Chapter 9
Subject
He’s getting great pleasure from my discomfort.
It’s evident in the way his lips are curled into a ghostly, arrogant smile.
I keep my focus on the road ahead of us, but he can sense it.
He can tell that I’m using every fiber of control to keep my gaze locked on anything other than him.
The tendons in my neck ache from the strain, but I keep my breathing level even.
I can’t slip. Not one muscle. Not one word.
One wrong move, one wrong sound or look or touch, and he’ll sink his mischievous claws straight into me.
And I fear I won’t have the willpower to push him away.
Not after last night.
Perhaps Amir was correct. I need someone. Anyone. A body. Humans are wired to seek connection and comfort and…touch.
I should call Preston. Set up another date.
He’d be able to satisfy me. And that’s what I need.
A little satisfaction. Granted, I’ve never been drawn to the “meets expectations” kind of people.
I aim for extraordinary. Exceeds expectations.
And something tells me that Preston, with his all-American charm, wouldn’t dazzle me.
Not in the bedroom. Not where intellect and conversation take a back seat.
This is ridiculous. It was only his voice. Not his hands. Not his fingers. Not his lips. Not his cock—
“You’ve been awfully quiet, doc.” Theo glances over at me, brow perked as he scans my tightened features. “Is something wrong?”
I want to scream at him. I want to leap across the middle console, grab the collar of his shirt, and shake him until I get answers.
What are you doing to me?! What do you want from me?!
But mostly, I want to straddle him. I want to flick back the recliner, hover over his helpless body as I cage him like he’s caged me.
I want to feel him grow against my sex. I want thin fabric to be the only barrier between ecstasy and restraint.
I want to learn whether or not I’m alone in my desires.
I want the truth.
“You should keep your eyes on the road,” I say, clipped. “Just because you’re a government employee doesn’t mean the rules of the road don’t apply to you.”
He chuckles. “Again with the rules. Let me bring you in on a little secret, Safia. Rules are meant to be bent.” He takes a right turn. “I bet you've broken a few rules in your lifetime.”
I snort. “I hope you’re not a gambler.”
“You’ve never jaywalked before?” he asks. I stiffen. “Or overstayed your allotted time in a parking lot? Even for a minute?” I turn away from him, and he lets out a low, husky laugh. “See. No one follows all the rules, Safia. If they did,” I chance a brief glance at him, “I’d be out of a job.”
“Well, thank God for murderers then, huh? I would hate for your livelihood to be taken away.”
He grins as he pulls up to the first retailer and parks the SUV. Double parks. But I guess he can do whatever he wants. The power of the badge. And ego.
“Have you ever read Brave New World?” Theo asks, unbuckling his seat belt. Then mine. I frown as he presses the red button and the seat belt retracts backward. He flicks his amber eyes up at me, a certain murky sense of accomplishment dancing around his irises. “Well? Have you?”
I clear my throat. “Of course. It’s a classic.”
“Well, that’s what happens when everyone follows the rules.
It won’t be their choice. It’ll be forced upon them.
Conditioned into them from birth. That’s the only way perfect order could exist in our world.
It’s unnatural, Safia. Free will and perfect order can’t exist simultaneously.
And personally, I prefer to be free than,” he looks down at the seat belt buckle, “confined.”
I swallow. “I hate to say this, Agent Kane, but it seems like you might be in the wrong profession. A Fed that doesn't follow the rules… We’ve both seen enough headlines to know that never ends well.”
He smirks. “I have a code, remember? According to you, I’m hardwired to protect.”
“And serve,” I add.
He hitches a lazy shoulder. “Sure. And serve.”
I narrow my eyes on him as he casually exits the vehicle, rounding the SUV to open my door for me.
He’s a walking contradiction. A nonsensical mess of values, ideals, and morals.
He’d make for an excellent subject. I would love to study his brain.
I would love to understand how his mind works.
How he reaches conclusions. How and where he draws the line.
Right now, I feel like I don’t know him at all.
