Chapter One
Present Day, Norfolk, VA
“Sullivan, good, you’re here.” My boss, John Carver, said as I placed my backpack on my squeaky desk chair.
“Good morning, sir,” I said before taking a sip of my coffee and unbuttoning my trench coat with my free hand. It was a chilly October morning, but it still managed to be hot, stuffy, and suffocating—utterly claustrophobic in this fucking office, like always.
“Great work on the South Bay Killer case,” he said while planting his ass on the corner of my desk. “Congratulations on arrest and conviction number twenty-one.” Carver lifted his coffee mug to me in a salute, and I returned the gesture with my insulated mug.
If only they understood my process, understood my vision.
I'm not sure if it comes with ADHD or borderline autism, but I have this uncanny way of solving cases quickly. They’re ways that no one understands, with the exception of one particular doctor. I am highly empathic, and not in the “read your aura, feel your energy” type of way. Under the right circumstances, I am able to tune out my surroundings and place myself in the killer's body.
I see what they see, kill how they kill, and do what they do. All in my head, of course, but it is the reason why I'm at arrest number twenty-one in less than a year with my unit.
“I appreciate that,” I said before another sip of coffee, hoping I wasn't lost in thought for an uncomfortable length of time. “I’m hoping this experience, along with my studies, will help me have a chance to assist the Behavioral Analysis Unit on a case someday.”
“Speaking of, follow me, will you?” He slid off my desk and I placed my coffee down before following him to his office. “Close the door.” Plopping down in his desk chair, he motioned toward the framed glass door, and I obeyed, pulled it closed, the privacy blinds swinging as I sat in the worn chair across from his desk.
“What can I help with, boss?” I asked, shifting my gun holster on my belt so it wouldn’t dig into my hip against the chair. Crossing my ankle over my knee, I interlaced my fingers in my lap, trying to remain professional, but avoiding eye contact.
“We have a high-profile case that the local police department needs help on. They’ve requested assistance from the BAU since it involves Senator Thomas Scott and his son, Connor. Marcus Jacobs, the unit chief, is interested in you, so consider this opportunity a test to see how well you work with them. They’re looking to fill an available position on their team for a profiler.”
It took every ounce of control I could muster to keep myself from jumping up and down in excitement. I willed my face to remain stoic and nodded in reply.
“Of course. I’m happy to offer assistance.”
“I knew you would be. It will be a good chance to put that education of yours to good use. You’re the only agent I know working and going to school full time; you really are something special, son. Here’s the case file.” Carver opened his locked file cabinet, pulling out a thick manila envelope. “No one else in this office has the clearance to view these documents, Sullivan.” He handed the folder over to me, keeping his grip firm on the folder as I tried to take it from his hand.
“Yes, of course. I’ll keep them private.” This conversation seemed surreal. I’m barely a year into being an FBI agent with the Violent Crimes Unit, yet I have twenty-one solved cases under my belt and am getting the chance to work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. It was everything I’d ever wanted.
Opening the folder, I began scanning the first page with the initial profile and saw her name. Doctor Lawson helped with this profile. I traced her signature with my fingertips, mesmerized by the way the ink swirled across the paper.
One step closer to working with Doctor Lawson…
“You’ll be working with the BAU until this case is solved, and an arrest is made. No one down here has access to these files except me, and we can’t afford for this case file to fall in the wrong hands,” he urged with such a serious intensity that it snapped me out of my mind and into work mode.
“Understood, sir.”
“Leave the file here and gather your things. Your contact will be heading down shortly to come get you and show you to your temporary work area.”
With a nod, I closed and placed the file on his desk and opened the door to head back to my crowded desk space.
“Heya, Sullivan!” Evan clapped me on the shoulder as I stopped in front of my desk to reach for my coffee.
“Agent Matthews,” I said in a sarcastic tone.
“So, what’s the word, huh? You gonna come join me at the Organized Crime Unit? I’ll put in a good word for you and everything, Mr. Twenty-One.”
“Well, Matthews, just get off your ass and solve your cases. You’ll catch up in say… five years?” I chuckled smugly.
“Yeah, yeah, smart ass. Things are different in the Organized Crime Unit. We still get shit done. It just takes longer than catching little baby criminals like you fuckers do in Violent Crimes.”
“You keep telling yourself that.” I chuckled and raised my coffee to him. “I need to head back to Carver’s office. I’m working on a case with the BAU for a few weeks.”
“Oh, hot shot! Look out BAU! Rookie with the highest success rate and still fucking single. Wonder if they’ll realize what a real pussy you are.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” I laughed while gathering a few essentials from my desk and placing them in a banker box. Evan laughed and clapped me on the shoulder as he stood next to me, watching.
I grabbed my cup of Paper Mate ink pens that I was super picky with because they “write nice,” my spiral top notebooks, my lone picture frame of Evan, another of Nancy and I at our FBI graduation ceremony, and Doctor Lawson’s book. Before I turned to leave, I stopped to open my drawer and grabbed my little basket full of sticky note pads. My favorite chaotic, self-proclaimed “ADHD essential tool.”
