them—and to save the life of someone I love.”
“Th-thank you,” Marina Santos strangles out. “Thank you for fighting for my baby girl.”
Goddamn, that hurts.
I can’t accept her thanks.
Not for this.
But I won’t reject her warmth, her gratitude, the only thing she can offer me.
I only ask, “Is there anything else I can do for you, ma’am?”
“Tell me?” she answers with a desperate hope. “Tell me everything that happened. Help me understand. I don’t want to wait.”
So I do.
I give her the whole ugly story, everything we know.
How Ulysses lured girls into his web.
How he got his venom into poor Emma with his glitz and charm, using her high hopes for life against her.
How he took advantage of her.
How he murdered her to satisfy his own depraved bloodlust.
How a mistake with Culver made Emma the key to ending his terror.
How we never would have stopped him without her body, without the clues she left us.
Finally, how he stalked Delilah and almost killed her.
Lilah shivers against me as I recite that part, kissing the back of my neck gratefully.
I leave nothing out.
Mrs. Santos deserves the full blackhearted truth.
When it’s over and I’ve drained it out of me like lancing some horrible abscess, she’s quiet.
Another minute passes before she says, “...twelve. My God. He started doing this when he was twelve... how could a child be so monstrous?”
I wish like hell I had an answer that made sense.
“Some folks change as they grow up,” I offer. “But other folks are born broken in ways that can turn destructive if they aren’t controlled.”
“I just wish someone cared for him more. Protected him, so he wouldn’t have... it doesn’t matter.” She trails off, and when she speaks again, her voice brightens. “Thank you, Officer Graves. Please keep protecting those you love.”
“I’ll do my very best, Mrs. Santos,” I promise, looking down at the little firecracker curled against me. “Thank you.”
I mean it with my entire heart and soul.
After we hang up, Delilah and I sit quietly together for about an hour.
Then, without a word, she takes my hand, rising off the couch and leading me toward the stairs, the upstairs loft, my bed.
She knows I don’t want to think.
She knows what I need.
She gives me the comfort of her body, the wordless promise in kisses, in caresses, in the way she arches against me as I tear off our clothes and fuck the pain away.
We’re still so battered.
We still go at it like the flesh-starved beasts we are.
Every kiss, every stroke, every taste of her throat and every twist of her hair in my fist brings us together in perfect rhythm.
