24. 23
“You can’t live on just the coffee,” I grunt to Chester, who downs his double-double shot of espresso at the coffee shop near the office. Ever since Remy started going to practice regularly at the theater just around the corner, we’ve made a habit of coming here during our lunch breaks.
Both Chester and Beckett would be lost to the world otherwise, and the same would probably go for me as well to be honest.
“Watch me,” he grunts.
For some reason, he’s extra cranky today.
Must be something in the air, because I’m in a mood as well. There’s no good reason for me to act like that, but nothing is working out for me today. I’ve ordered myself a brownie for lunch, which is just as substantial as Chester’s coffee nutrition wise, but at least mine tastes like chocolate.
“Having a rough one, love?” Remy asks. He’s eating a sandwich with egg and bacon and stuff he claims to need because he burns whole truckloads of food during practice in a day.
Chester slides down in his seat, hands in his pocket, his head turtle necking in his shoulders. Sound leaves his mouth, but I don’t catch the words they’re supposed to form.
“What was that?” Beckett asks.
Chester sighs. “There was an article about my parents in the paper.”
“So?” the agent asks. He’s eating turkey with mayonnaise on rye bread. Out of the four of us, he’s probably the scariest foodwise. He eats food because it makes him healthy, not for pleasure.
“So now I hate being a Von Liechsenfield even more.”
“Just change your name if you hate it so much?” Beckett says, chomping down on his food. He seems to be on a timetable, because he’s scarfing it down like someone is going to steal it right from his mouth in about two minutes.
Chester and I have had this discussion before. He doesn’t want to change his name because despite hating it, it’s part of his identity. And he doesn’t believe in just sitting down and picking a name for himself. I’ve told him he’s done this dozens of times when he picks new names for characters in video games, but he claims it’s different. And I guess it is.
Chester answers by trying to set Beckett on fire with just one look.
“What was the article about?” Remy asks.
“That they were arrested in a string of human trafficking-related crimes and that they were denied bail because of the gravity of the crimes and the flight risk. Apparently being richer than the sun makes you prone to flight.”
The way he smiles is straight-up evil.
“So they got punished for having money,” Remy says.
“Exactly,” Chester smirks.
“What’s up with all the organization stuff anyway?” I ask because now that this has come to light, I’m curious about what’s going on. I’m perfectly aware that I’m asking Beckett to talk about ongoing investigations and there’s a real chance he won’t answer, but I’m trying anyway.
He stares at his now mostly empty plate, then chews on his bottom lip before opening his mouth. “Basically, every alphabet organization in the country is on it. It’s worldwide. It crosses borders. They’re trying to get everyone, but it’s going to take a lot of time and a lot of work. Most of it is way above my pay grade, so that’s pretty much all I know.”
I nod, just glad he answered the question.
“So sex was all it took to loosen up those lips, eh?” Chester teases, his look less dark and cloudy than just now.
“What?”
“Well, you were all ‘I can’t tell you that, that’s classified’ when you came here, and now you’re talking about it like we’re all buddy-buddy.”
“We are all buddy-buddy,” Becket scowls.
Remy begins laughing out loud, reaching into his back pocket and grabbing his wallet. I’m not sure what he’s doing. We’re not ready to pay the bill yet. He grabs a twenty and slides it towards Chester, who looks exceedingly pleased with himself. I raise my brow, trying to figure out what’s going on.
“He bet I could never get Beckett to say buddy-buddy.”
Beckett rolls his eyes, and it’s a gesture that’s so unlike him that it makes me see him in a different light. Chester gets up and makes his way to the counter, ordering another double-double espresso and a blueberry muffin. I have an inkling he’s going to be fucking annoying that afternoon, hyped by sugar and caffeine.
“So, buddy,” Beckett says sarcastically, making Remy crack up again. “Are you going to be called Von Liechsenfield after you get married, or is that a valid reason to change your name?”
