19. 18
Beckett: Have something to tell you. Can I come over?
I’m sitting in Remy’s kitchen while Chester and Remy are bickering over what the best snacks are. I don’t really see the point to it, because I know we’ll end up taking them all. Both of them eat a lot and they’ll both end up eating a little of all the snacks, so the discussion is moot.
Me: Am at Remy’s. You can come over here.
Beckett: He probably doesn’t want me there. And he doesn’t have the right clearance level.
Me: I tell him everything that’s going on whether you’re in the room or not. So you decide what you want to do.
I don’t receive another response, but I do get several bowls filled with different kinds of snacks that I take with me to the living room. We’re going to watch a movie. Mind you, we haven’t decided what we’re going to watch yet, so that’ll probably be the next discussion, but that’s half of the fun of movie night, right?
We’ve worked all day. Chester did his online magic, probably pissing off a bunch of people and I went to the shooting range with the guys before we worked out. We all made fun of Dylan’s dancing abilities, being the loudest, and just having fun. We all feel like a storm is coming, this serial killer business reaching another climax. And all we can do is be as prepared as we can and hold on for the ride.
I sit down on the ground in front of the couch, just like I always do. Remy sits down behind me on the couch, Chester laying on his back, his head resting on Remy’s abs. We might look relaxed, but I know what’s about to happen.
Remy grabs the remote and gives the starting signal: “So, what are we watching? And no, before you try, we’re not watching a documentary.” That comment is directed to Chester, I’ve learned not to suggest it. Chester is a little more stubborn.
“We’re not watching something romantic either.”
“How about a thriller or something?” I suggest.
“Don’t we have enough of that stuff in our regular life?” Remy asks, weaving his fingers through Chester’s hair.
“Yeah, that rules out movies about cops as well,” my blond friend adds, grabbing some of the snacks that Remy wanted with his left hand while his right toys mindlessly with the end of my braid.
“Yeah, well, speaking about cops, or agents,” I say softly, “Beckett might be coming over.”
I expect yelling. Hell breaking loose. Riots. Pitchforks. The works. But none of that. There’s a very uncomfortable silence, and to be honest I’d take the shit hitting the fan in a heartbeat.
“No comment?” I ask.
“I’m not allowed,” Chester says through his teeth, repeating his sentiment from the dancing lesson.
Remy sighs. “Why?” he finally asks.
“He says he has something to tell me, and I refuse to cut movie night short.” I look up at Remy, who seems tense. I notice Chester quietly stroking his leg, as if trying to comfort him. Even if it’s because of a situation I created, I like that the two of them find comfort in each other.
“We need to settle on a movie before it becomes movie night,” Chester says, trying to change the subject.
“Why can’t Chester comment on anything related to Beckett?” I ask Remy.
He studies me, looks away, and takes a while to find his voice. When he does it sounds hoarse. “Because Chester can’t be supportive when he’s allowed to speak his mind on the subject. So we agreed that he can vent to me about it in private and I will do the same to him, but we’ll be nothing but positive in front of you.”
His blue eyes find me again, and suddenly I feel very small. It’s not just that I’m sitting on the ground and he’s sitting on the couch. It’s shame that’s making me shrink three sizes. Shame that I appear to need more than the two men sitting around me, willing to give me the whole Earth, the moon and a fuckton of galaxies if I’d ask for it.
But instead of pushing everything I’m experiencing down, I decide to take a page out of Robin’s book, and open up. If these men are willing to put their own feelings and desires aside for me, I can open up to them. After all, it’s Chester and Remy, if not to them, then to who? I literally trust them with my life - why are feelings that much harder?
“I feel like I’m doing wrong by you by being attracted to Beckett and acting on it.” My bravery lasts as long as the sentence takes to leave my mouth, because I look away again, grab the remote from Remy’s hand and select a Foo Fighters live concert to watch. It doesn’t really count as watching, but it’ll break the silence.
“You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re following your heart. Which is a much better compass than your head if I’m being honest, but I can see how your opinions on that matter differ.”
He lets his head hang back over the edge of the couch before he speaks again. “What I have a hard time with, is having that man in my personal space. They searched both my home and my dancing studio when they were gathering evidence on me. That’s a huge invasion.”
Now that I can understand.
“So when he’s at the studio, not as an agent but as your special friend, or when he’s coming over to my home, maybe as Special Agent, maybe as special friend, then I tend to get a bit territorial and crabby.”
