39. Eli
39
ELI
T he shot is deafening.
A red dot implodes in the center of Maxwell’s forehead and I think it’s finally over but then Freya falls to the floor. No. Fuck. I can’t have hit her. I can’t have hit her.
“Freya!” I lunge forward, pulling her into my arms and away from Maxwell’s deadweight. That fucker doesn’t get to touch her anymore.
Her palm comes up to my face. “I’m okay. I’m alright.”
I scan her up and down, my hands running over her body. A thin trickle of blood seeps down her neck from where the knife’s cut her, but other than that she’s unhurt.
My breath leaves me in a rush, and I pull her in close, pressing my lips to the top of her head and breathing in her strawberry scent.
I’m shaking all over, my ears ringing. I’ve never used my gun in such an enclosed space and there’s a reason we wear ear defenders at the range.
Fuck. Never again will I point a gun that close to the woman I love. I thought I broke when I lost my mother but the thought of losing Freya has me coming untethered. Physically trembling as I unravel.
I shot him. I killed Maxwell.
I must have imagined this moment a thousand times over. Fantasized about it, dreamt it, pictured how it would feel to press my finger down against that trigger and send Maxwell straight to Hell.
But in the moment, and even now, all I can think about is Freya.
I don’t have any regrets. I’m glad Maxwell’s dead. Because of what he did to my mother, yes, but also because I want him as far away from Freya as possible. This woman, who I loved even when I hated, who trusted me with her life to give me what I needed, who somehow, in the midst of chasing a serial killer, has become my axis. My true north.
My moral compass was already slightly skewed but now, I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t do to keep Freya safe.
Oz walks over to us, his gun down by his side. He nudges the sole of Maxwell’s boot with his shoe. Panic simmers behind his glasses.
Freya twists in my arms and looks up at him. “He didn’t know where she was. He didn’t take her,” Freya says, her gaze shifting to her mother. “My brother did.”
Ah yes, that fucked-up bombshell.
In the moments before Maxwell got the upper hand, Freya came running into the hall like she’d just seen a ghost. Even now, she looks exhausted. Her eyes are bloodshot, and I don’t think I’m the only one still shaking. I know the signs; this is how she goes after she’s had a flashback.
“Hey,” I say, cupping her face and drawing her attention back to me. “Are you okay?”
She presses her lips together and nods. “I’m fine.” Her smile is bitter. “I don’t have time not to be.” She pushes against my leg to get up, but I hold her back and press my face close to hers.
“There is always time to make sure you are alright.”
The warmth of her breath brushes my lips. She rests her forehead against mine for a moment before drawing back. “If I talk about it,” she whispers, low enough only I can hear, “I will break, and I cannot break right now. Not until we find Layla.”
I watch her closely. Tears shimmer in her eyes and my gut clenches. Whatever she remembered, it’s bad. I squeeze her hip and nod. “Fine. But later we talk.”
I help her up this time and we all go back into the living room, except River who disappears into the kitchen.
Jude and Oz stand on either side of the door, like they’re guarding the entrance in case Maxwell’s corpse comes back to life.
I sit on the sofa and pull Freya down into my lap. She goes to move but I spread my hand across her stomach and hold her close. “Let me hold you,” I say, against her ear. “Please.”
She settles back into me but picks up my hand and moves it to her knee. “Just… not there,” she whispers and my blood runs cold.
I don’t know what happened in Freya’s flashback, but I keep my hands where she put them and don’t move an inch. No fucking way am I going to trigger her right now.
River comes into the living room carrying a tray, mugs steaming with tea. He hands one to Hannah. “There’s sugar in it. For the shock,” he explains.
Hannah takes the mug and sits back in the armchair to the right of an old TV.
River puts the tray down on the coffee table in front of us and I grab two mugs for Freya and myself. My hands are still shaking so I could probably do with one too. It doesn’t matter how many times you shoot someone, the adrenaline surge is inevitable.
Freya takes her tea but doesn’t drink any. She just stares across the coffee table at her mother.
“Are you sure he’s dead?” Hannah asks.
River nods. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Thoughts flicker behind Hannah’s eyes. She bites her lips. “I feel like I should be crying or laughing or something, but I don’t really know what happens now.”
“Now,” Freya says, “you start talking.”
Hannah opens her mouth, but no words come out.
“You said I had a brother,” Freya prompts. “Start there.”
Hannah squints, her gaze settling on Freya for a moment before dropping to the patterned rug. “I didn’t realize you didn’t remember. When your father took you and your sister, he left Zachariah with me.”
“He’s like Maxwell, isn’t he?”
Hannah winces.
“Did you know?” Freya asks. “You had to, right? There must have been rumors, police reports. I can’t have been the only one he touched.”
My heart cracks. Freya’s reaction to my hand on her stomach clicks in place with a sickening twist and I want to go on a fucking rampage.
Hannah closes her eyes and this time a tear tracks down her cheek. She doesn’t bother wiping it away. “Your brother lived for the days your father visited. He’d gather… gifts for him. Dead animals. Blades.” She meets Freya’s dark gaze. “Pictures of girls. When he was twelve years old, I found one of you. We never visited after that.”
Freya shudders against me then stands up. She paces along the small room. Stops. Her hands tangle in her hair as she stares at the ceiling. Freya’s always hard to read but I think she’s actually relieved. Hannah may not have been able to do much, but she protected her daughter as best she could. That will mean something to Freya.
She lets go of her hair and her well-practiced mask falls into place. Freya compartmentalizes like a fucking robot, and I used to hate it. I still do to be honest, but at least I understand now why she does it. She’s going through hell right now, but she’ll bury it all so she can focus. So she can find Layla.
