19. Eli
19
ELI
J ude is pushing my fucking limits. I don’t doubt the others will have noticed by now that I’m pulling away and I can’t help but think Jude inked Freya up partly just to tempt me. She looked like a goddamn siren with those constellations spread across her collarbones. If we hadn’t been talking about the case, I’m not sure I could have kept my hands off of her.
I force the memory of her illustrated skin out of my head and focus on the new developments of the case as I drive to the latest crime scene.
Adelaide being pregnant was unexpected. Either Maxwell didn’t realize or for some reason his victim profile has changed. I fucking hate how unpredictable he is.
I flick the blinker on and squeeze the back of my neck, trying to ease the tension. It’s still early but the L.A. sun beats down on the windshield as I navigate the suburbs. I took one of the cars Jude said we could use from the eight-car garage and headed out while River and Freya went to get the others.
I told River I was going to make sure the local cops didn’t mess with the crime scene, but the excuse was flimsy as fuck and I’m pretty sure he saw straight through it.
I just needed some space. If Freya is right about her father targeting women who are being abused then I don’t know what that means for my mom and dad. I have no memory of him hitting her. Before she died, he was pretty much the perfect father.
He taught me to ride, took me to ball games, bought my mom flowers. It was only after her death, after the drinking, that he changed. Except Freya is living proof that memories can be lost. So, what if I’m wrong?
I take a right turn and police cars surround one of the identical white houses a little ways down the street. Their flashing blue lights are pale in the morning brightness, and I slip on a pair of sunglasses and put my Stetson on as I park and get out.
The whole front lawn has been cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape and a plain clothes detective stops me as I approach.
I flip open my badge. “FBI, Special Agent Elijah March.”
The man has wavy brown hair and bright blue eyes. Maybe it’s an L.A. thing but he looks more like a TV cop than an actual detective. He pauses when I say my name though, interest piquing in his movie star eyes. “Elijah? Anyone ever call you Eli?”
My hackles rise. “Yes. Why?”
He grimaces. “You better come see this.” TV cop tells me his name is Cooper and leads me into the house.
Like with Adelaide, the kill took place in the bedroom. The scene is messier than usual, blood spattered on the pine floorboards and up the white walls.
The victim, Mary-Louise, is tied spread eagle on the bed. Her throat gapes open and blood trickles from the fresh crosses on her chest, ruining the neatness of the cuts. The kill is recent enough that it still feels as if some remnant of warmth clings to her body.
I’ve lost count of the number of dead bodies I’ve seen doing this job. No matter how many times, there’s always a moment when my stomach flips and death crawls up the back of my neck. Normally, I can let it pass and detach from the horror while I do my job, but Maxwell’s kills are different.
The women he targets all look so much like my mother. Blonde wavy hair, a heart shaped face. A light in their blue eyes that’s been drained away.
I never saw my mother after she was killed, my dad wouldn’t let me, but this is what she’d have looked like.
The first time I saw the crime scene photos of my mom after I joined the Bureau, I threw up. Then I forced myself to keep looking until the only thing I felt was anger. Maxwell will pay for what he did, I’ll make sure of it.
“Agent March,” Cooper says.
I pull my gaze away from Mary-Louise. Cooper nods at the wall behind me and I turn around.
Written in blood on the pristine white paint is a question. Four haunting words.
‘How’s your father, Eli?’
The hollow place inside my chest that’s been there since my mom died seizes. I lock everything down and walk from the room. I yank open the next door and shut it behind me, leaning against the wood. The blinds are down in here and the room is dim. I can’t quite work out where I am because my eyes are blurring around the edges.
I pull my phone from my pocket, the light from the screen an ominous glow in the dark room.
I haven’t spoken to my father in months but he’s still in my favorites list. I press video call, my hand shaking. The quiet ringing and my breathing are the only sounds in the room.
My father appears on the screen and I let out a breath.
“Well, well, the prodigal son returns,” he slurs the words, a bottle of beer clasped in his hand.