I nod, feeling like everything that has to be said has been said. We stare at the TV for a while, all lost in our own thoughts. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m doing something wrong, something forbidden, by wanting three men. But they seem to be willing to work through it. Beckett all but admitted he wanted to act on his attraction to me even if I was already seeing other men. But society has taught me that monogamy is the only possibility, the norm. Frankly, fuck the norm. Since when have I ever done anything normally?
I get pulled out of my track of thoughts when the doorbell rings, and I get up to get the door. It’s my mess, so it’s my responsibility.
My breath catches when I open the door. I was expecting Beckett, but I wasn’t prepared for the fluttering of my heart at the sight of him. He looks at me through his aviators, standing in the opening of the door, the setting sun painting a pretty canvas behind the canopy of the trees behind him. He’s wearing a leather jacket and God, it’s like he walked straight out of one of my naughty dreams.
“Hey,” I say as soon as I get my brain to start working again. I think it short circuited because it was excreting a shitload of hormones. I step aside, letting him in.
“Hey,” he answers, stepping in. I turn around and walk to the living room in silence. According to the sound of his footsteps he follows me. Both Remy and Chester look up when we enter the room, but they don’t greet him. I sit down on my regular spot on the floor again, turning the volume of the TV down but not shutting it off. I think we can use some white noise right now.
Beckett sits down in one of the loungers on the opposite side of the couch. He’s taken off his sunglasses, his eyes darting between the three of us. He sits wide legged, with his forearms resting on his knees.
“So, you had something to say?” I ask by way of opening the conversation.
He clears his throat. “Yeah, I just want to note that I’m uncomfortable with sharing this when Remy has not been approved to hear this information, but I’ll do so anyway.”
“Guess we’re all uncomfortable then,” Chester mutters, still lying with his head on Remy’s stomach. The corner of Remy’s mouth pulls up, but soon after he looks neutral again.
“Well, we’re going to bring in two of the names you gave us last time for questioning. Winny and I checked it over and we feel like Alson and Wayne are the most likely suspects.”
My heart stops. Is this really happening? Are we really getting into action?
“Sure, you don’t just want to arrest me again?” Remy says.
Beckett meets his eye, remaining calmer than I thought he would. “Yes.”
“Don’t want to ransack my house again?”
“No.”
“Kiss my girl again?”
You can cut the tension with a knife. My heart is pounding like crazy in my chest, and for some reason I can feel both my cheeks and my ears heating up. I thought Remy was okay with it, but maybe this just needs to happen. Chester observes everything like a hawk, uncharacteristically still.
“Yes,” Beckett says, never breaking eye contact.
Remy seems to contemplate this for a moment, and I have no way of predicting how this is going to go. In the end, he just nods, sits back on the couch, and lifts his chin to indicate Beckett can go on.
“We’re taking them in to figure out who of the men is the killer. I’d thought you might like to tag along when we pick them up.”
“Hell yes,” I answer before I can even let him ask the question for real.
Chester grunts. I grab his hand and squeeze. “I understand you have to do this,” he says, “but I’d love for you to no longer be involved in any of this. I can’t wait until this is over.”
While I agree with that, a part of me wants to not have to deal with Beckett going away.
“We’re taking them in tomorrow. We can hold them for questioning for up to ninety-six hours. It’ll be the fourth of the month within that time frame. If both of them are in custody and nobody goes missing, we’ll know it’s one of them.”
I find myself nodding and agreeing.
“What happened to Art?” Chester asks, clinging on to my hand.
“Art’s education saved him. He was teaching some classes for his PhD when several of the women were abducted. It’s a pretty solid alibi, standing in a class full of students.”
“I didn’t think to look for that,” Chester says, looking away.
“That’s what Winny and I are for,” he answers kindly. “The main reason I thought to look into it was because the whole student persona doesn’t fit with who this killer is in my mind. I tend to get a pretty good feeling for who they are, us profilers learn how to think like a serial killer. And it just didn’t fit.”
That’s a harrowing idea. It can’t be all sunshine and daisies getting into that state of mind.
“Your mind is more analytical. You run on data, sift through it, and make connections that I can’t see. It is an incredible skill set that I’d love to have. Me? I can relate to the darkest parts of mankind and feel what’s right and what’s wrong.”
This time when I look at him, he looks tired. Worn down. How long has he been hunting serial killers non-stop? That must weigh down on him.
