Chapter 11
Fear
There was a loud noise in the middle of the night.
Like a door slamming. My heart pounded as my eyes sprung open.
But then there was silence. I gripped the sheets, staring at the bedroom wall for what felt like hours.
The noise didn’t come again. Perhaps I dreamt it.
That wouldn’t be surprising. Trauma tends to manifest as nightmares.
Yet, I don’t remember dreaming at all. When I fell asleep, I fell hard.
I remember nothing. No visuals, no remnants of a movie directed by my subconscious mind.
But something woke me up. And I’ve been awake ever since.
I wanted to climb out of bed, tiptoe to the living room, and get answers.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t move. I could hardly breathe.
A part of me believes that if I were in any danger, Theo would’ve burst into my room—his room, technically—and protected me.
But he didn’t come. And I’d be a poor houseguest if I stumbled out into the living room in the middle of the night and woke him up because I may or may not have heard a sound.
I’m not a child. And I don’t want him to think of me that way.
As a scared, frightened, helpless woman.
I’ve never been that woman. I won’t start now.
With my shoulder back, spine straight, I twist the handle to the bedroom and strut out, praying that Theo is preoccupied and doesn’t see me until I’ve washed my face and brushed my teeth.
“Good morning, Safia.” So much for prayers. I inwardly cringe as Theo emerges from the kitchen, a rag in his hand. He casts me an amused smile. “How did you sleep?”
I swallow. “Fine. You?”
He grins. “As good as one can on a couch.” He nods to the kitchen. “I’m making breakfast. You hungry?”
The scent of various fragrant spices wafts up my nose. “I don’t really eat in the morning. I’m more of a coffee for breakfast type of person.”
“Well, as luck would have it, there’s a fresh pot with your name on it.” He steps off to the side. “I’ll see you in a few.”
I nod, speed walking toward the bathroom. I should shower. A shower would make me feel refreshed, but given that Theo seems to be a typical man, with a three-in-one bottle of body wash, face wash, and shampoo, I opt to freshen up the old-fashioned way—in the sink.
As I slip on my outfit for the day, I sigh, unable to zip up the remaining thirty percent of the gray bodycon pencil dress. I should’ve packed a skirt. Skirts are easy. Skirts don’t require assistance.
Damnit. With a low, inaudible grumble, I tidy up my belongings, and head to the dining room. Theo is seated at the kitchen island, a half-eaten omelet and cup of coffee in front of him.
He smiles at me, tilting his head. “That was surprisingly fast,” he notes as I round the kitchen. I place my toiletry bag on the counter and sigh. He perks a brow. “Is something wrong?”
“Can you zip me up?”
His eyes light up. But it’s not a bright color. It’s not hopeful or giddy or playful. His eyes light up like a storm brewing on the horizon, ominous and unyielding, with a darkness that threatens to swallow me whole.
My skin pebbles as he stares at me, smirking, and the fear I felt last night returns, coursing through my veins, rattling my heart.
“Turn around.”
I want to defy his command, but I’m the one asking for help. If I said no, he’d be confused. Rightfully so. But if I listen to him, I don’t think I’d ever be able to stop. I don’t think I’d want to stop. His voice carries authority and power and the ability to corrupt me.
I turn around.
Theo sucks in a sharp breath, like a hiss from a deadly rattlesnake.
His calloused fingers glide across my shoulder blades as he sweeps my hair off to the side.
I shiver at his touch. I can’t see his face, but I know he’s pleased.
I know he has me right where he wants me.
At his mercy. I close my eyes, controlling my heavy breaths as he latches onto the zipper, and slowly, so agonizingly slow, zips me up.
“There,” he rasps, his balmy breath fanning against the lobe of my ear. “All done.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, turning around.
The thunder and lightning I saw in his eyes have simmered to a light rain, and I contemplate whether or not to ask him about last night.
One of my many faults is that I constantly need explanations.
I don’t enjoy ambiguity or the unknown. Not an ideal trait for a psychology major as much of the human condition is still unexplained, but perhaps that’s what drives me.
“Did you hear a noise last night?” I ask.
Theo’s expression remains neutral, the cards he holds hidden in plain sight. “I knocked a box over while getting a glass of water. Did I wake you up?”
