Chapter 8 #2
Carson rubbed his eyes and checked the time. 5:47 AM. He’d been sitting here for three hours, staring at case files he wasn’t actually reading.
His phone buzzed. A text from Finn: Got something. Eugene’s financials show regular payments to a storage unit across town. Want to check it out?
Finally. A lead. Something to focus on besides the mess he’d made with Nora.
Carson typed back: Meet me there in an hour. Bring the warrant paperwork in case we find anything.
He stood and moved quietly down the hall to the guest room, knocking softly.
No response.
“Nora? I need to go out for a few hours. Following up on a lead. You’ll be safe here—security system is armed, doors are locked. Don’t open for anyone. I’ll call when I’m on my way back.”
Still no response.
Carson pressed his palm against the door, wishing he could say more. Wishing he could explain that pushing her away was the hardest thing he’d ever done. That it was killing him to maintain this distance.
But the words wouldn’t come.
So he left, locking the apartment behind him, and tried to focus on the case.
On catching Eugene.
On doing his job.
Even if it meant losing something—someone—that was starting to feel essential.
***
The storage unit was in a rundown facility on the edge of town, the kind of place that didn’t ask questions as long as you paid in cash.
Finn was already there when Carson arrived, leaning against his car with two cups of coffee.
“You look like shit,” Finn observed, handing him a cup.
“Thanks.”
“Trouble with the houseguest?”
Carson shot him a look. “How’d you know about that?”
“Captain mentioned it. Also, the entire department is gossiping about how Carson Black finally brought a woman home.” Finn grinned. “Even if it is technically for protective custody.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” Finn’s expression turned more serious. “Look, man, I get it. She’s pretty, she’s vulnerable, you’re playing hero. But be careful. Getting involved with a victim never ends well.”
“I’m not involved.”
“Sure you’re not.” Finn drained his coffee. “Come on. Let’s see what Eugene’s been hiding.”
They approached the storage unit—number 247, according to the financial records. The lock was standard, easy to bypass with bolt cutters if they needed to.
But when Carson tried the handle, it swung open.
Unlocked.
Every instinct in Carson’s body screamed danger.
“Finn,” he said quietly. “Something’s wrong.”
Finn’s hand went to his weapon. They exchanged a look, then Carson pulled the door open fully.
The storage unit was empty except for one thing in the center of the concrete floor.
A manila envelope with Carson’s name written on it in block letters.
“Son of a bitch,” Finn muttered. “He knew we’d find this.”
Carson pulled on gloves and picked up the envelope. Inside were photographs.
Of Nora.
Dozens of them. Nora leaving her apartment building. Nora at work. Nora having lunch with her friend. Nora walking down the street, unaware she was being watched.
And underneath all of them, a single typed note: You can’t protect her forever.
Rage flooded through Carson, hot and consuming. Eugene wasn’t just stalking Nora. He was taunting Carson. Making this personal.
“There’s more,” Finn said from the back of the unit.
Carson looked up. Finn was standing near the wall, shining his flashlight on something scratched into the concrete.
A list of names. Eight women. Avery Shone. Jessica Brown. The victims they’d already identified.
And at the bottom, underlined three times: Nora Bell.
“This is his trophy room,” Carson said, his voice tight. “He’s documenting his victims. Keeping track.”
“Which means this is evidence,” Finn said. “Finally. Something concrete we can use.”
Carson photographed everything—the photos, the list, the note. His hands shook slightly with suppressed fury.
Eugene had been watching Nora for months. Documenting her every move. Planning this.
And Carson had let him get this close.
“We need to bring him in,” Carson said. “Right now. Before he escalates further.”
“Already calling for backup.” Finn had his phone out. “But, Carson? This note. You can’t protect her forever. That’s a direct threat against you too. Eugene knows you’re involved. Knows where to hit you.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should. Because if Eugene sees you as an obstacle, he might come after you to get to her.”
Let him try. Carson would welcome the confrontation. Would welcome the chance to put Eugene down permanently, legally, and without remorse.
But first, he needed to get back to Nora. Needed to make sure she was safe. Needed to tell her about this new evidence.
Needed to apologize for pushing her away when all he’d wanted to do was pull her closer.
His phone rang. Unknown number.
Carson answered. “Black.”
“Detective.” Eugene’s voice was smooth, cultured, completely calm. “I see you found my storage unit. Did you like the photographs? I’m particularly proud of the one from last Tuesday. The blue sweater really brought out her eyes.”
Every muscle in Carson’s body tensed. “Where are you?”
“Somewhere safe. Unlike poor Nora. She must be so scared, hiding in your apartment. Does she know why you kissed her and pushed her away? Does she know you’re too damaged to actually care about anyone?”
Ice flooded Carson’s veins. “How do you—”
“I know everything, Detective. I’ve been watching you both. Learning your patterns. Waiting for the perfect moment.” Eugene’s voice dropped lower. “And that moment is coming soon. Very soon. Tell Nora I said hello.”
The line went dead.
Carson stared at his phone, his heart hammering.
Eugene knew Nora was at his apartment. Knew about the kiss. Which meant he’d been watching the apartment. Had maybe been watching them through the windows.
Or worse—had cameras inside.
“Finn, I need to go. Now.” Carson was already running for his car. “Eugene just called. He knows where Nora is. I need to get back there before—”
His phone rang again. This time, Nora’s name on the screen.
Carson answered, already sprinting. “Nora?”
“Carson.” Her voice was terrified. Shaking. “Someone’s trying to get into the apartment. They’re picking the lock. I can hear them. I—”
“Hide. Right now. Bathroom, lock the door, call 911. I’m ten minutes out. Stay on the line with me.”
“Carson, I’m scared—”
“I know. But you’re going to be okay. I promise. Just hide and stay quiet. I’m coming.”
He ran to his car, phone pressed to his ear, listening to Nora’s terrified breathing on the other end.
And prayed he’d get there in time.
Because losing her—failing to protect her—wasn’t an option.
Not when he’d finally found someone worth fighting for.