When the room stays quiet, he adds: “Sometimes it’s a dark, dark place to be, my mind, and I wish I wasn’t able to do what I do.”
He stares at the TV, where Dave Grohl is singing his heart out. I’m not really listening to it anyway. Chester releases a lengthy sigh, gets up from his position on the couch and starts walking to the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” I ask in confusion. I know they don’t all get along, but is that worth leaving the room over?
“Getting Mister Hotshot a beverage. I might be a grade A asshole, but I’m not letting him leave after this.”
“I’m not sharing my snacks,” Remy says, but his words don’t hold any power to it.
“Do you even want to stay?” I ask Beckett, because we might make decisions for him, but I don’t know what he wants.
His green eyes find mine, and something in my stomach pulls. “There isn’t a single moment I don’t want to be around you.”
I swallow, letting my teeth rake over my bottom lip. Before I can worry about what the hell I say to that, Remy breaks in.
“You should see her in the morning before coffee. Makes you want to get back on that statement,” he says. I punch him in the shoulder, making him laugh.
“You take that back,” I demand. “I’m a delight.”
“You are, ma luciole, after you’ve had coffee.”
Beckett smiles, and suddenly I’m not so sure I want these men to start getting along if that will mean they’ll start ganging up on me. Chester walks in with a beer and a can of coke, offering them both to Beckett. He eyes the drinks, picking up the beer in the end. Does that mean he plans on staying for a while? That he’s truly off the clock right now?
“What were you going to watch?” he asks after taking a sip of his beer and sitting back in his chair.
“That was an ongoing discussion.”
“No documentary, nothing romantic, no thrillers, no cops was the consensus so far,” I add, letting my head fall back to the inside of Remy’s thigh. “So that leaves us with fucking nothing to watch.”
“How about a Marvel movie?” Beckett suggests.
“No,” Remy and I say at the exact same time. Chester groans.
“I feel like there’s a story here somewhere,” Beckett says, having his observing look again.
“They say I ruin those by comparing them with the comic books and pointing out all the inaccuracies,” Chester answers, rolling his eyes. Remy bends over him, gives him a kiss on his nose.
“You suck all the fun out of it.”
“When I suck it’s always fun,” Chester quips and I’m fairly certain he only says it to get a rise out of Beckett.
“My brother does that,” Beckett says, staring at the TV where the concert is still playing.
“Sucking the fun out of it?”
Beckett snorts. “No, comparing movies to the originals. Books, comics. He’s a huge nerd for someone who fights crime for a living. But watching movies with him is the worst.”
“You sound as if you guys are tight.”
“We used to be. The longer I’m away the less tight it gets. But he could call me in the middle of the night and I’d still rush over to help him.”
That’s something I don’t understand. As an only child, as an orphan without brothers or sisters, I don’t get that. I’d do that for Chester, for Remy too. But that’s by choice, not by blood. I don’t understand the family dynamic where you’re so close you would drop everything to go help them. It’s a foreign concept that marvels me.
“That sounds nice,” Chester says.
“I’m lucky,” he agrees.
“Would you help him get away with murder?” Remy asks.
“He’d never commit murder.”
“Hypothetically of course, just go along with it. If this conversation dies down again we have to go back to thinking about which movie we’re watching and nobody wants to do that. So just play along and save us all.” Remy slouches down, so it’s more like he’s laying down than sitting up straight, Chester curling up somewhere in the opening of his body.
“Hypothetically I’d tell him to go fuck himself if he has murdered someone. But less hypothetically, he probably knows at least ten ways to get rid of a body all by himself, so he won’t have to call me for help.”
“What the hell does he do for a living?” I ask curiously.
“He’s a homicide detective.”
“Jesus, what was in the water where you grew up?” Chester spits out.
Beckett laughs. “I think it was my mother. She was always reading detectives. Watched every true crime show she could find. Dad always said that if we were going into law enforcement, which was more of a given than an option in our family, it might be safest to work with the dead, because they don’t shoot back. He ate those words when I was recruited by the BAU and put in the field.”
I hang onto his every word, loving the way he’s opening up about himself in front of Chester and Remy. I know Chester is quiet because he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of caring parents, and Remy doesn’t speak because being forced into a certain kind of career is a sore spot for him. When the silence starts to become uncomfortable, Beckett scrapes his throat.
“So, hypothetically, would you rather be able to see your future, but not be able to do anything about it, or go back in time and tell yourself something you now know but didn’t know then?” Beckett asks.