The blood drains from my face. It’s a genuine question on Beckett’s side, but knowing Chester’s commitment issues the way I do means that I know this isn’t going to go over well.
But the freak-out never comes.
Chester chews his muffin while he seems to mull this over. Maybe he never considered the possibility of ever getting married due to said commitment issues and he has never thought about what that would mean to him regarding his name.
He throws back the coffee before looking Beckett in the eye.
“I’m not sure we can get married.”
“Sure we can,” the agent says. “You heard Abby talk about her therapist and her husbands.”
“Yeah, but… are we doing that?” Chester says. The look on his face is starting to match the idea of how I thought he was going to react to the possibility of marriage.
“Maybe. Someday. Not any time soon,” I say quickly. My heart is pounding like crazy, and perhaps I’m the one with the issues. Remy squeezes my leg in reassurance.
“Chester Ashburn?” Chester says, staring out of the window, eating his muffin. “It has kind of a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
What kind of freak universe did I end up in? Since when is Chester thinking about marriage? That’s… nuts.
“Yeah, well, very nice,” I mutter, stuffing the last piece of my brownie in my mouth just so I don’t have to say anything else. I mean, I’m not opposed to getting married. But we’re busy with work, Wayne, and we’ve all just got our shit together, now they’re talking about something that’s supposed to last forever, but what if it doesn’t? Oh my fucking hell, what if this becomes one of those messy divorces?
“Chester Sanders isn’t doing it for me,” he continues. “Sorry Becky.”
The agent rolls his eyes but has a crooked smile on his face.
“Now, Chester Wilder. That sounds fitting. I could really live by that name. That fucking soothes me.”
He is giving me such a wide smile, deep down I know he’s joking, but this is a conversation that I can’t handle, so I get up and leave the booth, fleeing. Literally fleeing.
“Yeah, I gotta get back to work. You’re picking up the bill today. Thanks. Bye.” And while all three of them start laughing out loud, I make sure I get back to the office as quickly as I can.
Miranda is talking to someone on the phone when I get back to the office. The corners of her mouth are turned down, and she’s rolling her eyes.
“No sir, once again, she’s not available for any comments. Now, if you want to make a nice donation to our organization, I’d be happy to set up an appointment.”
She listens to something the person on the other side of the line says.
“That’s what I thought. Goodbye.”
She hangs up and sighs, moving around her desk until she notices me. Her frown changes into a smile, and I can’t help but reciprocate.
“What was that?” I ask.
“Reporters have been calling. Somehow they know you’ve got something to do with this case, even if there aren’t that many details that get released to the press. They all want to interview you or make a statement. I’m trying to get them to notice FIX Foundation instead of that killer, but it seems they’re more interested in his brutal ways than kids that need to be saved.”
It’s a problem we’ve encountered since we started doing this and will probably always keep on having. People believe that the police or the feds save all the kids, and if they don’t have their own kids kidnapped, it doesn’t count or something like that. At least they won’t give it any thought.
“Thanks for at least trying to get them to give us some attention.”
“Oh, no worries, sweetheart. It’s the least I can do. I’ve been a secretary all my life. You hand me a phone, and I’ll make something happen. It’s my superpower.”
“Have any of them taken you up on the offer?”
She shakes her head.
“You’re a saint anyway,” I say, laying a hand on her shoulder before I walk past and head up to my ivory tower. It won’t be long before Beckett and Chester will head back, and the agent probably wants to come work in my office. It’s a routine we’ve created.
I open my computer and some documents I was working on, leaving the door open. I’m about to start the tedious task of making sure all our requirements for keeping our office insurance are up-to-date. It’s the part of administration that doesn’t spark any joy at all, but it comes with the job. Maybe, someday, I can outsource shit like this and be out in the field more.
Those are the kinds of thoughts about the future that don’t scare me one bit.
The wedding talk?
That’s worse than a bad horror movie.
