32. Chapter 31
Chapter 31
Knox
The city is quiet as we pull up in the alleyway behind Rayne's building in the early hours of the morning. Streetlights cast long shadows across the empty sidewalks, the usual bustle of daytime traffic replaced by an eerie stillness. I kill the engine, sitting for a moment in the darkness of the car as I breathe through the chaos of thoughts in my mind.
River's hand finds mine across the center console, his touch grounding me. "You good?" he asks softly, his blue eyes searching my face in the dim light.
I nod, squeezing his hand before releasing it to exit the vehicle. We'd spent the evening poring over security cameras and chasing down leads that all led to dead ends. No matter which direction we look or what time of day it is, they manage to know exactly where the cameras are to hide their identity. The frustration of another fruitless day weighs heavily on my shoulders.
River walks beside me, his usual cheerful demeanor subdued. His eyes scan our surroundings constantly, alert for any sign of the stalker who's been tormenting Rayne. I can see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the predatory grace in his movements. He's like a coiled spring, ready to unleash violence at a moment's notice.
I love when he is like this, on the edge and ready to draw blood, I just wish it wasn’t because Rayne was in danger.
As we approach the building, I fish out the key we copied long ago, using it to slip silently into her studio. The studio is dark and silent as we enter, the familiar scent of Rayne lingering in the air. My eyes adjust quickly to the dimness, scanning for any signs of disturbance.
I move to the side table where Rayne said she left the note. The creamy card stands out starkly against the dark wood, the blood-red ink a sinister contrast. With gloved hands, I carefully lift the note, my jaw clenching as I read the possessive words even though she prepared us for what it said. I want to tear it to shreds and use it for kindling but instead I slide it into an evidence bag, sealing it with practiced efficiency. We will check it for prints but there won't be any, just like there wasn’t with the others.
River touches my arm lightly, a silent signal that he's finished his own inspection of the studio. I nod, and we make our way to the staircase leading up to Rayne's apartment. Each step is carefully placed, our movements fluid and silent. Years of training and shared experience allow us to move as one, perfectly in sync.
We slip inside her apartment, closing the door behind us with barely a whisper of sound. The space is bathed in shadows, moonlight filtering through the partially drawn curtains to cast strange, elongated shapes across the floor.
A soft meow breaks the silence, and I turn to see Rayne’s cat padding towards us, her grey fur almost silver in the dim light. Her amber eyes fix on me accusingly, as if I've personally offended her by arriving empty-handed. It makes me feel like she is an addict and I’m some sort of dealer that’s arrived without her latest fix. River crouches down, extending his hand to the feline. Her tail swishes once, imperiously, considering him for a moment before deigning to accept his attention, rubbing her head against his palm. "Hey there, beautiful," he murmurs, his voice barely audible.
I watch the interaction with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. The damn cat has never warmed to me, despite my best efforts. But with River, she's putty in his hands. He scratches behind her ears, eliciting a louder purr.
I leave River to placate the cat, moving deeper into the apartment. My eyes roam over every surface, every shadow, searching for anything out of place. The living room is as we left it, with the exception of a throw blanket draped haphazardly over the arm of the couch, as if Rayne had just risen from a nap.
Having now moved to the kitchen, River is already opening the fridge, his movements swift and purposeful. He examines the contents critically, checking expiration dates and assessing the freshness of the produce. It's a habit of his. Too many years of going hungry, of barely surviving on scraps.
He grabs a bag and removes a few items and I know he will be sneaking back in later to replace them without her knowing. Unless he makes it a lot more obvious like last time.
As River methodically works through his demons, my gaze drifts absently around the apartment again and something near the apartment door catches my eye. At first, it's just a vague dark spot on the floor, barely noticeable in the dim light. Frowning, I move closer, pulling out my phone to illuminate the area.
The beam of light reveals a small, crumpled object. My breath catches as I realize what I'm looking at. A rose petal, its deep crimson hue unmistakable even in the harsh glare of my phone's flashlight. But it's not just the petal that sends a chill down my spine. Next to it, almost invisible against the dark hardwood, are a few tiny droplets. Blood.
My mind races, piecing together the scene. The stalker must have tried to gain entry, likely attempting to leave another "gift" for Rayne in the form of more roses. But something—or someone—stopped them.
I crouch down, examining the area more closely. There are faint scratch marks on the door frame, barely perceptible unless you know what to look for. They're low to the ground, about the height a cat might reach if it were rearing up on its hind legs.
Suddenly, Luna's earlier behavior makes perfect sense. Her accusatory stare, the way she seemed to be demanding something from us. She wasn't just being a typically aloof feline—she was expecting praise. Recognition for a job well done.
"River," I call softly, my voice tight with a mixture of anger and grudging respect. "Come take a look at this."
He's at my side in an instant, his eyes widening as he takes in the scene. "Is that...?"
I nod grimly. "Looks like our little gatekeeper here did more than just keep watch." I gesture towards the cat, who has followed River and is now sitting regally a few feet away, her tail curled neatly around her paws. In the dim light, her amber eyes seem to glow with an almost supernatural intelligence.
River crouches down, extending his hand towards the cat once more. This time, she approaches more eagerly, butting her head against his palm with a soft chirp. "You're quite the fierce protector, aren't you?" he murmurs, scratching under her chin. She preens under the attention, her purr growing louder.
I shake my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. "I'll be damned," I mutter. "Never thought I'd be grateful for that furball."
River shoots me a reproachful look, but there's a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Don't let her hear you call her that. She might decide you're not worthy anymore even with your bribes."