And so we spend the rest of the evening, talking about hypotheticals, the idea of a movie all but forgotten.
Beckett picks me up at the office the next morning. He was serious about me tagging along to go take these suspects in. He turns the car, steering with the palm of his hand, and it’s one of those manly things that makes me swoon.
Something changed last night, making me feel better about my feelings for him, even if I know it may end soon. I won’t be able to do the long distance thing. Hell, I won’t be able to have a relationship with three men even if they were all here. I think. Maybe I should talk to Robin about this again.
“Really?” I break the silence when Highway To Hell by AC/DC comes on and Beckett starts tapping along on the steering wheel. “That’s a bit ironic, don’t you think?”
He smirks, keeping his eyes on the road. “If you read too much into random signs that could be considered ironic, yeah.”
I roll my eyes but I don’t know if he can see. It’s an eye roll he can definitely feel anyway. “So what’s the exact plan for today?”
“Going to Alson first. We’ll meet with a team of agents on site. They’ll take him in. We won’t actually do that much. We’re just going to be there. Then, we’re repeating the whole show at Wayne’s house.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
I tend to forget that most government agencies have more manpower than FIX Foundation has. They don’t have to do everything themselves. Beckett is here as a profiler, he doesn’t have to be out in the field arresting suspects. He can, but he doesn’t have to. It’s weird to realize how much we have to do ourselves with what we do.
Beckett keeps drumming on his steering wheel while we drive. I keep staring at the way he steers with the palm of his hand, and for some reason that is such a turn on I’m a little ashamed of myself. This is definitely not the situation to let my hormones take over, this is serious business.
Carry On My Wayward Sonby Kansas comes on, and I snort. He turns his head, asking me a question with just the raise of his eyebrow.
“First Highway to Hell and now the Winchester’s theme song? That’s definitely fitting for this trip.”
“Winchester’s theme song?”
“SPN?”
“What?” he asks with furrowed brows. “Is that some kind of alphabet agency I don’t know?”
“Supernatural,” I answer, and I’m seriously concerned he doesn’t know this. I need men in my life who watch the same shit as I do. Maybe I just have a little bit of a contorted idea of what men like to watch, because when Chester and I watched Supernatural together we both drooled over Jensen.
“Never seen it,” he says.
“We’ll need to change that.”
“Maybe we can do that tonight?” he asks hopefully.
“I’m afraid fifteen seasons won’t fit into one night,” I say, secretly smiling because I totally catch him trying to set up a date without actually calling it a date again. “And I think you’ll probably be held up in interrogation tonight.”
He grunts.
“But we can watch it when you’re done with the interrogations.”
Only I forget that once interrogations are over the investigation will be over, meaning that he’s going on to the next case and will be going away. I force myself to forget that he asked me to tell him to stay. All the implications that leaves me with are frightening. We haven’t really started what’s going on between us, and he’s already thinking about staying. My commitment issues have an opinion on that. A strong opinion.
We drive up to a large mansion in a wooded area. Before we turn onto the driveway, we pull over, meeting the other agents who are already there and waiting for us. There’s three big SUVs filled with agents, and suddenly the realization dawns on me what we’re doing. We’re really going to take these two men in, convinced one of them is the killer.
Beckett gets out of the car, and I follow him, keeping myself at a distance. I’m here as a courtesy, but I’m not actually involved in this operation. Beckett talks to the men, telling them how they’re going to go into the house, either by invitation or by force, get the suspect, cuff him and get him into the car. They don’t have a warrant to search the house yet, so that’s all they’re going to do. The first team will take Alson to the precinct and the other two cars will go along with us to go to Wayne’s house and do all of this over again.
All the men watch Beckett as he effortlessly takes the lead. They don’t even question him, and when he’s done talking everything through they go back to their cars to get this show on the road. My heart rate spikes when I crawl back in Beckett’s car. He doesn’t turn the radio on for this part of the drive. He seems fully focused on what it is he’s about to do. I’m mauling the inside of my cheek. The fact that we’re going to take suspects in for questioning doesn’t mean they’re just going to open the door and come along willingly. Hell, we don’t even know if they’re home at all.
We pull up to a huge house. Seriously, it’s too big for a single family to be living there. Chester’s castle is big, Remy’s house is big, but this is making our houses look humble. If we have to go search for him in it, we’d probably be spending the rest of the day playing hide and seek with Alson. It does explain why he still lives at home at thirty-three years old. He never has to run into his parents if he doesn’t want to, and if I was living in a place like this I would be reluctant to trade it for something smaller too.
