Chapter Three
When Friday night rolls around, I'm a nervous wreck, but it's more to do with Lawrence than it is my first shift at the station. I've never been one to be boy or scent crazy. Even when all the other girls, specifically omegas were. I can't explain the feeling to anyone since I'm not sure I completely understand it myself currently. Like the way my belly did loops the other day every time he smiled at me. Or the way the deep baritone of his voice made me squeeze my legs together and count back from ten more than once. How am I going to make it hours with him tonight? Guess I'm about to find out as I walk into the station.
He's already sitting at the desk inside the studio. I drop my bags at the door, taking only my phone which I immediately silence.
"Hi," he says, spinning in his chair to face me as I walk in.
"Hey," I say, trying my best to keep the tremor out of my voice. Isn't going to do much for my scent, though. I know my normal warm, buttery popcorn is probably going to smell like someone left it in the microwave for a few seconds too long. It's what normally happens when my emotions are running high.
He doesn't seem to notice as he spins the seat around next to him for me and I take it. Probably has a lot to do with him being a beta. I'd thought the other day with how strong his scent came onto me that he was an alpha, but there's a subtleness to it today that speaks otherwise. It still grasps at me, but nowhere near as bad as the other day. His deep, deep voice, however, still has the exact same effect.
My toes curl in my shoes as he explains how everything works. Then my brain shifts to business as he sits back and lets me take the lead. After a few songs, he flips the switch to call out to the listeners, and I realize just how many nights I've listened to him talk as the radio played in the background while I was doing work for class or research on a case. Every single night since the first one of tuning in, and I think he might be the reason why.
"So, what do you think?" he asks at one point, leaning back in his chair and stretching his long legs out in front of him.
I have to unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth before I can answer, "Seems pretty straight forward. As long as there aren't any surprises, I think I'll be fine."
He nods, "It's easy peasy, baby. I made you a list of things to remember and put my number down at the bottom. You can call me if you run into anything you need help with."
Pausing for a second, he adds, "Or, if you just get lonely. The night shift can suck sometimes if you're a people person."
"I'm not that kind of omega," I divulge, not digging into the pet name he was trying to rhyme. I'm sure I'll overthink it later. "I've always been kind of a loner. I might be broken."
His eyes give me a once over before he shares one of those lopsided smiles. "Or you just hadn't met the right pack yet."
Hadn't? Haven't? Mistake or purposely phrased that way? I'm already overthinking. Count, Darci.
I don't get a chance to respond, which is probably a good thing, because he flips the switch again, sending out a quick message to the listeners.
Hours later after we set the autoplay in the studio and are locking up, I apologize, "Sorry you had to sacrifice your Friday night being here."
He shrugs. "I would've just been sitting at home anyway. I'm not really a people person either."
"I find that hard to believe," I find myself saying before I can stop it.
Grinning down at me, he asks, "Why's that?"
Damn the consequences of my unfiltered brain. "Because you're so open and friendly."
Figuring what the hell, might as well go for broke since I'm already riding the awkward train. "Plus, you smell amazing."
"Sorry," I spout instantly. "That was so rude. Sometimes when I get nervous, I say things that I shouldn't."
He laughs, and holy panties fighting for life over here, if the deep sound doesn't hit me in improper places.
"Would it make you feel better if I tell you that I like your scent, too?" he asks. "Reminds me of going to the movies, which used to be one of my favorite things to do with one of my pack mates."
I can't explain the hardcore desire to preen, but it's there all the same. Deep down, I absolutely love that he shares that with me. "You say that like you guys don't go anymore."
"Does anyone?" he retorts, guiding us to the one car parked in front of the station. "Everybody streams from home these days, don't they? Besides, Henry, my packmate, has been spending more time at work lately."
"Come to think of it," I admit, "you're right. I haven't been to a movie in a long time."
We make it to his car, and he leans on his elbows toward me as one side of his lips pull up. "Want to go with me sometime then?"
"Sure," I respond, not even having to stop and think about it.
"It's a date," he says with a full smile.
"Great," I tell him, slowly walking away backwards.
His lips quickly drop into a frown as he looks around for the first time. "Where's your car?"
"In my parents’ garage back home," I answer with a shrug. "Everything here is within walking distance. More trouble than it's worth to have it here."