I snort, but I can't deny the swell of affection I feel for the cat. She protected Rayne when we couldn't be here. That alone earns her a lifetime supply of the fanciest cat food money can buy.
River murmurs that he will go get the kit from the car and he slips out the door silently. He is only gone a few moments before he's back, kneeling down while I continue to shine my camera light on the area for him to take a sample of the blood so we can run it for DNA. There isn't much there and I doubt there is even enough but we will still try. River extracts a sterile cotton bud from the case and delicately swabs at the tiny crimson drops, rotating the tip to collect as much of the scant evidence as possible. His brow furrows in concentration, his movements meticulous.
When he has captured what little he can, River seals the swab in a clear plastic tube, securing the cap with a click. Even such a minuscule sample could potentially yield priceless information if properly processed and analyzed. He stows the tube carefully in the interior pocket of his jacket.
Satisfied that we've collected everything possible from the area, River rises gracefully to his feet. His eyes meet mine, a silent exchange passing between us. A muscle ticks in his jaw, the only outward sign of the fury simmering beneath his calm exterior.
I can read the promise in his gaze—whoever this bastard is, they won't get away with threatening what's ours. Rayne's safety is paramount, and we'll stop at nothing to eliminate this threat. Permanently.
"You know what this means, right?" he says, his voice low and dangerous.
I meet his gaze, seeing the feral viciousness flash in his eyes. His bloodlust is hovering just below the surface, barely contained. I feel an answering surge of violent anticipation course through my veins.
"The stalker hasn't tried to enter before. They're escalating. We can't keep splitting our attention between the serial killer case and the stalker," I growl, my fists clenching at my sides. "The deaths have to stop."
River nods, his expression hardening. "Agreed."
We move as one, silently making our way down the hallway to Rayne's bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, and we slip inside without a sound.
Moonlight spills through the gap in the curtains, casting a silver glow across the room. Rayne lies curled on her side, her dark hair fanned out across the pillow. The sheet has slipped down, revealing the curve of her shoulder and the soft swell of her breast. She looks peaceful, untroubled by the dangers circling ever closer.
River's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. I know he is having to force himself not to go to her, not to brush her hair from her face or lie there and play with it. We stand there for a long moment, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. In sleep, she looks impossibly innocent and vulnerable. Even though we know she isn’t. The urge to protect her, to shield her from all harm, rises up in me with overwhelming force. That need, that urge is a part of me now.
But we don’t wake her, can't burden her with the knowledge of how close the danger truly came this time. So we let her continue sleeping, blissfully unaware.
Letting go of River's hand, I move silently to the bed. I want badly to slide into bed beside her, to feel the warmth of her body against mine, to bury myself inside her and stay there until the world fades away. The urge is almost overwhelming, a physical ache that resonates through my entire being. I can almost taste her on my tongue, can almost feel the silken heat of her wrapped around me.
But I resist, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. I reach for her phone on the bedside table, the device unlocking as soon as I lift it, recognizing my face from me programming it in long ago. The soft blue glow of the screen illuminates my features, casting eerie shadows across the room.
I navigate to her alarm settings and the alarm for 6 a.m stares back. With a quick tap, I disable it, ensuring she'll sleep in. She needs to rest.
As I set the phone back down, my eyes are drawn once again to Rayne. A small frown creases her brow for a moment, and I have to resist the urge to smooth it away with my thumb. Instead, I allow my gaze to roam over her, committing every detail to memory for the millionth time. The way her lashes fan out against her cheeks, impossibly long and delicate. The soft fullness of her lips, slightly parted as she breathes. The elegant line of her collarbone, begging to be traced with fingers and tongues.
A soft rustle behind me reminds me of River's presence. I turn to find him watching me, his eyes dark with a mixture of desire and understanding. He knows exactly what I'm feeling because he feels it too. The need to touch, to claim, to protect.
With a silent nod, we both move towards the door. But before we leave, I pause, turning back for one last look. Rayne has shifted in her sleep, one arm now flung out across the empty space beside her. As if even in sleep, she's reaching for us.
The sight makes my chest tighten with an emotion. I swallow hard, forcing down the lump in my throat.
We slip out of the room as silently as we entered, leaving Rayne to her peaceful slumber. As we make our way back through the apartment, Luna appears from the shadows. She meows softly, as if bidding us farewell.
I crouch down, extending my hand towards her. To my surprise, she deigns to approach, butting her head against my palm. "Good girl," I murmur, scratching behind her ears. "Keep watching over her for us."
Luna purrs contentedly, arching into my touch. For a moment, I'm struck by how surreal this all is—praising a cat for fending off a stalker, sneaking around the apartment of the woman we're both obsessed with. But then, nothing about our lives has ever been normal.
River collects the bag from the kitchen bench, carefully checking its contents one last time. His movements are swift and silent, his blue eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, are now focused and intense as he mentally catalogs each item.
I watch him from the doorway, marveling at the care he takes in this simple task as he finishes and heads toward me. It's more than just restocking her fridge; it's an act of devotion, a tangible expression of his need to provide and protect. This side of him—the nurturer, the provider—never fails to warm my heart. It's a stark contrast to the cheerful psychopath the world sees, the man who can slit a throat with a smile. But this, this is the River only I get to see.
And soon so will Rayne.
The thought of him cooking for her makes my chest tighten with anticipation and longing. I can almost see her face lighting up as she takes that first bite, her eyes widening in delight. The pride and joy that would radiate from River at her reaction, his eyes sparkling with happiness.
Then I’m sure he would fuck her over the table between the potatoes and peas.