“Saturday night, right? We got the UFC fight at my place!” Evan asked as I turned away from him to reach for the box’s lid.
“Of course, man, wouldn’t miss it.” I quickly wrote myself a reminder on one of the post it pads as Evan nodded and walked across the room back to his desk.
Turning the lid to the box so the top was on my desk, I unpeeled each of my sticky notes and placed them in the same order on the underside of the lid, securing them with a piece of tape. Once I got to my desk, I would transfer them over, so I always had my reminders to help me. Once all seventeen sticky notes were secure, I placed the lid on the banker box and picked it up by the handle, propping it up on my hip. Grabbing my coffee, I started to head back toward Carver’s office.
It’s finally happening. I’ll get to work on a case with Doctor Lawson.
Before I realized what my mind was doing, I was back in the lecture hall a year ago.
One Year Ago
“How about a little quid pro quo, Camden? I can see you have some questions for me,” she said as she leaned on the podium. “You tell me something about you, and I’ll answer whatever questions you have. What do you say?”
“What about me?”
“Everything. So, what do you say?” she purred, taking two steps toward me around the podium. Her piercing green eyes were scanning mine, studying me, unraveling my sanity bit by bit.
“Yes, ma’am.” The words fell from my mouth before I realized what was happening. There was a spark of something in her eyes after the words rolled off my tongue. I couldn’t quite place my finger on what it was, but her pupils dilated and the slight flaring of her nostrils convinced me it was something significant.
“So, tell me, why are you here?”
“It’s our class day, and—”
“No, Camden. WHY are you here? Why are you in the FBI academy trying to play secret agent?”
“I’m not trying to play secret agent, doctor,” I answered, more harshly than I meant to.
“Oh, but you are, Camden. I don’t see one ounce of the FBI in your eyes. So, what are you really after? Her voice was like silk, soft and seductive.
“You don’t know me and yet you question my integrity?” I took two steps toward her; my breathing was heavy as I tried to contain my anger.
“I know all about you, Camden. I can read you like a book,” she said, matching my steps and taking two toward me until we were almost touching. She looked at me with her pretty hooded eyes, and I couldn’t help but stare back at her—trying to study her eyes how I knew she was studying mine, searching and unlocking doors that no one had before, revealing my damaged soul I so desperately hid from the world.
“You don’t know…”
She can't know right? Know about my empathy?
“How old were you, hmm? When your father left you?” she asked, forcing me to take a step back in disbelief. “You weren’t a child, no. Teenager, I’m assuming—when a young man needs his father’s guidance the most as he navigates puberty and manhood.”
“He didn’t… he didn’t leave…”
“Oh, but he did, didn’t he?” The corner of her mouth peaked into a grin as her delicate hand found my chest. “It’s alright, Camden. I see you. I see how you so desperately try to hide your ADHD from the FBI so they don’t force you out; I see how you surround yourself with extroverted friends to help give you the confidence you haven’t found on your own. I see a broken man, but a worthy one. Don’t forget that.”
She stepped away from me, breaking our contact, and all tension instantly diffused. I was left dumbstruck, and I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. I was fighting the memory of watching my father walk away from my mother and me with his suitcase in hand.
“The mind is a powerful thing, Camden.”
“It has the power to uncover the truths that the naked eye can’t see.” I finished her quote from her book, slamming my mental doors shut.
She smiled and reached toward me to grab her book out of my hand.
“So, you’re hoping to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit, then. I see.” She brushed her hand along the cover of her book.
“Y-yes, that’s my goal,” I stammered, still in shock from how she was able to figure out so much about me by just looking into my eyes, which reminded me why I avoid eye contact.
She gave me a warm smile and clicked open her pen to write something in the book.
“I look forward to hearing your true answer to my question,” she said as she snapped the hardcover closed on the book, handing it back to me.
Our eyes were still locked as I reached out to take back the book. She pulled on her trench coat and slung her bag on her shoulder, tossing her empty coffee cup in the small trash can at the foot of the podium. Taking two steps toward me, she slipped a card in my chest pocket of my polo shirt.
“Come find me when you get your badge. I’m looking forward to my answer,” she repeated, standing almost chest to chest with me, looking up into my eyes. Patting her card in my chest, she winked and turned away to exit through the professor’s entrance.
I was left rooted to the floor, unable to move and unable to process what happened. My brain did a hard reset and I couldn’t figure out if I was star-struck, turned on, or just really fucking confused.
Maybe all of the above.
Opening the cover of my book to see what she wrote; my heart began to race again as I saw her familiar signature in black ink.
“I see you, Camden. All of you.”
Closing the book, I held it to my chest, hanging on for dear life as if I was trying to force her words into my body, into my soul.
Tears threatened to fall as memories of my dad leaving when I first found out about my gifts flooded within me. The feelings of guilt that he couldn't handle a “mentally complex” teenager ate away at my soul.
“I can’t do this, not here,” I said as I tried to fight off the memories she had unlocked so easily.