But that can change. Just as he’s slithered into my mind, I can penetrate his. I can bring a sledgehammer. I can start swinging. Gentle at first. You never want to scare them. But once I’m in deep enough, he won’t be able to hide or run or escape. I’ll learn everything I need to know.
It’s my job, after all.
As we step into the fifth and final store, the bells chime overhead.
The small shop smells like dust and urine, a musty scent that makes me scrunch up my nose.
The store owner, a middle-aged man perched on a stepladder behind the counter, looks over at us, blinking with surprise.
He wipes a small sheen of sweat from his forehead and offers a tentative nod.
Theo strides forward and pulls out his badge. "I'm Agent Kane with the FBI. Do you mind if we ask you a couple of questions?"
The owner rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flicking between Theo and me before glancing nervously toward the back room. "Uh, sure. Is... Is something wrong?"
Theo keeps his tone neutral and professional as he shows the owner a photo of Wiz Matches. "We're looking for someone who might have purchased these matches in the last six months. Does anyone come to mind?"
The owner blinks, sweat now dripping down his thick, hairy neck.
"Um...not that I can remember. They're not very popular.
Kinda pricey for this part of town, you know?
" He looks at us, shifting uncomfortably.
"Uh, actually, there was a kid who came in last week who wanted them for a science fair project. Something about blue flames or—"
"This person would likely be a man, between the ages of twenty-five to forty," I interject. "Strong build, middle to upper class."
The owner swallows hard. "Lady, have you looked around? This isn’t an upper-class neighborhood."
I bite my tongue, frustrated.
"Do you have records of your sales?" Theo asks, scanning the shop.
We're both thinking the same thing: out of all the stores we've visited, this one seems the least likely to have a sophisticated records system.
I glance at the register. Cash only. Not least likely—impossible.
Even if he had records, there's no way we could track sales without credit or debit card information.
The owner scratches his balding head. "Uh...no, but—"
Theo sighs, nodding at the security cameras. "Those fake?"
The owner winces. "Yes, but—"
"Thanks for your time," Theo says, irritation creeping into his voice. He looks at me. "Let's get out of here."
I nibble on my bottom lip, not ready to give up just yet. "Where do you stock the matches?" I ask the owner.
He blinks, clearly puzzled. "Behind the counter."
"I'll take one," I say, fishing out cash from my jacket pocket. I always carry a few dollars with me in case of emergencies.
"Uh...okay." The owner ducks behind the counter and retrieves a box of Wiz Matches, tossing them onto the counter. "That'll be, uh, six dollars."
I hand him a ten-dollar bill, snatching up the matches. "Keep the change."
Theo nods at the owner before leading me back to the SUV.
"What was that?" he asks, opening the car door for me.
I fist the box of matches, sighing. "I want to understand him. Maybe this will help."
He smiles, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Maybe."
He slams my door closed with two hands.
Theo pulls up in front of my apartment building, the headlights illuminating a white utility van parked nearby. The sun has completely set, replaced by the eerie glow of moonlight.
I turn to Theo and sigh, "I'm sorry this lead wasn't more fruitful. Hopefully tomorrow we'll have something from those financials."
Theo's gaze flits across my face, the streetlight casting a shadow over half his features. "Don't worry about it, Safia. It's part of the process. It's only a matter of time until he messes up. It'll happen. Sooner or later."
I sigh, the weight of the day pressing down on my shoulders. "Later means more victims. That makes me feel...useless."
Theo reaches over and strokes the underside of my wrist with his thumb. My pulse quickens at the contact, a confusing, fluttering sensation flaring in my stomach.
"You're not useless, Safia. Don't ever say that again."
I swallow hard and pull away, my wrist still tingling from the remnants of his touch. I clear my throat, gathering my wit.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Agent Kane."
His jaw tightens. "Sweet dreams, Doctor Hadid."
Listlessly, I enter the building, nodding at Seymour, the nightshift doorman. He tips his hat at me, and I trudge to the elevators.
Once home, I strip off my clothes and head straight to the shower.
As the hot water cascades over me, I close my eyes and let the steam envelop me. I lather my body, my mind drifting to thoughts of Theo. I picture his hands roaming over my skin, touching, exploring, igniting every nerve.