I frown, glancing at the moving boxes around the apartment. They’re all in the exact spot they were last night.
“I see.”
Theo cocks his head. “Safia?”
“It sounded like a door slamming.” I scan his facial features for signs of deception or acute reaction, but I find none. “I thought maybe you left to go somewhere.”
“And leave you all alone?” He grins, single-handedly shifting the energy in the room. I twist my lips up in contemplation, and he adds, “We need to be in the office soon. Maybe take that coffee to-go.”
“Sure.” I grab the toiletry bag. “Let me just pack up my things real quick.”
“No time.” Theo reaches for the car keys on the counter. “We can come back later.”
I frown. “But—”
He circles the island, and removes a leather jacket from the back of a barstool. He slips it on. As he pops the collar, I notice a small red stain on one of the silver buttons. He notices it, too.
Casually, he swipes his thumb across the metal then quickly turns on the faucet, washing the substance off his hand. He smiles up at me.
“Messy eater, what can I say.” He hands me my purse. “Ready?”
I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.
“Oh my God, we heard about last night. Are you okay?” Zoey asks as we pile into the command center.
Gigi casts me a sympathetic look. “At least they have an ID. He won’t be able to hide forever.”
The news has spread about Seymour’s murder. And my connection. I hate it. The whispers. The stares. I don’t want to be seen as a victim, and that’s what I am to them right now.
“I’m fine,” I say.
Gigi tilts her head. “You look tired. Didn’t sleep well?”
I stiffen. “Not great.”
“That’s expected.” Zoey frowns. “Wait, you didn’t sleep at home last night, did you?”
My face pales. “No, I did not.”
“Good,” Zoey says. “It’s probably not safe there for you.”
I want this conversation to end right here. The end. Over. Next chapter. But no. I work with federal agents. With women just as inquisitive as I am.
“Where are you staying?” Zoey asks. “I can grab a few of your things if you’d like and bring them over. You probably don’t want to step foot back into your place after—”
Gigi places a gentle hand on Zoey’s forearm. “If Safia needs something from us, Zo, she’ll ask.” Gigi gives me a pointed look. “Right?”
Does she know? Does she know I stayed at Theo’s last night? We rode in together this morning, but I didn’t think anyone saw us in the parking lot.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine,” I tell Zoey.
Zoey nods, not prying any further. “Okay. Give me five minutes and then we can go over what I found.”
When Zoey walks away, Gigi latches onto my forearm and drags me to an empty corner of the command center. Her grip is tight, and I’m unsure if she knows her own strength.
“Gigi! What are you—”
She lets go of me and crosses her arms. “Spill.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
Gigi sighs. “Seriously? You want to do this?”
“Do what?”
She cracks her neck as if preparing for a marathon.
“Listen, we can go around in circles if you want. I’ll ask if you’re staying with Kane, and you’ll pretend that you have no idea what I’m talking about.
I’ll push and you’ll get uncomfortable. I’ll say I saw you pulling in together, and you’ll say he just gave you a ride, and then I’ll say I saw you leaving his place together this morning ‘cause I hooked up with a guy who lives down the street, and then you’ll freeze and try to think of another excuse.
” She takes a much needed breath. “Or… Or you tell me right now. Are you involved with Kane?”
Dread washes over me. “I—”
Gigi grins, smacking my arm. “I knew it! You are, aren’t you?”
“I’m not…” I flick my nails. She’s usually very professional at work.
This sudden change in behavior is throwing me.
“Theo and I are not involved.” It’s not a lie.
We aren’t involved. Not in the way she’s implying.
He and I are… something. But that something lacks definition.
“I just stayed at his place last night. It was a one-time thing. I—”
“Theodore Kane is not the type of man to let a colleague stay over at his house, even with a murderer on the loose,” Gigi states. “We’ve worked together for a month now, Safia, and I’ve barely seen the inside of his desk drawer.”
I frown.
She senses my confusion and elaborates. “He’s a private guy, Safia.
Even the agents in the DC Field Office didn’t know him well.
Trust me, I asked. They all had great things to say about him in a professional capacity, but that’s it, and he worked with those guys for years before requesting a transfer. ”
“There’s nothing wrong with being private.” I pause. “Wait. He requested a transfer?”
