8. Kato
Chapter 8
Kato
“ T here’s no way Jackson Hughes is holding anyone in that apartment without his neighbors,
or the revolving harem of women he seems to keep around, finding out.” Gun offers up.
“Could he own a different location where he keeps the women?” Callie asks, looking at Gun.
“It’s possible, but Jackson isn’t our guy. He’s a dick, and I’d love to lock him up because we know he’s got violent tendencies, but he’s not our man.” I add.
“You’re sure?” I nod. “Great, so we are back to having absolutely nothing.” Callie says, twisting a lock of her hair, “We need to talk to Elara again.”
My heart races at the thought, and before I can stop myself, my voice is raised, and I am snapping at Callie: “Why are you so dead set on harassing Elara? You don’t typically want to drag our victims through hell and back repeatedly. What’s different this time? “
Gun lets out a low, disapproving whistle, and Bruce raises an eyebrow. Hati sits back, hardly affected by my outburst as if he’d been expecting something like this anytime now. Knowing him, he probably already figured out the sad song and dance between Elara and me.
“That’s, I- that’s not what I’m trying to do,” Callie’s brows knit together, and her cheeks flush.
“Kato didn’t mean that. He’s just a little sensitive about Elara. Protective. He’s about to be honest now and tell us all why. Aren’t you?” Gun says without a hint of trepidation.
He’s right, it’s time to fess up.
It’s late, and there’s no one else in the office, certainly not anyone who would understand the implications of what I’m about to say. Yet I lower my voice so much that my team must strain to hear me even with their enhanced hearing.
“Elara isn’t just an old friend or old girlfriend. She’s my mate,” Callie winces. “I’ve known her my whole life. We were best friends and childhood sweethearts. The mating bond hit us like a truck when we were old enough. Boy, I thought I was the luckiest man alive, but things don’t always go how you picture them. She broke things off with me years ago when I decided to join the service.”
Callie’s heart beats too fast, and her eyes are wide as saucers, tears rimming her bottom lash line. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t want you to know, any of you, because I need to be on this case.”
Hati nods, and Bruce sets his jaw, offended that I didn’t trust the team to keep this secret. But despite his irritation, he bites his tongue and nods alongside Hati.
“Go on home and get some rest. You’ll need it. I’ll see you all in the morning.”
My phone wakes me at 6:45 in the morning. I groan as I reach out for it and answer without checking the caller ID. “Agent Blackwood,” I say, stifling a yawn.
“Kato,” I freeze the moment I hear her. It’s Elara. “I’m sorry to call you so early; it’s just that I need to talk to you and your team as soon as possible.”
“Is everything alright?” I hop out of bed, throwing my pants on without a second thought.
“Yes, I’m fine. I’ve been working through a few of the models I typically use for my clients, and I’ve recovered a few more of my memories. Would you mind coming to my house?”
“I’m on my way. I’ll call my team and see who is awake to join us.”
“I’ll brew up a pot of coffee for you all.”
“Better make it extra strong. It’s been a long week.”
“Is there any other kind?” She says, and I can hear the smirk in her voice. A smile creeps onto my lips at the thought.
“No, there isn’t.”
Only Gun and Callie answered their phones, and each of them said they’d be ready for me to pick them up. I leave voicemails for Hati and Bruce and shoot them texts for good measure.
“Looks like Elara beat us to it,” Gun says as we near the house, winking at Callie.
“I’m sorry again about yesterday, Callie. I wasn’t fair to you.”
“Let’s leave it in the past,” she says, offering me a genuine smile. A weight I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying lifts off my shoulders as she does, and I let out a freeing breath.
The moment Elara opens the door to her house, I am instantly hit by the smell of coffee. My mouth waters and it’s almost distracting enough that I nearly don’t notice the man lurking behind her in the kitchen: Ezra.
“Thank you all for coming, especially so early,” Elara says, stepping aside so we can enter. Her wrists are bony, coming out of the arms of her oversized wool sweater.
I can’t stop frowning as I notice the discernible lack of color in her complexion. She’s too skinny now. What the hell has been going on in this house?
Elara gestures towards the worn wooden table, which holds a tray of pastries, cream, sugar, mugs, and a steaming pot of coffee. Her home is charming, like a fairytale cottage.
A combination of bright colors, floral wallpapers, and rich, luxurious textiles. Plants litter every windowsill, and quite a few big pots are in every corner of the floor. It isn’t cluttered, in fact it is very neat and clean. This definitely feels like her.