Glancing at our surroundings, he asks, "You don't know me very well yet, but I can promise you that I'm not a bad person."
My brows furrow as my feet stop moving. "I didn't think that you were."
"I'm just trying to figure out the politest way possible to demand that you get into my car," he states. "I can't in good conscience let you walk home in the dark. Even if you live next door."
I want to argue with him and tell him that I've got my phone, pepper spray, and a hidden knife on my keys, but I don't. I can't count on both hands how many of the cases that I've researched started just like that. A person taking their safety for granted.
"Okay," I tell him, slowly walking back to his car. "But just so you know, I've got a cop on speed dial."
Technically, I'm halfway telling the truth. I do have Saint's number saved, but he's not on my speed dial. Yet...
His lips press together in a sly smile. "So do I."
The air is starting to get a crispiness to it, it's chill touching my skin even through my jacket, so I'm grateful when he turns the seat warmers on when we get into his car. I'm not a car person, but I think it's an older model. Which doesn't really make one bit of difference since it's so nice and clean on the inside and the outside. Even has that new car smell to it that mingles with his latte scent, helping keep my brain afloat and not drowning.
"I'm just a couple blocks over," I tell him as he backs out and maneuvers onto the road.
"Just point me in the right direction," he says, letting me guide him to my home.
With no traffic on the road, we're only a three-minute drive away, leaving no time for more conversation. He doesn't get out or even put the car in park when he pulls up to the curb in front of Ms. Harbbor’s house.
"Thanks for the ride," I tell him, unbuckling and stepping out.
"Anytime," he says, one side of his lips pulling up.
I wave at him before walking around the side of the house. I'm halfway down the driveway before I hear him pull away. I snort a quiet laugh as I think about what he was probably thinking with me walking around the house like I did. I wonder if he thinks I'm having to sneak in or something.
I'm still chuckling a bit even as I let myself into my tiny house, flipping the lights on and locking the door behind me. I spend the next couple hours recording a new podcast and video to upload. When I finally fall into bed, it's early into Saturday morning. Almost early enough to hear one or two birds chirping outside.
I've barely slept for a few hours when I hear my phone ringing. Reaching out, I fumble around my small table where I normally plug it up on the charger. When my hand comes up empty and it continues to make noise, I grumble as I get out of bed to find it, remembering as I grab it that I left it charging by my laptop last night.
"Hello?" I mumble into it.
"Darci," a voice I recognize says. "This is Saint. Did I wake you?"
"Yeah," I answer honestly with a yawn. As exciting as it is to hear his voice, I'm running on very few hours of sleep, and I get pretty grumpy when that happens.
"I'm sorry," he states, sounding like he's in a car. "Would you want to go for a ride with me?"
"Now?" I ask, pulling the phone away from my ear to glance at the time. Eight forty-two. I've gotten almost exactly four hours of sleep.
"—and we want your opinion," he's saying as I pull my phone back up. "I want your opinion."
I crunch my eyes closed and almost regret letting him talk me into this. "I can be ready to go in thirty minutes."
"We can stop for coffee first," he offers.
"I'll be ready to go in fifteen," I declare.
He chuckles, and I like the way it sounds. Giving him my address, I hop in the quickest shower of my life. When I get out, my wet hair goes up in a messy bun on top of my head before I toss on the smallest amount of makeup to try and hide the dark circles under my eyes. I hear his car pull up outside just as I'm tossing the same jacket on from last night and grabbing my things.
He gets out and walks around to open my door for me.
"Thanks," I tell him, sliding into his black SUV.
It's just as clean as Lawrence's car was last night, only it has a few more buttons and gadgets here and there.
Climbing behind the wheel and directing us out onto the street, he glances over at me. "Thanks for going out with me this early. Did you have a long night?"
I actually look at him as I drink in his sweet, cinnamon scent. It settles deep down inside of me and wakes me up as much as it relaxes me. I wasn't able to notice his short, dark hair underneath his hat the other day, so today without it, I like the way he's got it styled back away from his face. He's still got facial hair across his jaw and on his top lip, which makes me think he keeps it neat and trimmed.
"Kind of," I answer finally, giving him mostly the truth. "I recorded a new episode and video for my podcast."
He nods. "Sorry I got you up this early."