I rub the back of my neck. “It’s not even nine am, Dad.”
“Not your job to fucking lecture me though, is it?” He takes a long drink, not breaking eye contact. Sometimes I wonder whether he has no shame or nothing but shame.
He looks worse than the last time we spoke. His beard is unkempt, more gray creeping into it than brown now. Dark circles hang under his eyes like each drink drowns them a little more.
“I just wanted to check in,” I say. “Make sure you’re alright.”
“I’m fine,” he snaps.
Of course he is. “Listen, Dad. The case I’m working on right now is getting kind of heated. Just… make sure you’re setting the alarms and don’t go anywhere alone right now.”
His glazed eyes narrow. “What’s the case?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say.
“It fucking does.”
I look away from the screen and chew on my lip. “We’re getting close, Dad.”
“Yeah, where have I heard that before?”
He hangs up on me before I can say anything else. I let my head knock back against the door and close my eyes. The day I joined the FBI was the first time in years my father showed any pride in me but the longer it took us to catch Maxwell, the more he blamed me for failing. I’ll call in a few favors with the station near my dad, get them to drive by every few hours. Though our relationship is so ruined nowadays he’s liable to shoot at them just to piss me off.
I go to leave the room but now my eyes are adjusted and I can make out the furniture. A crib is pushed up against the far wall. The mattress, still in its plastic wrapper, is leaned against the side. Oh fuck. Mary-Louise was pregnant.
River, Freya, Jude, and Oz are coming up the stairs just as I exit the nursery. I follow them into the bedroom.
“I’ve just called my dad, he’s fine,” I say when they turn to face me after reading the message.
“I’m so sorry,” Freya says.
I nod my head a little, but I don’t answer. My anger is warring with guilt for what I plan to do, and I can barely look at Freya let alone talk to her right now.
We go through the motions, gathering evidence and profiling the scene. The chaos of the kill seems to align with the idea that Maxwell is devolving, which means he’s likely to kill again soon.
Jude and Oz go to talk to the neighbors, and I volunteer to head to the coroner where the first L.A. victim is.
I’m about to pull away when the passenger door opens and River slides into the car.
“I can handle this by myself,” I say.
River straightens his suit jacket. “Are you using again?”
My hands slip off the driving wheel. “What the fuck, man?”
River turns to face me, his eyes hard. “Are you taking drugs again, Eli?”
“No. I haven’t touched that stuff since the crash and you know it,” I bite out. River had peeled me off the side of the road that night and my neck reminds me of my stupidity every fucking day.
“Alright.” River nods. “Then what the hell is going on with you?”
I grip the wheel again and stare out the windshield. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Have you spoken to Eva?”
I grit my teeth. “No.” My hand drifts to the gear stick. This car is fancy as hell and my foot itches to press down on the gas pedal as hard as I can. I crave the rush of adrenaline and this conversation has me jonesing for it.
River sits back in the passenger seat and presses his hands to his thighs. “I need to not be the leader of this team for a moment. I need to just be me and you to just be Eli, my brother in every way that matters.”
His tone is so serious, even for River, and I can sense the emotion humming beneath his words. “Okay,” I say.
“I love her, Eli. I need Freya and so do you. I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now and you can refuse to talk if you think that’s going to help but I swear to god, Eli, do not ruin this for us.
“You and I have survived the worst shit life has to give but if she leaves because of you, I am warning you now, it will break us. You and I, we will not survive.”
The buzz inside my veins withers and dies. He’s telling me I’ll lose him. I can’t lose River. I just can’t. It’s that simple.
But I also can’t be with Freya. It wouldn’t be fair to her.
I don’t say anything because I honestly have no idea how to respond. If I told him my reasons, he’d understand, but he’d also try to stop me, and I won’t let him do that.
River gets out the car, the whole vehicle shaking as the door slams behind him.
Numbness spreads through me and I do the only thing I know will make me feel something. I put the car in gear and drive as fast as fucking I can.