Chapter Sixteen
Broken Hearts, Binoculars, and Bad Habits
Nick
I wake up to someone breathing loudly on my face. Blinking my eyes open, I swat Mickey away. I deserve at least one more day to wallow. I spent the entire day yesterday in bed, rewinding Elliot's every word in my head like the world’s most depressing highlight reel.
And still I don’t know where I went wrong. One minute I was discussing the case with him, and the next he was hurling accusations at me, calling our entire relationship a farce.
He’s wrong. I know he’s wrong. Then why haven’t I picked up my phone and called him yet? Fuck, why am I not already on his doorstep begging him to hear me out?
Because no, he’s not a project for me. And no, I’m not with him to keep an eye on him. But the fact that he thinks that? The fact that he could throw that on my face so easily? I don’t know how to deal with that.
Elliot isn’t moody. He isn’t impulsive. He doesn’t say things out of his ass. So, this has to be something he’d been feeling for a while.
Then there’s this thing about him not trusting me enough to even hear what I had to say. He heard Sam’s name and decided I had to be wrong, even with all the evidence to the contrary. That, after accusing me of not trusting him, is hilarious.
I won’t laugh because I tried that yesterday and it came precariously close to crying. And I’m not going to cry. Not when he didn't even think our relationship was ever real.
What was it he said? I’m just playing at loving him? Well, why should I feel anything about him? He already thinks he’s right, what is it going to change?
Mickey climbs right back up on me and licks my face until I give him scratches. “You still love me, right?”
He bounds off the bed and runs out of my bedroom. “Whoa, I do not understand living beings.”
A second later, I hear Mickey bark in the living room. Sighing, I get out of my bed and pad down the hall to discover the reason for Mickey's early morning excitement.
Just then, the doorbell rings. I sniff the air, really annoyed by how absent-minded I’ve been lately.
Meena?
I rush to the door, bypassing Mickey, and unlock it.
“Hey?” I say to my Bureau boss.
She looks down at me, scrunching her nose.
How she manages to pull that off at all of five feet one, I'll never know. “Is that how you greet your guests? And you didn’t even realize someone was at your door until I was already ringing the bell. You’re slacking off.
” She pushes past me into the apartment.
Mickey barks at her. I stare at them, my eyes wide, jaw on the floor, as she leans down to pat him. The dog has some serious rizz.
When Meena walks into the living room, Mickey follows her happily. “Are you just going to stand there or come inside?” she asks as she makes herself at home on my couch.
I make my way to her and sit on the chair farthest from her.
I’m almost scared to ask her why she’s here.
I’ve been with the Bureau for more than a decade, and if I counted on my fingers every time a supervisor has visited my home without intimation or a scheduled meeting, I’d have just one finger up.
Her being here can’t be good. So, I just stare as she showers attention on Mickey and wait for her to explain her presence here at six am on a Sunday.
“I apologize for interrupting your morning.” Her gaze meets mine, then she scans my appearance. “Or what was going to be your morning soon, I’m sure. I’m afraid this couldn’t wait.”
I wait with bated breath, my heartbeat kicking up. What little sleepiness was left in my eyes left the second I smelled her presence across the door. So, I was prepared for whatever was coming.
“I’m giving the Vigilante Wolf Hunter case to a special investigative unit.”
“What the fuck?” My heart sinks into my stomach.
“Nicholas, I know you’ve been working hard—”
“No, I’ve not been working hard. For months, this case has been my entire life. And I’m so close. You can’t do this. No.” I shake my head. This can’t be happening. Fuck, what if they find Elliot?
Mickey whines and trudges over to my feet. I move my hand through his warm, soft fur.
“I know, okay? I know you’ve been trying your best. But we need a fresh perspective. I’m sorry, Nicholas—”
“Just give me a little more time. I promise I’ll get the killer for you. You have to trust me, Meena. Please,” I beg. What else can I do? I can’t leave Elliot alone in the wild, whatever he said. He’s mine to protect, and I’m not letting him down. Not again.
Meena sighs. “Okay. I was going to get you off the case right away. But you can have the next two weeks. I’ll take time to finalize the team. I’m afraid I can’t stop this anymore.”
Two weeks. I can do it in two weeks. That has to be enough.
I nod. “Can I still keep the surveillance on the possible victims going?” We finally started last week, but we don’t have anything yet.
“For two weeks,” she says, getting up. “I’ll leave you to that.”
I follow her to the door. She turns to look at me when she has it open. “For what it’s worth, I never doubted you. I hope you’ll believe it.”
I don’t. You don’t come to someone’s home at six fucking am to kick them off a case and expect them to believe bullshit like that. I still give her a small nod. I don’t have time for a fight. I don’t have time for anything else, apparently.
She leaves, closing the door behind her.
I drop my head against it, just taking a second to acknowledge just how fucked I am right now.
Pursuing the only lead I have right now will hurt the man I love.
But I have to investigate. Despite how much those accusations make me want to curl back into my bed and never leave, I have to find Sam’s role in the murders.
Maybe if I have more evidence, Elliot would believe me when I tell him I trust him.
It’s just that I have to trust my instincts too.
You know, the same instincts that led me to chase him until I discovered his secret and made him mine.
This time, my instincts are telling me Sam is hiding something from me, and from the looks of it, from Elliot, too. So, I have to chase this lead.
What if Sam really is the killer? Will I arrest him? I can’t think about that right now.
Bree and Sloan have been checking on the alibis of all the relatives of Elliot’s victims, and according to their last report, we have no other suspects.
Mickey butting his head against my knee reminds me I’m wasting precious time here.
I get him ready for a quick run. Maybe some fresh air would help untangle my thoughts. Maybe I’ll stumble upon a fresh suspect on the way to Mickey’s favorite tree.