"It's okay," I shrug. "I've got the rest of the weekend to sleep. This is more important anyway. Besides, you did say there would be coffee, right?"
He chuckles and the sound tickles my belly in the same place as Lawrence's voice does. I look out the window at the familiar shops passing by as I wonder who I am and what I've done with the real Darci. I hope my reaction to them isn't some foreboding sign that I'm about to go into heat, because I'm not due for that for another couple months. And they've been getting more and more miserable the older I get. My omega is not happy that we're still fighting them solo. Fingers crossed that this is some kind of fluke that I simply just find the two of them attractive enough to notice.
We pull up to the curb outside of the cafe as he offers, "You can stay here and relax if you want. I'll go in and grab our order."
"Sounds great," I tell him, still a bit lost in my sleep deprived, worried thoughts. "Hot vanilla latte with three extra shots of espresso, please."
He nods with a short huff and hops out. My gaze rakes over him, and I admire the alpha strut in the way he carries himself. He's shorter than Lawrence by a whole head, but still taller than me. He makes up for the height difference in thickness. From the way his jeans flex around his massive thighs as he walks, to the way the sleeves of his Henley tightens as he reaches out to grab the door and hold it open for someone. That's when I notice all of the women around him seem to have gotten a good whiff of this unclaimed alpha. The one sitting directly beside the door, completely obvious, adjusts herself so that more cleavage will show from the top of her shirt. My nose scrunches in response as a short growl bubbles up from my chest. Where the hell the sound comes from, I have no idea. I've never made it before, but I've never felt this possessiveness either. Not like I even have a reason for it.
Rolling my window all the way down, I try to get rid of the smell of burnt popcorn. Thankfully, it takes a few minutes for him inside, and none of the girls outside speak to him as he's walking out.
He jumps back in the car and hands over my drink that smells almost more divine than he does. "Everything okay?"
I nod, taking a sip of bliss and closing my eyes to savor it while it soothes my soul.
His chuckle has my eyes cracking open to cut over at him. "What?"
"I don't think I've ever seen anyone enjoy a cup of coffee that much in my life," he admits easily.
Rolling my eyes, I counter, "It just so happens to be one of my most favorite things in the world. Especially when I'm running on practically empty in the sleep department."
"That's fair," he says, fighting a smile with his lips twitching. "Always good to know people's weaknesses. You know, for bribery reasons."
I narrow my eyes at him playfully, daring him, and it draws another chuckle from him.
With the fresh air blowing in my face and my latte warming my belly, I take a deep breath finally feeling awake. Rolling up my window, I turn to ask Saint where we're going, but the expression on his face stops me.
"What is it?" I ask instead.
He shakes his head slowly twice before answering just as slowly. "I don't mean to be rude, but you smell different than you did the other day. Almost...familiar."
I shrug. "I'm still the same person. Maybe the coffee from the cafe hid my scent better or something."
"Hmm," he murmurs.
We drive in silence for a few moments, before I go back to what I was going to ask him before. "So, where are we going?"
His sigh is long and hard before he replies, "Another girl was found last night."
The coffee bubbles in my stomach like it's going to try to come back up. Here I am stressing about not getting enough sleep and my trivial things when another girl who was in this world last night never woke up this morning. I can't even imagine what her poor family is going through, or will go through if they haven't been notified yet.
Having obviously felt my silence, Saint gently asks, "You okay? Still up for doing this?"
I steel my nerves and make sure that my eyes are clear when I turn to him. "Absolutely."
He nods and pulls off the side of the road. Without getting out, he points down the hill where yellow police tape has cordoned off a massive section of the woods. A half mile ahead of us on the road there are reporters standing with microphones in their hands in front of their cameras. It angers me for a moment, but that anger simply makes me a hypocrite. I may tell the story of the victims for their justice and for their families, but I still get paid for them. Something I may need to change in the very near future.
"What do you see?" Saint asks, pulling me out of my head.
I roll my window down again, letting in the warming air, all of the scents of the woods, and the noise of the people milling around. I don't answer him for a few minutes while my brain processes what he's asking for because the answer isn't in the people or the police tape or even the reporters down the road.
A slight breeze blows through the trees making them creak loudly. Other than this road, there aren't any other pull offs or turnarounds in sight. There aren't even any tire marks on the road or the ground leading down the hill. What's more is that there's no drag marks down the hill. She was either carried or killed here. Right in the middle of nothing where no one could hear her scream.