Beckett parks his car in front of the house and all the agents get out. I have no clue how many exits this beast of a building has, but if we have to man all of them, we need a few more cars filled with agents to help us out. We’re going with the soft approach though: ring the doorbell.
Beckett checks if his team is ready, which they are, before he rings it. It takes a while, but the door opens. There’s an old, slender, balding man standing on the other side of the door. His big round glasses are dirty and he seems surprised. I don’t know if he’s genuinely surprised, or if it’s the shape of his brows that make him look this way permanently.
“Who are you?” the man asks.
“I’m Special Agent Sanders with the FBI. We’re looking for Alson. Who are you if I might ask?”
The man takes a step back, squinting his eyes. “Is this about that girl again?”
“No sir, this is about something else. Who are you again?”
“I’m his father.” He eyes Beckett suspiciously. “I’ll go get him.”
I furrow my brows together. Why would he just go get his son like that? He’s been down this road before, when the girl he dated in college got murdered. Alson was never charged with anything in relation to that case. So maybe his father is sure the outcome will be the same this time? He doesn’t even know what it’s about, unless he has his own suspicions.
Beckett and I wait in silence in front of the door. The other agents are patiently waiting right behind me, but I can easily pretend they aren’t there. My focus is on Alson and whether this will truly be so simple as it looks like it’s going to be.
A couple of minutes later a confused looking man steps to the door, his father nowhere left to be seen. His dark hair is disheveled and the glasses he wears sit crooked on his nose. He is lean and wears clothes that are at least two sizes too big by the looks of it. Looks like he spends too much time inside if I’m being honest. But he feels wrong. I know that first impressions aren’t always right, and I get that the way I feel about someone isn’t exactly science, but something is off with this guy. He scrunches his nose, as if we smell bad, before he finally speaks.
“What’s this?” he asks. He hides his body behind the door, his feet already pointing back to the direction he came from.
“Are you Alson Montgomery?” Beckett asks without introducing himself. He even looks a bit bored. Me? I feel a nervous flutter in my stomach, mixed with a little confusion, because based on appearances this man is no killer.
“Who’s asking?” He was already halfway to closing the door again, which Beckett prevents by putting his boot in the opening of the door.
“Special Agent Sanders, with the BAU of the FBI. Are you Alson Montgomery?”
His eyes widen, before I can see him shutting himself off. “Yes,” he finally gives in.
“We’re taking you in for questioning,” Beckett says, moving aside so the two agents behind him can grab Alson.
Alson tries to close the door. “I’d really rather not.”
The two agents grab him, turn him around, and cuff him. He halfheartedly tries to turn around and trash, but his heart isn’t really in it.
“What am I being questioned for?” he snarls when the agents start taking him to one of the cars.
“Oh, you know,” Beckett says mysteriously.
The look he gives Beckett gives me chills. Whether this man is our killer or not, I’d rather not have him out on the streets. He goes into the car without putting up any more of a fight, and I guess that’s just smart. Why would an innocent man resist asking some questions? If I were a killer trying to get away with it, I’d work along with law enforcement to see if I could keep getting away with it.
“Why don’t you tell him what you’re bringing him in for?” I whisper when I’m certain Alson is out of earshot but want to be careful anyway.
“Let him think about it, sweat a little,” he answers. “If he’s not our killer, he might start talking about that girl in college. Whatever the outcome, him not knowing is going to tell us something. He’ll know soon enough anyway.”
I nod, walking to the car again. I hop in while Beckett talks to some of the other agents. I watch how he steps in the car, buckles up and starts the car before he drives away. His hand reaches for the radio and the car fills with I Don’t Like Mondays by The Boomtown Rats, making me snort again.
“You really don’t see this as an omen?” I ask him, pointing my chin to the radio.
“Lyrics? No.”
I roll my eyes. It’s so like him to be able to kill the conversation with his short answers. “Do you have any superstitions?”
He chews his lip, thinking about it. “Some. But I don’t put a lot of thought into it. My grandmother was the worst, saw omens in everything. Used to drive my mother nuts, so she did everything to annoy my grandmother. Walking under ladders, that kind of thing.”
A smile covers my face. His family sounds amazing from the little snippets I’ve heard about it. And for once it doesn’t fill me with longing.
We drive in silence for a while, going over roads through the forest. We’re not heading in the direction of any city limits I know.