I’m about to open a folder with all the gun permit documents when Beckett steps in, his cheeks pink and his eyes wide, while he shuts the door behind him. I squint my eyes, as if focusing my line of sight will suddenly give me some sort of insight into what”s going on.
With three long strides with those endless legs of his, he stands next to me, grabs my wrist and pulls me up until I’m standing upright. I get a glimpse of the start of a smile before he brings his lips to mine, his hand disappearing in my dark locks and pushing his face towards me.
His kiss is punishing. With a desperation that feels unfamiliar from him, he explores all the parts of my mouth, making me feel the passion in my whole body. My arms go up, and I wrap them around his shoulders and neck, my fingers going through his hair and messing it up.
After what feels like minutes, he breaks the kiss.
“What was that for?” I ask, my face flushed and my temperature up.
“For freaking you out over lunch,” he says, green eyes finding mine and looking full of heat and sorrow. Which is an odd combination if you ask me.
Beckett’s phone rings, and he picks up immediately, greeting someone named Greenley. I stare at his profile while he listens to Greenley talking, and I can see his face pale. It’s actually more than just pale, he turns ashen and deep down I know something is wrong. Everything feels hinky, and I know it’s got something to do with Wayne.
It’s funny how I do not believe in something bigger out there, something that plans stuff, but other times, I experience just knowing stuff, and it always turns out to be right.
This is one of those times.
“How is he?” Beckett asks.
My alarm bells go off. Definitely hinky. But before I can listen in on what Agent Greenley is saying, my phone starts ringing and Peter’s name pops up on my screen.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck.
Peter calling me while something with Wayne is going on? It’s too much of a coincidence. And I don’t believe in coincidences.
“Peter?” I say by way of answering.
“He took her!” Peter screams in my ear.
I see Beckett come alive as well, ending his own phone call and rushing over towards me.
“What happened?” I ask more calmly than I feel.
“I took the boys on some errands, took one of the agents who are keeping an eye on us with me. But when we came home, the other agent was out cold and now Viv is gone. The kitchen is trashed, can’t find her anywhere.”
My stomach sinks.
“Is there any blood anywhere?” I ask in an icy tone. I can only get through this by feeling abso-fucking-lutely nothing at all. If I start panicking now, we’ll never find Aunt Viv. I know there won’t be any blood there though. It doesn’t fit his pattern. He takes women from their home, he doesn’t leave any forensic trace, and he murders them elsewhere. Blood isn’t his thing anyway; it’s the choking he gets off on.
“No!” Peter yells. He’s panicking, and I can’t blame him. Years of training and mental neglect have taught me to compartmentalize, but all Peter knows is that the love of his life is missing while there is a serial killer who hunts women looking like her on the loose. “No,” he repeats softer. “That’s a good thing, right? No blood?”
I swallow, closing my eyes for a second. I need a second to make sure that my voice won’t tremble. I need to be the strong one for my stand-in father right now.
“That’s a good thing, yeah.” It’s a blatant lie because it only furthers my suspicions that Wayne’s behind all this. “Are you and the boys safe?”
“Yeah,” he says softly, as if he only remembers in that instance that his boys are also in the picture. “EMTs are here for the agent, and a lot of people from the FBI are here now. Where’s Viv, Abby?”
“I don’t know, Peter. But I’ll find out.”
“Goddammit!” he yells.
My eyes burn, and a single tear runs down my cheek. This was the last thing that was supposed to happen. I’m here to make sure the world gets a little safer, not make it more dangerous for my family.
“I’ll get her back,” I promise him, but I don’t know who I’m trying to convince more – him or myself.
“Just… Just be quick,” he sighs. He sounds defeated, and I can’t blame him.
“Take care of those boys,” I command him. “Stay close to the agents, and I’ll take care of getting Viv back.”
“Good lot of nothing that did for Viv,” Peter mutters. “Hurry. Please.”
“I promise.”
“And be safe.”
“You too.”