“Have a seat and help yourself to coffee and goodies,” she says, smiling and sitting down with her half-finished cup of coffee in hand. She eyes me as I pour my coffee, thinking I won’t notice, but her cheeks turn pink when I look up and give her a wink. She looks into the bottom of her coffee like she’s reading a crystal ball.
The man’s phone rings, and he steps forward, “Honey, I’ve got to answer this, but I’ll be right back with you.”
She nods without looking at him, and after he’s stepped outside, Elara says, “That’s Ezra, my boyfriend. He lives here with me.”
My stomach drops. No matter when my brain knows something is true, it doesn’t feel good to hear it said aloud.
“I’m sure it’s nice to have someone else in the house with you after everything you’ve been through. I’m glad you aren’t here alone.” I sound much more convincing than I expected.
Elara’s eyes widen, and she gives me an appreciative smile. As my stomach twists into knots and all I want to do is reach out and touch her, my heart skips a beat, knowing that I’m the reason that smile crossed her lips.
Gun’s on his third pastry and has yet to say a word. Callie elbows him, and he looks up, wryly smiling. “ Delicious pastries.”
“I’m glad you like them.”
“You said you recovered more of your memories?” Callie says, bringing us all back on track.
“I did,” Elara nods, taking a long, slow sip of her coffee. “There was a clock in the room where I was being held. An old-school clock. It tick-tick-ticked all hours of the day and night. It nearly drove me mad.”
Ezra steps back inside and settles in next to Elara. “I’m sorry about that. I’ve got an event coming up for some of my grad students, and there have been a lot of last-minute issues arising.”
Ignoring the apology, Elara continues, “There was also the distinct smell of gasoline and cut grass in the room and something else I can’t place, almost like a licorice smell.”
Ezra’s hand traces small circles over Elara’s back as she recounts her memories. My claws involuntarily slide out, biting into the palms of my hands underneath the table. Not now. You have no right. I snap at my wolf.
He snarls but retreats, and I loosen my hands, wiping the blood on my pants as the wounds heal before I let myself take another sip of my coffee.
Callie is jotting down every word Elara says in her near perfect handwriting. She’s the best for that. The rest of us can’t read each other’s handwriting for shit. Callie always jokes telling us we must have been doctors or English teachers in a past life.
“I think the neighbors had a dog. There was barking occasionally, but it was a little distant. It sounded like a small dog that thinks it could tear you to bits, but you’d really be able to shake it off and send it halfway around the world with no effort. “
Gun laughs, unable to stop himself but having the good sense to hide his face in his coffee cup after Ezra shoots him a dirty look. Elara, however, smiles and looks at Gun gratefully, appreciating the moment of levity.
A light layer of sweat forms on Elara’s forehead, and her heart races wildly despite her best efforts to remain calm. Her bottom lip is swollen as her teeth sink into it once again.
I wish I could wrap my arms around her and hold her until her heart slows down and she understands that she is going to be okay. I won’t let anything else happen to her ever again. But that’s no longer my place, is it?.
I hate how the distance between us has made us strangers.
Ezra scoots closer, draping his arms over her shoulders and pulling her closer. His eyes land on me, and the corner of his mouth lifts upward. Is he fucking serious?
I glance over at Gun and his eyes are locked on Ezra as he shakes his head smiling, almost amused by the whole thing. I’m glad someone can find the humor in this situation, I groan internally.
“I was drugged, you know that, but sometimes, if I talked to him enough when he came to visit, he would forget to drug me for a little while. I’d hoped I’d be able to escape once the drugs fully wore off, but he always came back. He always remembered eventually.” She sighs, and my heart aches for her.
Callie pauses from her notetaking and reaches for Elara’s hand, squeezing it gently. Gun’s eyes are burning holes in the side of my head. I ignore him, trying to control my increasing blood pressure before I do something stupid.
My fist tightens around the mug in my hand, and Elara jumps at the loud crack that fills the air, “Shit, sorry, I guess I don’t know my own strength. I’ll replace that.”
After the initial shock wears off, Elara rushes into action. Pulling the mug from my hand, her fingers brush over mine, and electricity crackles between us. All my senses come alive. Did she feel that, too?
If she did notice she gives nothing away as she shuffles the coffee cup over to the sink before any coffee can leak out from the newly formed crack. Ezra’s disapproving glare settles on me as she fixes up another cup of coffee out of instinct, and hands it over.
I sip and grin, “Perfect, exactly how I like it.”
Her cheeks flush, and I’m grateful to see some sort of liveliness return to her skin, only made better by the appalled look on Ezra’s smug face.
“Please everyone, eat some more pastries. We don’t need all of this kept in the house.” Elara grins, breaking the tension—not that she’s eating.