I vividly remember Theo telling me that Deputy Director Bhatia transferred him because the team hit a dead end.
Gigi shrugs. “That’s what I heard. Why?”
“No reason,” I say, shifting my weight between both legs. “I must have misunderstood something.”
Gigi scrunches her brows together. “Misunderstood what?”
I wave her off. “Doesn’t matter.” I glance toward Zoey’s desk. “I should—”
“He likes you,” Gigi cuts in. “In case you haven’t clued in.”
I ball my hand into a fist. “He was simply being kind.”
Gigi blinks. “That man is a lot of things, Safia, but I wouldn’t say he’s kind. But hey, what do I know? I’m not the one sleeping at his house.”
I want to punch her in the face. “Giselle—”
Gigi chuckles to herself. “Relax, Saf. Your secret is safe with me.”
And then she walks away.
I stare off into the distance for a minute, gathering my composure.
Is she trying to start rumors? Is she attempting to instigate drama?
Or is she, perhaps, trying to be… friends?
Other than my college roommate, I can’t say I’ve had a lot of female companions.
Colleagues, sure. Peers, of course. But not friends.
I was too busy. Too focused on my academics to give socializing a chance.
But now, I feel like that’s been a detriment.
Perhaps if I participated in events, expanded my circle, I’d still have a practice. Maybe Seymour would still be alive.
Exhaustion grips at me as I strut toward Zoey’s desk. Theo is already hovering by her computer monitors. He looks up and gives me a short nod.
“Tell her what you found,” he says to Zoey.
I pull out a chair and sit down.
Zoey tilts her screen toward me, various records on the extra wide monitor. “So, I went back eighteen years on all the vics’ financials, and I found charges on all four victims’ credit cards from a place called,” Zoey leans in, reading the name, “Bocco’s Butchery.”
“A butchery?” I ask, glancing at Theo. His expression is unreadable. I look away. “That doesn’t seem like a strong lead. If it was a popular butcher, it could be a—”
“A coincidence?” Zoey asks, typing away. “That’s what I thought too at first, but look.” She uses a pen to point to the monitor. “Every month, on the exact same date, they were charged exactly $675. All four of ‘em. A bit steep for meat, no? Especially in the early 2000s?”
I purse my lips. “Is Bocco’s still in business?”
Zoey grunts. “No, they closed ten years ago. A fire or something. I actually remember seeing it on the news.”
“A fire?” I ask. “Accidental or?”
Theo glances at me. “You think it could’ve been arson?”
I shrug. “Not sure. Clearly this place was more than a butchery. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“I’ll contact the fire chief,” Theo says. “See if they have any information.”
“Has Bocco’s come up in any of your internal searches?” I ask Zoey. “Or a butchery in general?”
She places the pen between her teeth, the keyboard clicking away as she types in key words.
Theo and I wait patiently as she digs up related files.
“This could be something…” She opens a report, skimming it over.
“Fifteen years ago, a former CI claimed he was knocked out and woke up in a walk-in deep freezer. Apparently, he owed…” Zoey’s face pales.
“He owed The Angels money and couldn’t meet the deadline.
They, uh, they beat him to an inch of his life. ”
It must be hard for Zoey to read reports about the violent acts her family perpetrated. Former family. They’re all on trial now. I can’t imagine how alone she must feel.
“Was Bocco’s an Angels front?” Theo asks Zoey.
“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I was only a kid back then.” She blinks. “Camilla might know, though. Her dad…” she pauses. “Her dad told her everything.”
“Camilla Bianco?” I ask, remembering her name from the headlines earlier this year. “Isn’t she in witness protection during the trial?”
Like Zoey, Camilla Bianco flipped.
“Yeah, but we can call her.” Zoey looks at Theo. “She’s holed up with Dr. Malcolm, right?”
Theo nods. “I’ll give him a—”
Gigi rushes toward us, panting. “We’ve got a live one. NYPD just called it in.”
My eyes widen. “Another victim?”
“Yes,” Gigi says. “Rick Knowles. He was a cop.”
It’s wrong, but I’m grateful there’s another victim. I understand psychopathy. I understand the mind of a criminal. I know my role. I know my place. And as Theo nods at me and tells me to grab a jacket, everything I know about the human brain melts into a puddle of nothingness.