Chapter 13
No new messages from… him.
And more importantly, no bodies displaying his artwork have turned up, either.
Hence the reason I’ve slept a little easier the past couple weeks, despite knowing he’s still out there somewhere. At least his world and mine are no longer merged.
For now, anyway.
Chatter picks up around the station as the case briefing comes to a close, and I rise from my seat. They’ve got no new leads, and Stevens has resorted to comparing this case to one he was assigned over a decade and a half ago. A case which remains unsolved to this day. Only, I know the two can’t possibly be related, seeing as how I’ve heard The Widowmaker’s voice and wouldn’t place him a day older than thirty.
Then again, that’s purely speculation, so what the hell do I know?
During these two weeks of silence—fifteen days if we’re being specific—I’ve watched every detective on the case scratch their heads, wondering when the next call will come in. No one believes the killings have stopped. This is merely a reprieve before bodies start cropping up again. Still, I’m relieved to have my headspace to myself.
For however long it lasts.
Every now and then, I hear his voice, though, his words reverberating inside my head. They’re always one variation or another of the dark, twisted things I imagine him saying to me. And every time, my heart races wildly, proving that this case is taking a toll on me.
An image of the librarian’s face flashes in my thoughts, and I blink it away as I set my sights on my workspace across the station. It isn’t lost on me that I’ve had more than enough time to take the intel I’ve gathered to Chief Jude. Being contacted by the serial killer currently terrorizing the city might be the sort of thing Chief would like to know. And yet, I’ve kept my conversation with The Widowmaker to myself, guarding it like it’s sacred, a pitch-black secret that binds us.
Binds us…
I stop to top off my coffee as I linger on that notion, being bound to him in some way. Or at least, he seems to think we are. He reached out to me, wants me to mark his next target, creating some sort of unholy alliance that I want no part of.
Still, I should’ve spoken up by now. Would’ve, if it had been any other case. Meaning, whatever excuse I had for the delay, it expired more than a week ago.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
By keeping my mouth shut, I’m inadvertently protecting a man who’s taken several lives. A man who will likely take more lives.
Chief Jude passes by, and I avoid eye contact. It’s guilt, mostly. And maybe a little paranoia. Like, he’ll take one look at me and know I’ve done something wrong.
I’m so distracted I nearly slam right into Martinez. Still, the abrupt stop when his hands catch my shoulders has hot coffee spilling over the rim of my mug and down my fingers.
“Damn it!”
He acts fast, taking the cup from my hand before I drop it, and then sets it on the edge of his desk.
“Shit, Bennett. You good?”
I peer up, giving a quick nod. “Yeah, I… I guess I just zoned out.”
He passes me a tissue to wipe my fingers clean, and a slick smile curves his lips. “If you wanted me on my back, a simple text would’ve sufficed,” he whispers.
And just like that, the sweet, thoughtful Martinez is replaced by the horny one who only ever thinks with his dick. Making matters worse, I’m on edge, questioning everything about myself, which has my tolerance low. Hence the reason I can’t suppress the hard eye roll I shoot him as I attempt to sidestep whatever conversation he’s trying to have.
“Whoa, hey. It was a joke.”
He steps in front of me again, blocking my way, and I’m scared to even check for how many eyes are on us right now. And when I don’t speak, the playful look on his face turns serious, like he’s suddenly able to read me. Suddenly aware that now isn’t the time to be giving me shit.
“Talk to me.”
For a second, I consider just going to my desk like I originally intended, but for some reason, my feet don’t move. Instead, words tumble out of my mouth that I didn’t realize I was ready to say.
“I think it’s time we stop playing whatever game this is. Don’t you? I mean, aren’t you tired of pretending we fit when we clearly don’t?”
His eyes widen in shock, but then he tempers the look, maybe remembering our co-workers are still swarming around us. He steps closer, likely so he can speak without anyone else hearing.
“Damn. Look, I know our situation seems kind of focused on the physical—which is… fucking amazing—but that’s only because I thought that’s what you wanted.” His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “Playing games has never been my thing. I’m not that type of guy. So, if you want us to be more, we can be more. I can give you more,” he adds, and as I hold his gaze, I actually think he’s being sincere.
Who even knew he had it in him?
“I know you’re pissed at me for some reason right now, and I know I just sprung this on you, but all I’m asking is that you think about it,” he says, that smile returning. “And while you’re thinking things over, I say we make it a point to try harder. My friend Ramon’s turning thirty, and a few of us are meeting him downtown. Come with me.”
I’m already shaking my head before he finishes. “Diego, I—”
“Layla… please.”
