18. Kennedy
Kennedy
“Kennedy? Are you okay?”
I jolted awake, heart racing. My bedroom light had just switched on, and Malachi was standing in the doorway, brows knitted with concern.
Oh, no…
My limbs felt weak and languid, and a familiar warmth was pulsing between my suspiciously slick thighs.
I didn’t have to look to know what it meant.
I’d had that dream again. The one where I begged the Carver to touch me.
The one that always left me whimpering in my sleep and writhing against my sheets.
Thank god the blankets were still covering me. If Malachi saw what I’d been doing, I’d never recover from the embarrassment.
“Are you okay?” he repeated, taking a step inside. “I heard you crying out. I thought you were in pain.”
I pushed myself upright, ignoring the throbbing in my core. “No, I, um… I must’ve had a bad dream.”
It wasn’t a complete lie. It was a dream. And the effect it had on me? Very, very bad.
Some of the tension drained from Malachi’s broad shoulders. “I guess that’s not a surprise, given everything that’s going on. I’m glad you’re okay, though.”
“Thanks for checking on me,” I murmured, voice hoarse.
“No problem.” He gave me a faint, reassuring smile. “Want me to make you a hot drink? I’ve heard chamomile tea is good for getting back to sleep.”
I shook my head. “I’m okay, but thanks anyway. And sorry for waking you, by the way.”
“You didn’t. I was still up.”
My brows lifted. “Really? You worked all day, and it’s—” I paused, eyes darting to the clock on my nightstand. “Almost three in the morning. You must be exhausted.”
He rubbed his jaw, the shadow of stubble rasping under his fingers. “I’ve been finding it hard to sleep lately. This case has got me wired,” he replied. “But on the bright side, I’ve been keeping myself busy out there. I fixed those creaky floorboards at the end of your hall earlier.”
“Seriously?” I said, eyes widening. “Those things have been driving me crazy for ages, but the landlord said they couldn’t be fixed.”
Malachi shrugged. “Sounds like she’s just too lazy to hire someone. It was an easy fix.”
“Well, thanks for doing it,” I said, sitting up a little straighter. “You’re pretty handy, huh?”
He grinned. “I worked construction part-time to pay the bills when I was in college. Picked up a thing or two.”
An image suddenly flashed in my mind: him shirtless, sweat slicking over tanned skin, muscles flexing as he carried heavy beams. I swallowed hard.
“That’s cool,” I said lightly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight quaver in my voice. “What did you study at college? Something to do with policing, I assume?”
He lifted one shoulder in a semi-shrug. “Sort of. When I was younger, I really wanted to be a forensic accountant. So that was my long-term goal before I even finished high school.”
“Oh, wow. Forensic accounting. That’s so—”
“Boring?” he cut in, grinning again. “I’ve heard that a few times.”
I smiled back. “I was going to say specific.”
“Yeah, I guess it was quite a specific ambition for a kid. But I saw it on a movie once and immediately decided that was what I wanted,” he said.
“Anyway, to qualify, you need to study both accounting and computer science, so that’s what I did.
I had a bit of a head start over most of the other students, because my father and uncle were very tech-oriented, so a lot of the stuff came pretty easily to me. ”
“How did you end up becoming a detective instead?” I asked, tilting my head.
“When I graduated, I couldn’t find a job.”
“Ugh. Story of my life,” I said, giving him a wry smile.
He returned the smile. “Yeah, turns out there's not as much demand for forensic accountants as my professors made it sound. They exist, obviously, but the jobs are few and far between.”
“That sucks.”
“It was a bit of a blow, but it all worked out in the end,” he said.
“Because the field is so closely linked to law enforcement, I figured I could improve my chances of finding something if I got into policing.
So I joined the academy. Became an officer.
Discovered I had a real knack for solving mysteries.
For seeing patterns and making connections others didn't.”
“I bet the forensic accounting stuff really helped you develop those skills.”
He nodded. “I realized pretty fast that that was actually what I wanted to do,” he said. “Solving cases, that is. Once I leaned into it, everything clicked. I took every exam I could. Made detective at twenty-six.”
My brows lifted. “That’s pretty young for a detective, right?”
“I’ve done okay for myself,” he said with a modest smile. He paused, rubbing his jaw again. “Anyway, I’ve been doing it for five years now. Cleared a fair number of cold cases.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember you telling me that’s your specialty,” I said. “Have you solved any cases that I might’ve heard of?”