He ends the call, and I stare down at the black screen of my phone. My heart is pounding so hard it almost jumps out of my chest. It’s like this is happening to someone else, not to me. I guess this is what dissociating is? It’s bad enough when this was happening to random women I didn’t know, but now it’s happening to Viv. And that definitely is my fault, because without me, Viv wouldn’t even be on his radar.
“Speak,” I demand from Beckett. I might be a little bit of an ice queen right now, but I don’t know how to survive otherwise.
“The agent that was on watch with Viv got bludgeoned on the head with an object. He’s alive and will be taken to the hospital to see the extent of his injuries, but while he was out cold, it seems that someone took Viv.”
“Someone,” I scoff.
“We both know it’s Wayne.”
“Yeah, let’s not beat around the bush. This is Wayne.”
“They found absolutely nothing to go on.”
“Crap,” I swear, simultaneously walking to my office door and opening it. “Ches! Get your ass in here!” I yell. He doesn’t hear me, listening to his music on his headphones. “Ches!” My roar is so loud that every other employee in the building stares at me in shock.
Zoey grabs a rubber band, sticks it around her fingers, aims and shoots it against Chester’s head. When he looks up in annoyance, Zoey points towards me. I don’t even have to say anything because simply just looking at me makes him pale. He throws his headphones on his desk and rushes towards my office.
“What’s wrong?”
“He took Viv.”
He looks at me in disbelief. “No way.”
“Yes way.”
“But she had two agents guarding her.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem like he gave a crap about that.”
Chester makes his way towards my computer, passing Beckett in the process. “I told you all FBI agents were useless and we should’ve gotten rid of them all.”
“You don’t mean that,” Beckett says.
“Of course, I don’t mean that, but it seems like a pretty fucking solid plan right now! We should’ve protected her ourselves. You’re about the only non-useless agent I know. Well, and Winny.” He’s rambling, which he does when he gets nervous. Meanwhile he logs into my computer, bringing up various screens, and typing away at the speed of light.
We couldn’t have protected her ourselves, because that would have only made her less safe. It’s me he’s obsessed with, and Viv is only a tool to get to me. God, this is all so fucking messed up.
My skin is crawling and I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs.
Beckett lays a hand on the small of my back, and he soothingly starts stroking it. The vein in his neck is protruding, and the wrinkles between his eyes are so deep I’m afraid they’ll be there permanently.
“Come look,” Chester demands. There’s no asking, he’s telling us. He’s doing his part and taking back control where he can. I’m despairing, because we haven’t managed to get the fucker all this time he’s been at large. What would make us able to find him this time?
The entrance to Peter and Viv’s house is on my computer screen. Security has always been top notch there. I went into crazy auntie mode when Viv was expecting Charlie and made Chester put in all the best systems. Chester set it up himself, making me confident it actually is the best.
I see the front door on the screen, and then I see Wayne coming onto the screen. He uses some kind of tool and opens the door. It’s as fast as if he had a key, and I wonder how the hell he did that. Part of my brain thinks some tool like that might even come in really handy.
Chester changes the feeds, showing the kitchen. I didn’t even know there was a cam there. I wouldn’t want cameras in my whole house, but I guess being targeted by a serial killer makes having privacy a little less important. Viv is busy picking leaves of a basil plant while drinking a glass of red wine when I see Wayne entering the kitchen. Viv startles, turns around, making stuff fall off the counter, and instinctively reaches for the knife block on the counter. He’s faster.
The fucking bastard is always faster.
He grabs her, pushing a cloth in her face. My best guess is that it’s drenched with something making her sleepy, and she goes limp in seconds. The days of knowing its chloroform are long gone. The market flooded with substances that act the same way. He catches her though, almost with a gentle kindness, and then picks her up, shoving more stuff off of the counter in the process, before he hoists her over his shoulder and carries her out caveman style.
When he appears on the feed at the front of the house again, he looks up, stares at the camera, and salutes it with a crooked smirk.
I smell limes and get nauseous.