His brown eyes soften, and I feel my heart doing the same. I’d been so set on being done, so set on calling off our little situationship… but here I am, getting sucked right back in.
Fuck. Me.
“Fine,” I sigh. “But I’ll meet you there.”
He doesn’t ask why I’m not interested in riding together, and I don’t offer up that it’s because I’d like to avoid even the remote possibility of him meeting my father.
“Shooting you the address now,” he says, his eyes glued to his phone screen as he types. My phone dings, and our gazes lock. “See you at eight.”
* * *
I haven’t worn this dress in over a year. Mostly because I haven’t had any place to go that called for a gold, sequined dress that barely comes down past my ass. I inch the top up a bit and shimmy my boobs down inside it, with only the thin spaghetti straps standing between me and a nipple slip. But chances are, this dress will make me look like a nun compared to the other girls who’ll be out tonight.
I slip into a pair of gold heels, grab my clutch, then lock my apartment behind me. I’m on my tiptoes as I cross the driveway to the main house. Again, my father’s left the back door unlocked, which leads me to wonder if his warning to be more safety-conscious only applied to me.
His voice carries from the back of the house from the direction of his office, and I head that way, ignoring the fact that I’m being intentionally quiet. Intentionally eavesdropping.
I stop just outside his door and steer clear of the light filtering out through the crack where it’s not quite closed all the way. His back’s to me as he rocks in his desk chair, staring at his bookcase.
He sounds tense. Then again, all hiscalls I’ve overheard lately sound tense.
“We’ve already discussed this, Luther.”
Hearing him say his lawyer’s name, my shoulder settles against the wall, and I listen harder.
“I will not be bullied out of finishing this piece. Considering the years of work that went into it before I even knew there’d be a book, I have as much right to tell this story as anyone else. More right to tell it,” he adds before falling silent to listen to Luther’s response.
For weeks now, I’ve felt like he was keeping me in the dark, being cryptic and more anxious than usual. Now, I’m wondering if it all circles back to this.
That fucking, godforsaken book.
“There have only been the phone calls, empty threats. Nothing I’m taking too seriously.”
He pauses, and my heart races.
What threats?
“Of course. We’ll speak again soon.”
The call ends, and I ease the door open. When dad spins, facing forward again, his eyes widen with surprise.
“Sweetheart. I didn’t hear you standing there.”
Clearly.
He pauses, seeming to only now notice the full face of makeup, the beach waves in my dark hair that took quite some time to perfect, my dress.
“I suppose it’s safe to say you’re heading out tonight. Who with?”
“Friends from work. I was invited to a party.”
He smiles, but the expression never quite reaches his eyes. “Sounds fun.”
I shrug, still thinking I shouldn’t have agreed to this. “Maybe. Either way, you probably shouldn’t wait up.”
Dad smiles again, but this one is even more tense than the first. “Nah, it’s not a big deal. I’ve got plenty of work to keep me busy. These friends,” he adds, “are they coming to get you?”
I recall specifically telling Martinez I don’t want him here tonight as I shake my head. “Nope. I scheduled an Uber.”
Something flickers in his eyes.
Concern.
My gaze narrows in his direction. “Is… everything okay?”
I keep to myself that I overheard his call, that I’m aware someone’s made threats.
He seems to realize he’s not as convincing as he meant to be, then forces his eyes to soften, giving way to the easy-going expression I’m used to. Only, it’s too late to pull that off with any measure of believability.
“All good,” he says. “Just… be careful. And have fun. I’ll wait up until I see you’ve gotten in safely.”
I have plenty more to say, but my phone dings when my ride pulls up. He was literally just saved by the bell.
I spin on my heels, dangling my clutch purse from my fingers. “Okay, but it’ll probably be late.”
“And as I’m sure you know by now, I’m a man of my word. I’ll be wide awake when you get here.”
Yep, he’s definitely being weird. As I’ve suspected, something’s up with him, and I now know it has something to do with his book. If I had to guess, someone out there, someone other than me, doesn’t want it written. But likely for very different reasons.
On my part, I simply don’t want to see this case consume my father again, creeping into every fiber of his being until he becomes it, and it becomes him. With all the secrets he’s kept, who even knows how out of hand this shit already is? He’s been on edge, in a constant state of worry—mostly about me, it seems—so who’s to say it isn’t already too late to shift the momentum of this impending disaster?
Whoever’s out there, whoever’s so desperate to keep my father’s words from going to publication, they might not have much to lose.
Or worse—they’ve got nothing to lose. What then?
My mind wanders as I step out onto the porch, and then distractedly greet my driver when I climb into the backseat. I’ve already lost one parent to chaos and, so help me, God… I’m not sure what would be left of me if I lost Dad, too.