Epilogue 5 Years Later Salem
EPILOGUE
5 YEARS LATER
Salem
Salem bent over the hole in the ground, examining the skeletons that had been found. She had gotten the call the night before, dragging her out of her sleep. Usually,
the protocol was different, her work starting in the morning and finishing in the evening.
But this case was unique, and needed immediate urgency, so she’d gotten out of bed, much to the disgruntlement of her husband. Because one thing about him? If she had to go somewhere in the middle of the night alone, he was going to drive her.
There had been an incident last year, where she had almost gotten carjacked returning from a crime site, and it had scared her. Since then, there was a bodyguard with her during the day, driving her to and from locations. And if occasionally she needed to go during the night, her husband left his sleep behind and accompanied her himself.
Though they were affluent and still very much a part of their social class, their lives were different. They lived in a beautiful three-bedroom historic mansion that had once been the home of a renowned poet and the married woman he had eloped with, who had lived their lives with new names and new stories. It had felt fitting and they had both immediately fallen in love with the place, though Caz had it renovated entirely to make it a perfect combination of rustic and modern. It was just an hour away from her mother’s new place.
Her mother, who had fallen in love with a distinguished widowed gentleman and married him. Salem liked him for who he was and how he affected her mother. He made her more open, more accepting, and more joyful than she’d seen in a long time. Though he had children of his own and Salem wasn’t really close to them, it was still a good thing.
And Caz, he was more like a son to her mother than Salem was a daughter. Selina Salazar had all but adopted Caz, giving him love and maternal affection Salem knew he had missed all his life. She knew they had a bond outside of her, and she was glad about it, about the way they had both healed parts of each other—her mother finally getting a son to love and her husband finally getting a mother to love.
And fuck, he had so much love to give, though he was incredibly selective about who he gave it to. For her though, he was all in. She knew it because there was evidence scattered through the last decade of her life for her to examine. But moreover, she knew because she felt it, in the way he watched her with the same intensity, took her with the same wildness, touched her with the same possessiveness. She felt it in the ways he moved his schedule to give hers time, the way he sacrificed sleep to make sure she was safe, the way he stood guard despite all the police officials around, so no one and nothing could bother her.
And just last month, he had surprised her for her birthday and given her a gift that had made her bawl her eyes out—a tiny, golden-furred creature with a tag around her that said “Junie.” In memory of her only friend and anchor growing up. It had taken a while for the flood of her emotions to stop, her memories pouring in as the tiny puppy licked her tears and gave her kisses.
It was rare for Salem to get as emotional as she had, more evidence of how vulnerable she let herself be in their home. And through it all, he had stood there, recording her reaction as a private memory for them to keep, smiling at her and looking at her in a way that had made her thank everything out there for bringing him into her life.
She couldn’t have dreamed a better him.
The noise of something falling to the ground brought her back to reality.
As a forensic consultant with a focus on cold cases, her time outside of family and friends was mostly spent with dead bodies or authorities, with some academic seminars since she had a pretty impressive resume. Outside of being a Mortimer legacy, which in itself held weight in the world, she had a record of consulting on over fifty cold cases over the years, contributing evidence that helped solve over half of them, giving closure to numerous families. Her reputation, as the cold, analytical forensic expert, had her in pretty high demand.
It was something she’d had to learn to balance, between her work and her marriage. She and Caz had gotten married in a small affair four years ago, a wedding attended only by close family and friends, a total of nine guests. Since then, Caz had become a more exclusive artist, and more involved in the group he was in with Baron and Jacob. They had monthly meetings and get-togethers, planning who knew what. While he shared a lot about the group with Salem, she knew he kept some things secret and probably always would for her own safety and to keep her protected from their crosshairs.
She looked back at him where he was leaning against the car, parked right outside the yellow tape marking the small riverside area closed for civilians, though she doubted any came wandering this way.
He stood in a casual sweatshirt and jeans he’d put on last minute, his hair shorter now, on the sides at least, and longer on the top, his face grim as he took in the people working to gather evidence so late.
“You think this is related, Salem?”
Reed, the lead cop that worked in the cold cases division and her main point of contact, brought her focus back to the skeletons. This case was unique, a cold case that had suddenly become hot because of similar murders happening after three decades. They couldn’t say for sure if it was the same perpetrator or a copycat, but the recent deaths had made it top priority.