My breath hitches as the thoughts become too much, too unprofessional. I reach for the faucet and turn the water from scalding hot to frigid. The temperature change is jarring but necessary. Cold water is better. It can't burn you. I refuse to get burned.
Stepping out of the shower, I dry myself off and slip into a matching set of pajamas. A long-sleeved cotton top with lace on the hem and a pair of shorts—they're soft and light, perfect for how warm I always get when I sleep.
I make myself a cup of peppermint tea and stand by the large floor-to-ceiling window.
My apartment overlooks the entryway. I bought the place for the view.
In the spring, the trees bloom beautifully, and in the fall, the leaves turn gorgeous shades of orange and red.
But winter is my favorite. The city wraps the trees in lights, and I sit on my balcony among what appears to be hundreds of stars.
I sigh, glancing down at the street. The white utility van is still parked downstairs.
I check the time. It's past 10 p.m. Surely no one's getting their internet or cable installed this late.
An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach, and I decide to call down to the front desk.
It rings, but there's no answer. There's no busy signal either.
It just rings and rings and rings. That's not normal. Seymour always answers.
I tap my nails against the mug, contemplating. Maybe something happened to him. He mentioned a heart condition once. What if he had a heart attack? What if he's all alone and in need of help? Or he could simply be assisting another tenant. I'll wait. I'll wait and call back.
Ten minutes pass like molasses, and I call down to the front desk again. No answer. Where is he? I pace the room, then peek out the curtain again to the sidewalk. The van is still there.
My heart jumps when my phone rings. The landline. Not again. Why would he call it again? This can't be a nightly occurrence.
Steadying my breath, I enter my bedroom and hesitate before picking up the handle.
"If you want to speak with me, Theo," I say, "please do so on my work phone."
There's a long pause.
"You look very pretty tonight, baby." My bones freeze as if doused with liquid nitrogen. "Say something, Safia. I just gave you a compliment."
My hand trembles as I struggle to speak. It's time. I need to report this. Really is time. I can’t keep putting it off. Not anymore.
"You changed your bedsheets," Kaleb adds.
"I preferred the green. You know green is my favorite color, right?
Like your eyes. There's the prettiest hint of green in your eyes.
I could stare at them all day. I could stare at them all night.
Would you like that, baby? Would you like me to stare into your eyes all night? "
Distant shuffling sounds in the background as he grunts, continuing. "I could come upstairs, baby. I'm so close, but I could be closer. Right next to you. What do you say? Would you like that, baby?"
My heart hammers in my chest, and I choke out, "I'm... I'm calling the police, Kaleb. I'm—"
The line disconnects, and I collapse on the floor beside my bed, the peppermint tea spilling all over the area rug.
This is all my fault. I should've never taken patients. I should've never opened my practice. I shouldn't have been allowed to meet him. I'm useless. I didn't help. I made it worse. I always somehow end up making it worse.
A knock sounds from the front door, and panic drowns me. I struggle for air. No. He's not dangerous. He's not. I met with him. I analyzed him. There were no signs of danger. I'm safe. I have to be safe.
The knocks get louder, and I try to stand up, my knees weak. The police. I need to call the police. Forcing my limbs to cooperate, I rise to my feet and start toward the front door. I grab the 9-iron on my way, gripping it tightly.
Quiet as a mouse, I creep toward my front door and rise on my tiptoes, peeking through the door peephole.
Instantly, my shoulders relax, and I can breathe. I open the door, golf club still in hand.
"What're you doing here, Theo?"
His jaw clenches, his hands covered in blood.
My eyes widen. "Oh my God, what happened?!”
“Pack a bag, Safia. You're not safe here."
I blink, confused. "What? I don't underst—"
"Your doorman," Theo says, his voice grim and low and dangerous. "He's dead." He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a crumpled, blood-soaked card. He hands it to me. “Pack.”
I read the card, hating myself even more.
To my baby. I love you with my whole heart.
- K.C.
And below that, in messy, frantic writing, it says:
I'm sorry. He was in my way. I can't have anyone in my way.