Chapter Ten
Katie
When you play the game, you have to know when you’re about to get burned.
And Jonesy and I are at a scorching level.
One of us needs to admit defeat, or we’ll be naked within the next thirty minutes, dry-humping each other and saying it doesn’t count because we’re only trying to make the other one chicken out.
And as I round the end of the bed, feeling his hazel eyes burning every inch of my skin, I take a deep breath.
The smell of his shirt invades my senses; the cologne he wears is so manly, a panty-melting mixture of sandalwood and leather.
I’m almost thankful I took the initiative to wear his T-shirt to sleep.
I slip under the covers as he turns another page of his book, and I pull out my phone, setting my alarm and putting on a meditation video that helps me sleep when my brain is too busy. Lying back and closing my eyes, I turn off my light, even though it’s early.
I hear the rustle of pages folding closed and the flick of the light switch.
I’m about to tell him he can keep reading if he wants, but before I can open my mouth, he rolls over, his rough hand makes its way under my—his T-shirt and pulls me against him.
His lips are on my neck, his nose inhaling the scent of my shampoo, and I feel my blood racing.
As he nestles into me, his hand pulls me back by my stomach so my butt is against his dick again.
But this time I’m not fighting it. I’m not scrambling away. Has he worn me down? Or am I just too exhausted from the relentless dreams of being chased?
I sigh, moving my head so he can tuck his arm under my neck and accept that for now, this might be just what I need.
“You’re not fighting me,” he whispers, trailing his nose along the column of my neck.
I swallow hard. I should be. I should stop this from going further, but feeling the heat of his chest against my back is loosening every muscle I have. I should cancel my massage appointment and just lie like this for an hour.
“Too tired.”
“Have you talked to anyone about it?” he asks gently, his thumb trailing along my lowest rib.
“It’s not something I fully understand yet. Until then, there’s not much point.”
“Princess,” he whispers. “You of all people know that’s not how it works.”
“Why is your boss so interested in this case?” I deflect.
He sighs, moving back an inch. It’s minuscule, yet enough for me to feel his retreat. My chest stings a little at how easy it was for him to back off.
“I honestly don’t know. My only thought is that his superiors are up his ass about the public perception of the military. Especially given what happened last year with The Poser case.”
My body stiffens, and I feel his head lift, as if he’s trying to see my facial expressions.
I keep my eyes closed. Even though it’s dark and he won’t be able to see the blood rush from my face, I don’t want to draw attention to it.
Thomas Vale was a photographer who lured victims by doing a shoot with them so I’m confused as to why the military were involved.
“That case had nothing to do with the military.”
“One of the earlier suspects in the case was a soldier. He wasn’t ruled out for a few months. The media gave him and his family hell the entire time. It didn’t matter that he had countless alibis; they swarmed on him like flies on shit.”
“Adam Taylor.” I remember. The police and I had ruled him out relatively quickly in the investigation. It was quite clear he hadn’t done anything untoward.
“You know him?” He sounds surprised.
“I interviewed him,” I say, trying to sound as indifferent as possible, knowing it will only lead to more questions.
“You worked The Poser case?”
“Yes.” My shoulders curl inward, and I push the side of my face into the pillow a little more.
“I had no idea you worked that case. How the hell did I not know that?” he mutters.
“You were a little preoccupied at the time. I think her name was Natalia, and she was a ballerina or something.” I knew exactly who Natalia was, and she was, in fact, the Prima Ballerina for the Pacific Northwest Ballet.
She was perfect in every way except that she ate like a bird, picking at her food as if she despised the very sight of it.
She also wouldn’t drink, which didn’t make three months' worth of dinner parties particularly fun, as in solidarity, Jonesy wouldn’t drink either.
A tame three months with no bickering, how dull.
Eventually, she moved on, and Jonesy had a new girl lined up within a month, and all was right with the world again.
“Missing that one of your best friends is working the most prolific serial killer cases seems unlikely. Was I being drugged?” He laughs.
Not quite. I did purposely ask our friends not to bring it up.
When I started having recurring dreams, my sleep cycle went out the window, and Alfie and Lottie respected my wishes as much as possible.
They didn’t want to make things worse, I suppose.
And Caleb just went along with it because Lottie told him to.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” I lie.
“So you met him then?”
“Met who?” I grit out, my teeth clenched, even though I know damn well who he’s asking about.
“Thomas Vale, of course.”
“Yes, I interviewed him.”