“We need to profile him,” Freya states. “He has Oz’s sister. He sent me a message.” She hands her phone to River then turns to Oz. “What did the Danville police say?”
Oz’s voice is rough when he speaks. “She’s been missing for almost 16 hours. She went to Priya’s for a sleepover but when she didn’t come home on time today my parents called Priya. Layla never arrived last night. She’d sent Priya a message saying she wasn’t feeling well.”
Shit. That means he’s had longer than we thought to get her someplace he can’t be tracked.
“He planned this then. Waited for the right opportunity,” Freya says.
Jude turns one of his stones over in his fingers like a magician with a coin. “Which means he no doubt had a location ready.”
Freya spins back to face her mother. “So, where would he take her?”
What little color was left in Hannah’s cheeks, drains away. “I- I don’t know. He’s smart. Honor roll at school. The older he got, the less I knew what he was doing.”
River steps forward. “Tell us more about him. The unusual things but the normal things too. His likes, dislikes, his personality. How old is he? We also need a photo of him for the Amber Alert.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you a photo.”
River sits on the edge of the coffee table, in front of Freya’s mother. “I know this is a lot, Hannah. I know he’s your son, but a fifteen-year-old girl is in danger and we need your help.”
Hannah shakes her head. “No, it’s not that. I would if I could, but I don’t have any photos. It was one of Arthur’s rules.”
“Of course it fucking was,” I mutter.
“He’s controlled, overly so and he likes patterns, repetitions. He’d knock the fridge three times before opening it ever since he was five. I always thought medication might help, but I wasn’t allowed to take him to the doctors.” Hannah looks up at Freya. “I’ll tell you everything I can.”
Freya sits back down beside me, and we listen to Hannah talk.
“He left home when he was seventeen. He went to find your father, but I don’t know whether he ever did. Arthur never mentioned him whenever he would return. He’s four years older than you.”
“He was who you were pregnant with when you ran from The Dying Angels, not me and Allie.”
Hannah dips her head. “Yes.”
“Can we see his room?” Jude asks.
True crime posters hang in frames on black walls. Leather diaries and sketchbooks are lined up on the desk. Other than being unusually neat Freya’s brother could be your stereotypical, teenage goth.
“True crime fan?” I ask as Freya goes through the boxes under his bed.
Hannah nods from where she’s hovering in the doorway.
River, Jude, and Oz stayed downstairs to comb the rest of the house and call in Maxwell’s body.
“He was obsessed with any sort of crime,” Hannah says. “If there was ever a police car or a crime scene, he’d be there. He’d take his camera, say it was for the school paper, but I think he just liked being there.”
Freya sits back on her heels, sifting through a shoe box of photos that look like they’re from those crime scenes. “He’s inserting himself into the investigations.”
It’s not uncommon for criminals to do just that. They get off on it. The thrill. The manipulation.
My phone vibrates. “It’s Eva,” I tell Freya before stepping past Hannah into the hall.
“Go ahead,” I say.
“Eli.” Eva only has to say my name in that voice and I know she’s about to tell me someone’s dead. “The DNA test has just come back on the Jane Doe I was telling you about in Mozzy’s.”
I frown, vaguely recalling her mentioning a woman who had been beaten beyond recognition but struggling to see the connection to us.
Eva draws in a breath. “Eli, it’s Farrah.”
My heart thuds down to my boots. “What?”
“The body was found washed up a few days ago but she’s been dead for over a week.”
I shake my head. “That’s impossible.”
Eva sighs. “Unfortunately, it’s really not.”
I dig my fingers into the back of my neck, trying to relieve the tension. “Eva… Farrah?”
Her voice softens. “I’m really sorry, Eli.”
I swallow grit. “Do you have a cause of death?”
“Blunt force trauma to the head but she’s been beaten all over.”
“Like Josh was,” I mutter.
Freya joins me in the hall, drawing to a stop when she sees my face. I have a feeling I’m ashen. “What’s the matter?” she asks.
“I’ve got to go, keep me updated,” I tell Eva and hang up. I wait till we’re all back together in the living room before telling them about Farrah.
The ever-stoic River turns his back on us. He brings his forearm up to the wall and rests his head on it. He’s known Farrah for years and out of all of us, he was always the closest with her.
Freya goes to him, puts a hand on his back.
“Fuck,” Jude exhales, rubbing his face.
Oz just stares blankly. “It doesn’t make sense,” he says. “If Farrah’s been dead for over a week, who signed off on Angelica’s supposed transfer out of the psych facility? And who did the L.A. police chief talk to on the phone?”
Freya’s hand drops from River’s back. “Someone who knows her signature well enough to forge it. Someone who has access to her computer and calls.” Freya spins around and locks onto her mother, her eyes wide. “What did you say my brother’s name was?”
Hannah sits up straighter in the armchair. “Zachariah,” she says.
Oh shit. My eyes meet Freya’s as we make the connection. “Zach,” we both say. “Farrah’s PA.”
River turns back around and looks between us. “Zach, are you sure?”
Freya paces into the middle of the room. “He got as close to the investigation as he could. Hannah said he was always trying to impress my father. What better way to do that then feed him information, help him stay one step ahead of the FBI?”
River runs a hand through his hair. “He said Farrah wanted updates. I was sending him details of all our plans. Shit.”
“He doesn’t know we know yet,” I say. “As far as he’s concerned, we still think Freya’s father has Layla.”
“Oz, if we call him can you trace his number? Get a location?” Freya asks.
He pushes off the wall and nods. “Yes.”
“Then let’s do it.”