“Maybe.” He motioned toward the end of my bed, and I nodded, silently granting him permission.
He sat, turning slightly to face me. “Most of them were missing persons cases or unidentified homicide victims, and none of them got much media attention. But there’s one you might’ve heard of. Do you know the Back Bay Butcher case?”
“The serial killer from the seventies?” I asked, forehead wrinkling.
“Yup, that’s the one.”
“You solved that?”
“Yup. Three years ago. We re-tested some old evidence. Items they didn’t think to swab back in the day. Got a partial DNA profile and uploaded it to an ancestry site,” he said. “Found a familial match through the killer’s grandson, and from there, it wasn’t too hard to track him down.”
“That’s amazing,” I said. “It’s wild how much those sites have changed things. Kinda scary, too.”
“Yeah. But enough about me and my job.” Malachi gave the blanket a gentle pat. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked what you studied in college.”
I flashed him another wry smile. “Well, I wasn’t like you back in high school.
I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do after graduation.
But I had decent grades, and going to CBU is sort of a family tradition, so I ended up there,” I said.
“In my first year, I studied a bunch of different stuff, just to get an idea of what I might like. Then I discovered that I really liked teaching, so that was where I ended up.”
He nodded. “Nice. Teaching is a great profession.”
I raised a brow. “Would you mind telling my mother that? She wanted me to go pre-med, so when I told her I declared education as my major instead of something like chemistry, she turned up her nose and said, ‘ Teachers get paid practically nothing. Why would you pick that? ’. And I’m pretty sure her attitude still hasn't changed.”
Malachi lifted a hand. “To be fair, most teachers are criminally underpaid for all the work they do. I think they should definitely get more,” he said.
“Both of my parents were high school teachers, and my uncle was a college professor, so I’ve got nothing but respect for anyone in that line of work. It’s so important.”
“I agree.” I let out a sigh, fidgeting with the edge of my blanket.
“But I still haven’t found a job yet. They keep talking about a teaching shortage in this country, but apparently, that shortage hasn’t reached Corwin Bay.
All I’ve managed to find since I graduated is the odd substitute role. Nothing permanent.”
“Have you thought about trying another city?”
I nodded. “Mom suggested I try Boston, because it’s only an hour away. But it’s longer in peak hours. So I’d be commuting for at least two hours every day. Probably even more.”
Malachi nodded. “That kind of grind can wear you down fast,” he said. “Have you thought about moving there instead?”
“I guess I’ll have to do that eventually, if nothing opens up here anytime soon.
But I’ve always wanted to stay in Corwin Bay,” I said.
“It’s not perfect, but it’s home. Also… this might sound a bit weird to you, but I feel like I’d be betraying my family if I left.
You know, with the Carver case still unsolved. ”
“That’s not weird at all.” Malachi shuffled a little closer, sympathy flickering in his eyes. “I get it. It’s actually a very common sentiment amongst family members of cold case victims.”
“Right.” I nodded slowly. “Anyway, I know I’ll find something eventually. It’s just a waiting game. All the schools I’ve done substitute work at have me on their shortlist if any of their teachers leave or retire.”
“You’ve got the podcast to work on in the meantime, too.”
“Yeah. Although… that hasn’t exactly gone the way I thought it would.”
Malachi let out a dry, sardonic laugh. “I can see that,” he said. He paused, tilting his head. “What made you decide to start it in the first place?”
“It was Freya’s idea. She studied sound engineering and communications in college, so podcasts are right up her alley,” I explained.
“She asked me about doing it with her ages ago, but I said no. A few times, actually. But she kept chipping away at me. She was so certain the show would get attention.”
“She was right, wasn’t she?”
I raised a brow. “She sure was.”
Before either of us could say anything else, my phone lit up on the nightstand beside me. Malachi’s gaze dropped to it, and he dipped his chin. “I think someone’s calling you.”
I picked it up and glanced at the screen. “It’s just a text,” I said, unlocking it so I could read the whole message.
Malachi stood abruptly. “Some kind of emergency?”
I laughed softly and waved a hand. “No, it’s just my old therapist. The one we were talking about earlier.”
He sagged on the end of the bed again, rubbing his temples. “Sorry. This job has me on edge all the time.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s nice to have someone around who cares so much,” I said as I scanned Jacob’s message.
Hi, Kennedy.