“Holy shit. I can’t believe I didn’t know this.” He lifts himself onto his elbow, his large hand rolling me over so I’m on my back and he can see my face.
“What was he like?” he asks, his eyes wide and curious. He has an almost gleeful smirk, which I see on so many others when they find out I worked the case.
I deadpan, “Polite.”
He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “That’s seriously all you’re telling me? That he was polite. He was the most prolific serial killer in the Pacific Northwest in decades. He murdered more than twenty women, hunted them, stalked them, tortured them—”
“I am well aware of what he did, Jacob. Having interviewed him for more than fifty hours, I heard a lot. So if we could please just go to sleep, that would be great.”
The truth is, he was polite. He was charismatic and good-looking.
And had I not known I was there to psychoanalyze a serial killer, I would have wanted him to ask me out.
He had this way about him, this aura. It sucked me in.
I had to check myself a few times because I never, not once, saw the monster inside him.
Not for a single second during my interviews with him.
We were always alone, even though there was a guard outside the door.
It was exhilarating. Thrilling even. Every time he would lean into my space, he would speak slowly and considerately.
It felt like I was the only person in the world to him.
It was the most terrifying experience of my life.
Because despite everything I knew about him, my body didn’t catch up with my brain.
My body leaned in too. It moved toward him, mirrored him.
At one point, I felt like he was testing me to see how far he could get me to shift my position to match his.
It was terrifying how much I wasn’t terrified of him. Those girls never stood a chance.
It made me question my ability to do my job.
Made me question whether I was a good psychologist and if I’d made a mistake getting into this line of work.
I thought about quitting at my lowest moment.
But Anthony would talk me down, commending me for taking on such a brutal task of assessing this man.
It was clear he had done it, the evidence irrefutable.
Even if my body didn’t quite understand, my brain eventually took control, and when I gave my professional opinion on the stand, his true nature came out.
Just for a second. But I saw it. The darkness behind his eyes.
The unhinged look that I’m sure was the last thing all those women saw. Just pure, unadulterated rage.
“Sorry . . . I didn’t realize it was a thing,” Jonesy mutters.
I swallow hard, fighting back the urge to cry.
I cannot cry in front of him.
He’s already seen me in the midst of a nightmare.
I’ve revealed too much already. Usually, I can keep myself together for the sake of dinner club nights, but seeing him so much this week has my defenses wearing down.
He was always the one who could read me best in college.
He always knew when something was wrong.
The vulnerability of crying in front of him is far too exposing for me to swallow.
It would feel too much like losing the game that we play.
“When I got back, everyone asked me what it was like over there,” he murmurs into my ear.
I’m confused for a split second until I realize he’s talking about when he went overseas to Afghanistan with the army.
“Strangers would ask if I’d killed anyone, if I’d seen anyone get blown up or shot, even beheaded.
” His hand finds mine in the dark and squeezes gently before interlacing our fingers.
“I wanted to tell everyone to fuck off all the time. It was then that I told myself, I’d never be that person.
I’d never ask the dumb question. But I’ve done it, and I’m sorry. ”
His admission stuns me, and I’m unsure if the squirm in my chest is because I’m grateful he’s been the first to let their guard down, or if I’m uncomfortable that he might expect me to do the same.
“It’s fine. It's not a big deal. It’s just boring to talk about now. It was literally all I thought about for a year. It was all about the case. I just want to move on.”
“And the case was a year ago?”
“Yeah.” I turn my head to face him. The slight gap in the curtains spilled moonlight onto his face.
His frown is back, the scruff of his beard clean and trimmed.
I’ve never seen him look scruffy or unkempt.
Well, not since college. Since he joined the army, he’s been so meticulous.
I almost ache to think what he looks like disheveled.
“Same time that your nightmares started.” It’s not a question, so I don’t answer. He nods, looking away briefly. “It doesn’t make you weak to talk to someone or ask for help. We all need that sometimes.”
“I’m fine, Jonesy.” I pat his hand a few times. “Fine,” I repeat.
“Uh huh. Sure. And I’m a master at playing the ukulele, I got offered to go on tour with Ed Sheeran before he got famous.”
I roll my eyes.
“Come on,” he says. “Lie back and let me take care of you tonight. I’ll keep any monsters out of reach, and you can just sleep.”
I shuffle back into the position of the little spoon as his arm cradles me protectively.
He doesn’t realize it yet, but it’s become clear as day to me. I’m not keeping the monster from my dream away anymore. I’ve invited him into my bed and allowed myself to tuck right in whilst wearing his shirt.