Chapter 2
CALEB
As soon as Basia leaves the kitchen, her orange blossom scent lingering behind her like a ghost, my phone vibrates in my hand. It’s Detective Mann.
“Any news?” I answer, not bothering with hellos. The NYPD has been looking into the Sanctum of Ash for over a week and hasn’t had anything worthwhile to report, even though I’ve been calling daily with inquiries.
“Unfortunately, we’ve hit a wall,” Mann grumbles.
I pinch the bridge of my nose with my free hand. “What kind of wall?”
Mann hesitates for a moment, and I hear his footsteps before a door closes. The ambient noise changes, chatter muted.
“Look, between us, an order came from the top to let Miss Langford—”
“Barton,” I interrupt.
“Uh, yeah. To let Miss Barton know there’s a lack of evidence and—”
I speak over him again: “There’s a woman dead somewhere in your city, her corpse missing an ear, and there’s been a credible threat to my… to my client.”
“I know!” Mann hisses. “There’s nothing I hate more than unsolved cases, and not just because of the paperwork. But we’ve been stonewalled here. Maybe Governor Langford can—”
“I’ll talk to him,” I say, cutting him off for the third time. “Let me know if anything comes up.”
“Yeah… yeah,” Mann sighs.
I hang up just as the click-clack of Basia’s heels sounds behind me.
“Was that the detective?” she asks. It’s obvious she overheard some of the conversation.
When she walks into my line of sight, I nearly swallow my tongue like a goddamn teenager. No one has the right to look this good in a pantsuit.
I clear my throat before speaking. “Yeah. Look, I’m going to head to Ethan’s after dropping you off and look into some things.”
She turns around from where she’s been pouring coffee into her thermos, one golden eyebrow raised, but doesn’t ask any questions. She doesn’t need to with how attuned I am to her cues.
“There’s going to be extra security all over town thanks to the game tonight,” I explain. “And you’re still checking in regularly.”
I give her my best listen-to-me-and-you’ll-be-okay look.
“Don’t go anywhere without me. Not lunch, not happy hour. I’ll have something delivered for you and Morgan.”
The corner of her mouth twitches into a smile. “Alright,” she says softly.
It’s my turn to lift an eyebrow. “Just like that?” I ask skeptically.
“Just like that,” she confirms. “As I said, I like my ears the way they are.”
Why do I have the feeling she’s going to try and sneak out again? Good thing I’m tapped into her work’s security feeds, thanks to Ethan.
“Alright. Let’s get going,” I say, already heading to the door. I’m always out first, in first, something that she used to complain about constantly. But she’s been a good girl since the ear.
I’ve already checked the camera in the hallway, but I still hold out my hand for her to wait until I make sure there are no threats.
I stay by her side on the walk to the car, my eyes darting left and right, then drop down to check the undercarriage before I open the passenger’s side door of my armored SUV for her.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, eyes downcast. Why is she not making eye contact with me today? Is she so worried that it consumes her thoughts? I need to find this fucker and eliminate him.
Only problem is—once the threat is gone from her life, so am I.
∞∞∞
After dropping Basia off at Aegis Ironclad and reminding her to check in regularly, I pull into Ethan’s building and ride the elevator to the top floor. I shot him a quick text that I’m on my way, so he unlocks the door before I even lift my hand to ring the doorbell.
I push past him without a hello.
“Good morning, tall, dark, and grouchy,” my buddy greets me. “Let me guess. Basia?”
“The police got stonewalled. Means this cult is real and has connections that aren’t afraid of a governor.”
Ethan sighs. “We cripple one shadowy organization, and another rears its ugly head.”
Last year, Ethan and Killian got mixed up with a multinational terrorist organization funded by trafficking. A couple of months ago, he called me when he got attacked out on a date with his new sweetheart, Barbara, and together we cut off the snake’s head.
“Even the names are similar,” I mutter. Black Ash, Sanctum of Ash. It’s all too biblical for me. Ashes to ashes.
“Think they’re connected?”
I shake my head. “Doubt it. This feels more contained. Like someone’s dirty little secret that they want to keep hidden. But the cult is the only lead we have to whoever has been threatening—”
“Your one true love?” Ethan butts in.
“My client,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself it’s just that. Bet you jerk off watching her sleep.”
I feel my ears catch fire. “Stop being an asshole and get me something on this cult so I can find the motherfucker before Basia gets hurt.”
Ethan sobers up and leads me to his tech cave. All the security feeds on the numerous monitors remind me to check on Basia at work. She’s at her desk, laughing at something Morgan’s telling her. I can almost hear the sound, even though the feed has no audio.
“Did you ever tell Barbara you’re monitoring her?” I ask with a murmur as I pocket my phone.
“I, ah, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ethan replies, way less blustery than he normally sounds. He even tugs on his shirt collar.
I raise an eyebrow and point at a monitor displaying various angles of a kindergarten building entrance.
“Oh, that.” He cackles nervously. “No, no. I like my balls attached to my body, thanks. She’ll never know about the cameras.”
Odd fucking way to phrase it, but whatever.
“Let’s see if we can find out who contacted the NYPD about it first and go from there,” he says, cracking his fingers. “Why don’t you order us some food? Get me a carton of Red Bull while you’re at it.”
“You’re going to die of a heart attack,” I grumble, already pulling up the food delivery app.
I order a double portion of Basia’s favorite Greek first, set to be delivered when she usually takes her lunch break with Morgan, and shoot her a text letting her know.
Then I order the canned stimulants and Vietnamese food for us.
Meanwhile, Ethan’s fingers move fast—databases, sealed court records, archived forums, long-dead message boards that should’ve been wiped years ago.
Nothing. And no clue who stonewalled the police.
“This isn’t a cult with a digital footprint,” Ethan mutters. “No recruitment videos. No donation trails. No socials. No obvious leaders.”
I eye the data—or lack thereof on his screens. “Cults normally love attention. They brag.”
“Exactly,” Ethan replies. “Which means this one didn’t want to be found.”
A new window pops up. Ethan stills.
“Okay… That’s interesting.”
I lean in, trying to make sense of what I see.
“Talk.”
“There are mentions,” Ethan says slowly. “But they’re old. Twenty-ish years. And they’re always secondhand.”
He pulls up a scanned PDF—a partially redacted investigative report from a Northeastern sheriff’s department. Most of it is blacked out.
“Unconfirmed religious order,” I read quietly. “Isolated compound, dozens of children’s dorm rooms.” I swallow down bile at the implications. “Case closed due to lack of evidence.”
My hands clench into fists.
“Scroll,” I order.
Ethan does. Another document, copies of birth certificates for a dozen children or more from the compound.
“Looks like they were born there?” he speculates.
I nod, looking at the names, wondering about the horrors that happened to them. The horrors that shaped one of them into a violent stalker.
“Could it be a woman?” I wonder out loud.
“Doubtful,” Ethan replies. “A woman would probably infiltrate her life and take her unawares.”
A muscle in my jaw ticks at the thought. I already ran a background check on everyone Basia’s in frequent contact with. It helps that lately it’s been my buddies’ girls, and they’re all trustworthy.
“So one of the boys then. This guy isn’t role-playing,” I say quietly. “He’s angry.”
“Yeah,” Ethan agrees. He pulls up the note that came with the ear, zooming in on the handwriting. “Whoever sent this knows the cult existed. Knows Langford dismissed investigations. And wants him to hurt.”
A rumble rattles in my chest.
“Keep digging,” I order grimly.
One way or another, I’m going to stop them. There’s no alternative I can live with. Not after breathing Basia’s air these last three months, sharing her space, knowing her mind.
Wanting her.