“Where are we going? We’re still picking up Wayne, right?”
Beckett keeps his eyes on the road, but hums and nods his head. “Courtesy of your lover, Chester.”
I squeeze my eyes. I’m not sure how I feel about Beckett calling Chester my lover. I mean, he is, I guess, but we haven’t really labeled it so far. “And what exactly is courtesy of my… Chester?”
“He texted me this morning, telling me that Wayne will be in Forest Park, giving self-defense classes to women. Saves us the trouble of going to his house.”
I had no idea Chester had done such a thing. He certainly hadn’t told me about it. I’m glad, at least we know where Wayne is. Now all we have to do is find him in a public park.
A couple of minutes later, we park the car near the park entrance and all of us get out. They could be anywhere, and I’m curious to see how Beckett is going to find him. Huge pines surround us, making me feel small and the task at hand humongous. Perhaps it would’ve been easier if he had been at home after all.
Beckett seeks out a Park Ranger and they talk some before the ranger points in a direction and Beckett comes back over. All the other agents have gathered outside of the cars, all ready to spring to action. It’s a mindset I recognize, although it’s weird to not be in a leading position and just be along for the ride. Leading comes so naturally to me that it feels weird to just tag along.
“Ranger pointed out the most used spot for lessons like the ones Wayne gives. We’ve got to hike for about ten minutes to get there, the cars will be no good. We’re all heading there together, I’ll speak with him and you can take him in once we have him. Abby and I will take care of the women he’s with and make sure they get home safely from here.”
I hadn’t even thought about that. Taking Wayne in would mean leaving a group of women alone in the forest. Would Beckett think about these women on any other job, or is it something he does on my behalf? Something in me tells me it’s the former.
Once all the agents have agreed to Beckett’s plan, we take off into the woods. There’s a trail that is obviously used often, but would indeed not be accessible by car. The pace Beckett sets is quick, but him and all the agents seem to be alert and scanning between the trees. We pass some open spots between the trees where people are gathered, but none of them are Wayne.
My pulse is racing and it has nothing to do with the hike and everything to do with finally moving forward in this whole fucking situation. Getting our hands on this killer. I just hope Wayne will come as easily as Alson did. He is here with a group of women after all, if he really doesn’t want to come and he takes it out on them things could get ugly quickly.
We reach another clearing in the woods and there’s a group of women standing in pairs, doing something that looks like fighting. Knowing we’re looking for a self-defense class I look twice and see that there’s no actual force being used, and it seems like we’re in the right place. When I scan the area, my eye falls on the only man there.
Wayne.
I recognize him. Both from the photo in Chester’s file and that time on the shooting range. My body shudders unwillingly and I stop walking. Beckett and the agents don’t though. They step right up, the agents spreading out, almost surrounding Wayne while Beckett walks closer. All the men seem to be on high alert.
When Wayne looks up and notices what’s going on, I see a hint of surprise on his face. He straightens his body, his blue eyes sharp and focused on Beckett. And he just waits. I don’t know if that’s what I expected him to do or not. Somehow I think I expected him to flee.
I’m too far away to hear what Beckett says to Wanye, and I can’t hear what he says in response. It’s only a short conversation before he follows Beckett, and walks past me. When he sees me, his eyes go wide and I suck in a big gulp of air. He feels off, just like Alson did, but Wayne is giving me the creeps.
“I know you,” he says, looking at me with squinted eyes. Even with them almost closed, I can see the blueness of them. They’re in stark contrast to his black hair. And just for a moment they remind me of Isaac Egbers, making a shiver run down my spine.
“Keep walking Wayne,” Beckett says flatly, leading the way out of the clearing.
“She was at the shooting range!” he exclaims. “Is that where you found me? Are you setting me up?”
So much for going quietly.
“No,” Beckett answers before I can say anything. “We’re just taking you in for a couple of questions. That has nothing to do with her. And nobody is setting you up. Now, please follow me and leave Miss Wilder be.”
I just stand there, forcing myself not to ball my fists or reach for my gun, giving it my all to not give anything away. I breathe for four, hold for four, breathe out for four and hold for four again. Finally, after what feels like a century, he turns back and starts walking along with Beckett. When he’s a good distance away, I feel like I can breathe again.
This is it.
We’ve brought in our two main suspects in the string of murders. Now all I have to do is make sure these very confused women get home safely and figure out which of the two is our killer.
Easy, right?