Ezra quietly eyes a cheese Danish, and I grab it casually, taking a huge bite before he has a chance. Callie reaches for a chocolate croissant, trying not to laugh.
“I told you before that I did my best to humanize myself, but the more I got to know him, the more I tried to make him feel heard, understood, and cared about. The more I made him believe he was important to me.” She shudders but continues.
“The more we talked, the more he opened up. I can’t remember every detail, but I do remember that he complained a lot, especially about his mother. She never understood him, never saw him for who he truly was, and never believed that he had any potential.”
“He said that she’d blamed him for his father leaving even though he hadn’t even been born when his father decided to run off on her. It seems like she never got over that abandonment, and she never stopped blaming her son.” Elara lets out a deep, sad sigh. “No child deserves that.”
“He didn’t talk about friends, bosses, or ex-girlfriends. He talked a lot about his mother and his own grandiose ideas of self-importance. The more I think about it, the more I think I should have told him I loved him. Maybe,” she hesitates, “maybe if I did that, I could have avoided the grave altogether.”
“If you were to have done that, you might have prolonged your burial,” Callie says, momentarily flinching at her callous words before continuing, “But this man is disturbed. Eventually you would have said or done something that he perceived as a slight and it would have been over for you. Don’t beat yourself up. You did everything right. You survived a madman even when everything was out of your control.”
Ezra looks, almost bored, like his mind is somewhere else. I want to punch him square in the face. How can he not care more about this? About her?
“You’re probably right,” Elara shrugs. “He cried the last time he drugged me. He wept, and he apologized. I thought I was going to be freed. I thought he’d decided to let me go but I was wrong.”
“I’m so sorry,” I can’t keep my voice from breaking.
“Do you recall ever hearing vehicles passing by?” Gun asks.
Elara pauses, closing her eyes and scrunching her nose, “Yes, I do. Occasionally, but not often. Although the drugs really dulled my senses, so that could be off.”
“It sounds like you could have been held in a garage, not a basement. The cars and the dog could likely be heard in a basement, but who brings a lawnmower into their basement when they mow the lawn? That’s a fairly clunky thing to move.” Gun says, pouring himself another cup of coffee and draining it in one go.
“Thank you for all your help, Elara.” Man, it feels weird to constantly say her name again. “We better leave you to rest, but before we do, I’d like to ask you about a location we believe might be the unsubs hunting grounds. Have you ever been to the speakeasy-style bar, ‘Nothing Here’? And were you there around the time of your disappearance?”
“I was there. I was there a few days before I was taken. A week or so before. I used to go there occasionally, before… well, anyway, I got pretty drunk that night. It was my friend’s birthday, and I had to be sent home in a taxi. I taxied back the next morning to pick up my car, and life went on as normal until the day I disappeared.”
Elara fiddles with her napkin and chews on her bottom lip again. I can practically see her brain pumping, trying to recall everything. Eventually, she sighs, defeated by the lingering effects of the drugs or the trauma.
“Thank you, Elara,” Callie says, filling in my silence. “You’ve been incredibly helpful. Don’t hesitate to call if you remember anything else or need anything.”
Callie stands, and Gun follows suit. My eyes are fixated on Elara; her green eyes look back at me. I don’t recognize the woman she’s become. Sometimes, I do, flashes here and there, but the last time I saw that flash was in the hospital when she managed to tease me despite everything going on. She’s changed so much and, I guess, so have I.
My chest is tight as I offer a small tight-lipped smile and will myself to get up and follow the others out of the house. I can feel Ezra’s seething energy fixated on me, but I don’t even so much as glance in his direction.
Gulping in the fresh air, I fight back a panic attack. The team eyes me cautiously, ready to jump in at any moment, but does not intervene.
After I calm down, Callie asks, “Do you think that the unsub finds the victims at the bar and then stalks them for a while before abducting them?”
“Why do you think that?” Gun asks, stretching his arms over his head and mimicking Callie’s cat-like stretch from moments before.
“He seems like the type who might. Maybe he’s a taxi driver, bartender, or creepy patron. From what Elara has said, he seems to want to feel like he knows his victims. In his mind he’s likely creating some sort of sick fantasy in which the two are together.” Callie suggests.
“That opens up a lot of possibilities then. We have to go back to that bar and scope things out more organically.” I offer.
Callie’s words grow increasingly distant as we approach the car. My heart thumps so hard it threatens to crack a rib.
Under the windshield wiper sits a cream-colored envelope with SPIU typed across it, like from a typewriter. A chill creeps up my neck from the base of my spine. Damn.