But I know one thing for sure, if Sam is the one standing between Elliot and his freedom, he’s going to pay for it.
***
The car pulls out of the driveway of the house, with its small yard and long concrete path. The porch light is on, making the dark red door stand out. It’s all too familiar. The new rental car that was just parked in Elliot’s driveway isn’t.
Where could Sam be going this late at night? I can feel Elliot inside the house. It shouldn’t be possible. He’s too far away with walls and a metal case between us, but I can smell him from here. Almost feel his warmth from across the street.
I don’t linger on the feeling. Instead, I start my engine and follow the car.
I spent the day learning as much as there is to learn about Sam online, which, unsurprisingly, isn’t a lot.
Parents died when he was nineteen, probably still in college with Elliot.
Sister died when he was a kid, cause of death unknown.
But I have my guesses. No specialized education after college.
Nothing to account for his super tech skills.
As per his social media, he has been living in New York for five years. Before that, he lived in Austin, Boston, Chicago, and here in LA. From the timeline, he must have moved here with Elliot, then went on to hop through cities every few years. Paranoia or boredom?
A genius man with unlimited wealth and no family? It isn’t far-fetched that he’s in no hurry to set up roots. Add a series of murders to that resume, and his lifestyle becomes almost textbook.
He also likes to travel a lot. His social media accounts are filled with pictures from the shadiest bars to remote locations around the world. For someone with endless money, the guy doesn’t live as luxuriously as you’d expect.
Then again, we can’t forget his expensive side hobby. Looking into Sam, it makes a lot of sense how Elliot was able to carry on his secret life as a serial killer.
And that’s exactly why I’m sure Sam wouldn’t give up his entire system, which he spent years building just like that.
The roads are thankfully clear enough that I don’t have trouble keeping track of the nondescript car. It takes an abrupt exit, and I’m left scrambling to turn at the last minute, but I keep up without blowing my cover.
After a few minutes, the car turns again. I follow it and find myself in a clear street. The distance is enough that his human eyes won’t be able to spot me, but it’s a close call. I keep pace with him until he merges back into traffic.
After fifteen minutes of driving straight, he turns again. The signal made it easier to follow him this time. The man seriously needs to drive better. I follow him through all his twists and turns until he finally stops in front of a high-end restaurant.
I park across the street behind a conspicuous tree, watching him.
He gets out of his car, straightening his suit. Then walks around the car to hand over his key to the valet. He stands there chattering with the valet for ten minutes before going inside the heavy door.
I can’t follow him in, for obvious reasons. I can pretend to run into him, but he’s a smart guy. It’d be too obvious.
So, I wait.
Opening my Bureau phone, I scan through Sloan’s last email while keeping an eye on the door of the restaurant.
She’d called over fifty people on the list in the last week, all of them were able to prove they weren’t anywhere near the crime scene when it happened.
Bree is cross-checking their claims for proof.
We still have about fifty more to go. Should be done by this week.
Closing the phone, I check my other one for the thousandth time today. Still nothing from Elliot. Not that I’m surprised. The guy doesn’t even text me back when he hasn’t almost broken up with me.
I blow out a breath, clearing my mind. Can’t go there right now.
The restaurant door opens, light music drifting out. I watch it closely as a large group of people walk out, laughing and talking over each other. I check all the faces to make sure Sam isn’t one of them.
When I’m sure he isn’t running from whoever he’s meeting here all of fifteen minutes later, I go back to my phone. There are twenty-five messages on the group chat, no doubt about some new wedding thing Matt is freaking out about.
I open it, and of course, Matt is right there, worried about his vows. There is a series of helpful suggestions from Marcus, his wife, and Cami, and extremely unhelpful ones from Bree and Sloan.
Matt: I’m not making him promise to cook for my friends in my vows, Sloan!
Sloan: Why not? The assurance won’t hurt.
Bree: And it’s a compliment. Aren’t you supposed to compliment people in vows?
Me: I remember u asking Cami to promise she’ll clean every Sunday in urs.
Bree: Exactly! You’ve got to make those things official while you still can.
Cami: My gammy was horrified.
Bree: Eh, she loves me. She made me that key lime pie last time we visited.
Cami: Because someone told her that’s her worst dish.
Bree: Well, you still love me, don’t you?
Cami: Do I have a choice?
Bree: No, honey. And she cleans every Sunday. You see my point?
Sloan: So, cooking for friends is making the list. What else?
Matt: You guys are useless. I don’t know why I asked you in the first place.
Me: Because u have no other friends.
Sloan: Because Oliver saved you from a life of a sad recluse.
Bree: Hey, you should add that to your vows. He’ll love it.
Matt: USELESS!!!
I set my phone down with a smile on my face. But it quickly turns into a frown when the door opens again, this time with Sam sauntering out with a firm grin on his lips. A big man, taller and broader than him, follows him out in a tan suit and blue tie.
It doesn’t take me long to clock him as a werewolf.
The way he stands in front of Sam, relaxed but prepared to strike all at the same time, screams predator.
The way his broad muscles fill his suit, that’s something you can’t achieve in a gym.
It’s hard to explain, but when it’s your job to be on the lookout for werewolves, you develop an instinct to spot them from miles away.
I take out the camera that I borrowed from Sloan and take a few high-resolution pictures of the man.
I watch them as they share an awkward goodbye while waiting for their cars, then Sam is off. I follow him back to Elliot’s place without any shady detours. Then drive back home.
As soon as I’m in, I forward the pictures to the Bureau tech guy to find out who the werewolf is. We’re almost sure the new Vigilante Hunter is a werewolf because of how fearless they’ve been with the murders. And now Sam, the prime suspect, is meeting a strange werewolf for dinner?
Can’t be a coincidence.