He has her.
He really has her.
“Why the hell is the FBI saying that there’s no evidence?” Beckett bellows.
“Because he hacked the security feed and set it on a timelapse, but since I know his signature, because he fucking left it for me there, I knew where to look and how to undo his work. He’s good, but I’m still better,” Chester hisses from between his teeth.
“So get a feed on where he’s going,” I demand.
“I don’t have any other cameras on the property. Last thing I can do is see if the dashcam in the FBI car has been recording something and go through the traffic feeds in the vicinity.”
“Do it,” Beckett says.
“It won’t be of any use,” I murmur.
Green eyes look at me, trying to understand where I’m going with that comment.
“There are woods near their house. He won’t risk getting into a car and getting caught by traffic cams and being followed. He’s taking her through his beloved woods just because he can.”
Chester is rubbing his eyes, looking horrified. He gets back to my computer and starts typing all kinds of shit I don’t understand.
“You really understand him,” Beckett states.
I nod, feeling bile rise in my throat. I’d give anything to not understand him, but I do. I get what Beckett has been telling me – that he knows how to get into the dark places the minds of a serial killers go to. I’m not claiming I get them all, but I get Wayne. And I fucking wish I didn’t.
“You sure you don’t want to become a profiler?” he asks me with a smile, coming back on the returning conversation topic between us.
“Really fucking sure. I never want anything to do with serial killers after this anymore.”
The way he looks at me makes me think he’s ready to be done with these psychos as well, but he doesn’t open his mouth and say it. We all just stand there, not doing a damn thing.
“Now what?” Chester asks.
“Call Winny. Call Remy. Call the tac team. Call every-fucking-one. Gather the cavalry, shit, I don’t know. We just need to do whatever we can to find her and get her back.”
All three of us reach for our phones to do exactly that.
The office is buzzing with life. It’s a nervous energy. Everyone is working their butts off, hackers and tac team alike, but nobody really has a clear vision of what they’re doing. We’ve all got our fingers crossed, are hoping for the best and are fueled by Hail Mary’s.
Winny agrees with me that Wayne left through the woods.
She also said that this is taking his escalation to new heights. The way that made her look has left me in the state I’m currently in. I stand frozen in fear in the kitchen, my hands on the counter, my head slumped down between my shoulders. I feel like I’m breathing through a straw and my vision is blurry.
The panic I was able to steer myself away from while talking to Peter is catching up with me.
This is Viv we’re talking about. The woman who took me in when her sister died. Who was practically still a kid herself, but still did everything in her power to make sure I ended up happy. I might not be a regular Joe, but I like to believe that she succeeded in doing the best job she could with me. And now it’s my fault that she’s kidnapped by a serial killer who kills women who look just like her. Who is spiraling so quickly that he must be very dizzy by now.
If you know anything about devolving serial killers, you know that this feels like the end game. Studies have shown that the moment serial killers are about to get caught, they get desperate. They deviate from their regular patterns, becoming more extreme. Killing faster, being more brutal, taking more risks. And it almost always ends up with a huge blow up, where the killer either gets caught or gets killed. It’s a side effect of feeling backed into a corner.
I just wish to every fucking deity out there who’s willing to listen to me that Viv gets out safely.
Peter needs her. Her three kids need her desperately. I need to have endless conversations with her while she chomps on chocolate and drinks any kind of booze she can get her hands on. I need her to tell me stories about my mom.
The bottom line is I just need her.
And I don’t think I’ll survive the guilt if she doesn’t pull through.
I startle when a small hand lands on my shoulder. When I turn around, I find Winny there, her eyes knowing and kind.
“I think that tea is done now,” she says, looking at the cup in front of me. There’s a teabag that I left in warm water that’s lukewarm by now. The tea will be so strong it’s undrinkable.
“It’s crap now. Everything is crap,” I murmur, picking up the cup, throwing out the bag and pouring out the contents in the sink.