“It’s difficult to say right now,” she stated, using the flashlight in her gloved hand to examine the mark on the skull, the broken bones, the discoloration. “I’ll have to look at the lab reports to say for sure.”
Reed ran a hand over his face. “But?”
“But from the first look, I’d say the pattern of the contusions is similar.”
A weary sigh escaped the man. Tires screeched and headlights lit up the area for a split second. Salem looked back to see a camera crew getting out. The press, like vultures, had descended.
“Fuck. This just gets worse and worse.”
Salem had to agree.
“I’ll have everything sent,” Reed said, straightening from his crouch, and Salem followed. “Please, Salem, give me something.”
Salem gave a solemn nod. “I’ll try my best.”
And she would. That’s what she did. It wasn’t just her passion that drove her anymore, it was the closure. As someone who understood the power of answers after the sudden passing of someone, she knew giving closure to families who had waited years and years was important. That, more than anything else, drove her now, to investigate and seek to the best of her abilities.
“Go home,” Reed told her, walking toward the gathered media. “I’ll stop by the labs tomorrow.”
Salem gave a nod and turned, taking her gloves off and throwing them in a makeshift trash can to the side, signing her name off on the sheet a technician presented to her.
“Is that Vanguard? Oh god, turn the camera.”
Fucking reporters.
They were used to seeing her thanks to her profession, and her frigid, aloof demeanor pretty much had them leaving her mostly alone. But her husband—her hot as hell, extraordinarily talented husband who was very exclusive with his appearances near the press, thanks to the way they had hounded him after he had come back to reclaim his name, always had them salivating.
A shot of Cazimir Vanguard was worth a lot. A candid shot, more. A candid shot of him with his aloof wife? Even more.
She headed to where her husband waited, completely unbothered by the pack of hyenas looking at him. He had always been that way, unbothered, unruffled, not a care about who thought what about him. The prim, polite girl in her found it so arousing, to be with a man who didn’t care about anything but her.
And he was hers, all hers.
Her husband.
It was still so bizarre to her to use the phrase, even in her own head. His ring was a sure weight on her finger, his gaze a sure weight on her body, and yet, she still couldn’t believe some days that she was married to him. Not when someone called her Dr. Salazar-Vanguard, not when she snuck peeks at his matching ring, not when she touched the tattoos they both had on the sides of their necks.
“Hey,” he greeted, and his voice still had the same effect on her as it had the first time a decade ago.
She ducked under the tape and went to him, and he opened his arms, letting her step into the warmth of his body and breathe in his scent.
“Is it the same?” he asked her, and she didn’t mind. Sometimes, she liked bouncing theories off him, talking about cases she was working on like riddles, and oftentimes, he made points, especially pertaining to the perpetrator’s psychology, that had her reevaluating and reexamining things. That was one of the perks of having a partner who wasn’t just intelligent, but understood the darkness she dealt with, the darkness inside her, better than anyone. He saw her, and he supported her.
That’s why she didn’t mind sharing her gut feeling with him. “Yeah. I need evidence to back it up obviously, but it’s the same perpetrator. Not a copycat.”
The sounds in the area made her turn and watch the activity—the cops, the forensics team, the media. She leaned back into him and he wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head, watching along with her.
“Why stop for so long though?” Salem mused. “Was he injured or imprisoned?”
“Possibly.” His voice came from over her. “Or maybe he never stopped, just moved locations and no one ever knew.”
Salem stilled, the lightbulb going off in her head at his casual comment, and turned in his arms suddenly to look at him. “You’re right. Oh my god, I’ll need to cross-reference data and…”
His smile made her pause. “What?”
“Nothing.” He grinned, not smirking thankfully like he still did at times to piss her off. “You’re just stinking cute.”
She raised an eyebrow. “When I talk about murder?”
He leaned closer, pressing a quick kiss to her nose. “When you come alive.”
Salem held his biceps, blinking at his words, an epiphany dawning over her.
Once, she had thought death was inevitable, but she had never credited the life.
Death still was inevitable, but life was more beautiful somehow because of it. The moments she had, the moments she lived, the moments she breathed, they were all becoming memories for every other life she touched, rippling through the fabric of time.
She looked at the tattoo on the side of his neck, one that she got with him, her only tattoo, and the words it said— memento vivere.
Remember to live.
She went on her tiptoes, kissing him as he kissed her back, reveling in the fact that she was alive, that he was alive, and together, they were living.