Saint says nothing as the thoughts process through my mind. When I finally turn to him, it's to find him patiently waiting for me. "From what I've heard on the news, it's just like the others."
He nods once, and I keep going, telling him my conclusions and adding, "He left her close enough to the road so that someone would find her. He's not trying to hide them."
"She was spotted by someone driving by right at dawn this morning," he confirms. "Why do you keep calling the perpetrator a him?"
I put my coffee in one of the cup holders and start popping my knuckles and running my fingers across my nails in the nervous tick that I have sometimes. His eyes track the movement, but he doesn't comment on it.
"I don't know," I tell him, shaking my head. "It's just a feeling that I have."
"Same," he confesses before starting the car and turning us to go back the way we came from.
Thoughts and images roll around in my head all the way back to town. It isn't until he's putting the car in park that I even know where we are.
"Why are we at the police station?" I ask as he gets ready to get out.
"This is where I work," he states plainly.
Squishing my eyes tight again, I try to fight off the embarrassment, because duh. Of course, he works at the police station. I hop out of the car, leaving my now empty cup and following him inside. He walks us all the way to the back of the building to one of the offices with Saint Coffey written on the plaque on the door.
He offers me one of the seats in front of his desk, but doesn't walk to the other side like I expect him to. Instead, he takes the other seat at my side, grabbing a folder off the desk. Handing it to me, he says, "I've gotten approval to bring you on to the case as a civilian consultant. I just need you to read and sign this contract. Understand that if you break anything in here, you're subject to perjury of the law."
My eyes widen a bit, because I can't be going to jail. A girl like me wouldn't survive.
"Don't worry," he assures me. "It's just things like not speaking to the media or anyone about the investigation until it's closed. And not putting yourself at unnecessary risk for the department. Things like that. Oh, and if we’re ever in the field, and there comes a time that I have to use my bark, it’ll be for your safety and no other reason."
I read through it fully, twice, before signing it and handing it back. I don't care about the notoriety the case would bring. That's not why I ever started doing what I do in the first place. I don't care about being famous or rich. More than the justice and remembrance for the families, I have my own black spot on my record that will never be clean no matter how much I try to scrub it away.
"What now?" I ask. Then gasping, add, "Saint! That's his third victim. He's classified as a serial killer now."
He nods sadly. "We were truly hoping that it wouldn't come to that, but it appears to be so. Come on, I want to show you something."
We leave his office and walk down to another one a little further down. His hand closes around the handle, but he turns around to warn me, "This is going to be hard to see. If you can't handle it, or need to take a break, you tell me."
He's watching my face for what I'm assuming is hesitancy.
"You've got to trust me," I tell him. "I'll tell you if it's too much."
His lips thin into a line before he swings the door open. At first, I'm not sure what he's made such a big deal about, but when we walk into the room and I see the board for the first time, I get it. It's parallel to the door, so I didn't see it at first. Then for a moment, I wish that I hadn't. Of course, that's immediately followed by guilt. Someone needs to see them like this. If for no other reason than to help bring their killer to justice.
Hanging on the board are the three girls that've been murdered. There are photos from when they're alive and ones from when they were found. The hardest ones are the autopsy photos where they're lying on the cold metal table. Thankfully all of their eyes are closed, but that doesn't mean that I'll be able to get the images out of my mind, even if I could do an internal scrub with ten gallons of bleach. It wouldn't be enough.
Shutting my own feelings down and shoving them to the side, I let the information from the photos soak into my brain. All of the locations are exactly like I said they were. Reserved, but just open enough for them all to be found easily. They all have dark bruises around their necks.
"What was their cause of death?" I ask Saint without looking away.
"You tell me," he says from somewhere behind me.
"Strangulation," I answer him instantly.
He makes a sound of agreement in the back of his throat.
"What can't I see?" I ask him.
Walking over to the board, he points at photos of a small piece of material under each girl's name. "These were forced down each one of their throats before he strangled them. Once they were no longer alive, their bodies were all sexually assaulted."
The disgust burning a hole in my gut is nothing akin to the fear that races through my veins. It's so similar, but different than before. It can't be the same as before, because he's locked away.
I open my mouth to say, what exactly, I don't know, but nothing comes out.