Her hands land on my shoulders, and before I know it I’m pulled into an embrace. She’s a hugger, and she doesn’t half-ass it. There’s nowhere to go, so I just surrender and give in.
“You don’t have to be strong right now,” she whispers, her lips close to my ear. And I can’t help but think she’s going to be a fucking amazing mom, because, in that moment, she reminds me of my mom and my Aunt Viv. Suddenly I feel guilty for always saying I grew up without a mother because nothing about that statement is true. For the first twelve years I had my own mom, and she was everything a kid could ask for and more. And after that I had Aunt Viv, and she was an amazing mother without getting the recognition for it.
I vow right there and then that if, no, wait, when we get her back, I’ll make sure she knows that.
I don’t know how it happened, but I’m sitting on the floor, salty tears streaking down my dry cheeks, my back pressed against the kitchen cabinet. Winny is right there next to me, her arm around my shoulder, making shushing noises. Out of the periphery of my eye, I see something pink, and Zoey sits down on the floor beside me as well.
“Have you come to join my meltdown?” I ask, my voice small and fragile.
“Meltdown?” she asks, her voice sarcastic. “I thought we were having girl time. I’ve got an overripe avocado at my desk that would make an awesome facemask.”
The laugh that leaves my lips is genuine.
“Why are you really here?” I ask.
She shrugs. “You look like you could need a hug. And seriously, we’re the only girls here now that Miranda is out to get us all dinner, so I felt kinda left out.”
I let my head fall on her shoulder.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Zoey chastises me. “I’m with Scott now and I don’t think I can have more than one person in a relationship.”
I can’t hide my chuckle. “What, you got a secret boss kink?”
She reciprocates my laugh. “I had a tiny crush on you when I started working here. Now I just wanna be you when I grow up.”
Silence returns, until she finally adds: “I’ll probably end up more like Chester though.”
“Nah, girl,” Winny says, staring into the office where every member of our team is working their asses off while we’re sitting on the ground having a little too-strong-tea party. “Scott is taking great care of you. You’ll end up as the version of Chester after Abby.”
“There’s a difference?” I ask, confused.
“Big one,” Winny says.
“Big one,” Zoey empathizes.
“Really? He’s equally Chester to me.”
“Oh honey, I know,” Winny says, her head falling back against the kitchen cabinet. “He’s always been this awesome guy to you. To us? He was a fucking pain in the ass.”
I scoff. “That was my nickname for Beckett.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I used to call him Special Agent Pain-In-My-Ass.”
“You make him a better person as well,” Winny summarizes.
I take a moment to let that sink in. It doesn’t feel like any of them are different. But I’m smack in the middle of the topic of the conversation, so maybe my view isn’t the clearest. Perhaps I should trust the Behavioral Scientist.
“How about Remy?” I ask. I don’t see any way I can make him better, how our relationship makes him better. It’s more like he makes all of us better. More grounded. More in touch with our feelings.
“Oh, him as well. We put him through the ringer, with the whole arrest and thinking he was the killer. But he is a better person now. Or maybe better isn’t the right word. He’s fuller. He’s always been open-minded, but has never run into the people who believe in the same things he does. And now he has. His heart is so big, it would never be filled by just one person. You, Chester? You give him that. Even Beckett in his own way.”
I let that sink in for a moment.
“I’d love to use your relationship for a study on relationships outside of the customary norm of relationships,” Winny says dreamily.
I laugh.
“Please don’t study me. I’ll get you the number of my therapist.”
“I don’t need a therapist!” she says aghast, her eyes big.
“No, she’s in a polyamorous relationship as well. Study her. Not me.”
“Oh, that makes sense. Yes, please give me her number.”
I chuckle, and I realize my crippling fear has disappeared. Looking around the office, nothing has changed. Everyone is still doing everything they can to try and help me. They didn’t even notice us here. So I take a deep breath, hold for four, breathe out for four and hold for four again.
“Let’s get back out there and help them.”
24