Turning to leave, I stopped again, remembering her card in my pocket. Pulling it out to examine it, I could swear I caught a hint of a soft jasmine scent—her scent.
It was her business card with the FBI.
Turning it over, I saw her familiar swirls of ink with another address. Maybe her office? I’ll have to look it up when I get back to my dorm. As I read through the address, I noticed a small little note on the bottom corner: “Quid pro quo.”
“Sullivan! Let’s go, I’m starving!” Evan called from the top of the stairs. Tucking her card into her book for safekeeping, I started up the stairs to meet back up with Evan and Nancy, my mind still racing.
“Sullivan?” a sharp female voice sounded in my ear, forcing me out of my thoughts.
“Y-yes?” I asked, shaking my head, confused.
“Are you alright?” the unfamiliar woman asked. “You’ve been standing here holding that box for a minute and zoning out.”
“Yes, I apologize. I had an idea I’ve been mulling around for a while and it just decided to pay me a visit now.” I tried to chuckle to get the attention off of me. I was getting a strange vibe from this woman. Taking a sip of my coffee, I noticed I was standing outside Carver’s office like a fucking basket case. Lovely.
“Well, I’m Supervisory Special Agent Erica Diaz. I’ll be showing you up to your new workspace and introducing you to our unit chief.” She nodded since we couldn’t shake hands with mine being full.
“Nice to meet you, I’m—”
“Camden Sullivan.” she grinned. “We know all about you, rookie. Shall we?”
“Sullivan, here, you’ll need this to access the elevator,” Carver said as he lifted the lid and placed a little black bifold in my banker box, along with my new case file, before patting the lid closed again. “Your new ID card will allow you access to the third floor. Do good work, son.” He clapped my back before returning to his office.
It took every ounce of strength I had in me not to flinch at his touch. My scars, the gifts from my father, marred my back, and after ten years, they still are sensitive to the touch.
“Ready?” Diaz asked, turning away from me. I followed her, lifting the lid of the box and placing my now empty coffee cup inside. Shifting to hold my box in both hands, we made our way to the elevators.
Approaching the elevator doors, she swiped her key card and pressed the button to call the elevator.
“Twenty-one is impressive, Sullivan. Especially for a rookie,” Diaz said, her eyes staying focused on the closed elevator doors.
“Thank you. I’ve been trying to apply what I’ve learned in my profiling courses and research. It has been super helpful in predicting the unsub’s next move.” I was so grateful that Diaz was more interested in focusing on the elevator doors than my eyes as I shifted nervously.
The elevator door opened, and we stepped inside. She pressed the button for the third floor, and the doors closed. Trying to suppress my anxious excitement, I kept my face stoic and neutral as we rode up in silence. I focused on the strip of numbers above the elevator door that lit up as we approached its respective floor.
The doors opened to shockingly nicer office space than the first floor workspaces. Upon exiting the elevator, I was met with an office with all glass walls. A long table with eight chairs around it stood in the center of the room, a large television screen hung on the wall at the foot of the table, and there was a large board with maps, and what looked to be crime scene photographs, and documents from a case file pinned on it.
“This is the main conference room. We have daily morning meetings to get everyone on the same page and up to speed,” Diaz explained, standing next to me and pointing to various things inside the room. “The board shows our current case. For the most part, we are always working on the same case as a group, unless we have more than one high-profile case that comes to our attention.”
“What are we working on now?” I asked, my brain shifting into work mode.
“You’ll be briefed at our morning meeting. Come.”
Following Diaz as she walked down past the conference room, we turned into a large office with the door open and she knocked softly before motioning for me to enter.
“Ah, you must be Sullivan,” a friendly voice sounded as I entered the room.
“Yes, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I replied respectfully, plastering on a fake smile and giving him two seconds of eye contact before focusing on his tie.
“I’m Marcus Jacobs; I oversee this unit.” He stuck his hand out to shake mine, and I quickly reciprocated, holding my box in one hand by the handle and nodding as we shook hands. “We will get you introduced to the rest of the team at our meeting here in…” He looked at his watch. “Ten minutes or so. We can show you to your desk so you can leave your box there. Be sure to grab your case file, and whatever you use for notes.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, shifting to hold my box in both hands again.
“Oh, and Diaz.” He turned to her, and she raised her eyebrows, ready for direction. “Would you mind rolling in an extra chair into the conference room? Doctor Lawson will be joining us this morning. She had a fortunate opening in her schedule.” Diaz nodded, giving him a quick “Yes, sir,” before walking away.
“Doctor Lawson?” I asked, my heart racing.
“Yes, Helena has been a big part of our team for years. We are lucky to have her assist us when her schedule has an opening.”
“You’re too kind, Marcus,” a familiar voice said behind me.
“Ahh, speaking of! Doctor, I’d like to introduce you to our newest recruit—”
“Agent Sullivan,” she answered for him.
Whipping my body around, I almost dropped my box when my eyes found hers—Doctor Lawson. The only person in the world I could hold eye contact with. The corner of her mouth lifted into a sly, sexy grin and her soft jasmine scent threatened to overwhelm my senses.