"Need a break?" Saint asks.
Ignoring him, I walk over to stand next to him so that I can get a better look at the bottom photos. They're of their arms and legs.
"They weren't bound," I whisper, knowing he's close enough to hear.
When I glance up at him, it's to find him watching me, and I say the awful thing gnawing at me, "They knew him, Saint."
"What if he was holding them at gunpoint?" he counters.
I shake my head slowly. It's another gut feeling that I have. Just like the one that's damn certain it's a man. "Then why didn't he shoot them? This was personal. He wanted them to be the last thing he thought of when they took their last breath looking at death in the face."
He nods. "I agree."
The room goes silent for a few minutes, making my chest tight the more the thoughts ramble around in my brain.
"I think that's enough for today," he says gently.
I told him that I'd tell him when it got to be too much, but I'm not going to argue with him right now. Maybe he's trained to see it. I let him lead me back out into the hallway, shutting the door behind us and locking what's left of those girls inside.
He replies to a few people that greet him, but doesn't go out of his way to introduce me to any of them. I'm so grateful for that small thing that I could hug him. Waiting until we're both in his SUV again, he says, "Want to go to lunch with me?"
"I'm not hungry," I reply slowly.
Nodding, he tells me, "Another coffee then. Speaking from experience, it's not good to be alone after experiencing the woes of this job for the first time."
I look over at him, seeing the dark circles underneath his own eyes and the worry creases on his forehead. This alpha cares more than he lets people see. It doesn't change the fact that I just want to be alone right now.
"Okay," he finally concedes. "You have my number if you need to talk about anything."
"I'll use it if I need to," I promise him. "I've got to go to work tonight, so that'll go a long way in helping get my mind off things for a while."
His brows crease. "I didn't realize you had a job, too, on top of school."
"It's new," I confess. "An internship that I just started this weekend."
We pull into my driveway, but before I can step out, he asks, "I know this is going to sound weird and completely inappropriate, but can I smell you?"
A smile breaks across my face. "Detective Saint, I do believe that is inappropriate. Unless you tell me why."
"There's something about your scent today that is driving me crazy," he confesses.
My heart does a pitter-patter in my chest. I'm not sure whether it's a good thing or a bad thing, but I don't want to say no. So, I don't. Scooting closer, I move my body to face him and lean my head over to the side. As he comes closer and I can feel his warm breath on the side of my neck, goosebumps break out across my skin and my heartbeat progresses into a roaring beat. His sweet, cinnamon scent fills my senses and buries itself deep down inside of me until I have to stop myself from rubbing my legs together like I want to. I want his mouth on me. I want him to mark me with his scent so other alphas know that I belong to him. Instead of rubbing his face into my neck like I so desperately want him to, his face drops to my shoulder before he's pulling away. I have to fight the whine that's trying to burst out of my throat. All of it doesn't matter, though, as his next words leave me wide-eyed and speechless."
"Lawrence," he says quietly in the space between us. "Do you know Lawrence?"
When I can find my voice, I clear it and tell him, "Yeah. I'm interning at the radio station he works at."
He huffs out a short laugh and sits back in his seat. "I knew I recognized it. Couldn't place it because you smell distractingly delicious and it almost hides it."
My face flushes and he's quick to apologize. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me. It's just been driving me crazy all day. And everything makes sense now."
"What does?" I ask, still confused.
"Lawrence is one of my packmates," he explains. "The baby of our family."
The way that he speaks of him makes me smile, but it also makes me realize and whisper to myself, "That definitely makes sense."
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing," I all but shout at him. How do I explain to him that I've now been attracted to both him and his pack mate in less than twenty-four hours? Let's don't and say we didn't. I know it's supposed to work that way with packs, but I can't be doing this with them. Especially Saint in the situation we're in.
"You must be the reason he was so keen on being at the station last night," he tells me, grinning.
"No," I tell him. "Dante said he was to train me."
Saint chuckles. "Dante always trains the interns. Lawrence probably had to bribe him for the privilege. Explains why he's missing drinks tonight to be there."
This surprises me. "Today is supposed to be my first night alone."
"Don't be surprised if you're not," he tells me, still smiling. "Want to give him his own little surprise?"
I won't pass up good surprises, especially when the idea alone makes Saint as happy as he appears. "Let's do it."