Chapter 31
Alibi
THEO
Safia’s apartment is silent except for the hum of my encrypted laptop and the occasional meow of her cat, Maslow, as he circles my lap before settling down.
The old, battered computer has taken me eighteen years to perfect, built from scraps, coded to be invisible—a ghost in the cyber world.
It's a lifeline for people like me, and right now, it’s my way to contact one of the most dangerous people on the dark web.
Safia sits beside me, tapping her fingernails against her tea mug. I can feel her glancing at me, the question in her eyes unspoken, until she finally voices it.
“Are you sure she’s legit?” she asks, a hint of unease in her voice. “This feels...risky.”
“Red’s the real deal,” I say, typing in an IP address to enter the chat room. I give her a quick look, hoping to calm her nerves. “I did a stint in the Cyber Division. Red’s at the top of the FBI’s most wanted list for gray hat hackers.”
Safia doesn’t look reassured. In fact, she raises an eyebrow, giving me a wary side-eye. “And somehow you managed to track her down?”
“Virtually, yes.” I shrug, smiling a little as I lean back. “What can I say? I had no life outside of this. No friends. No girlfriends. Time was on my side.”
She chews on her bottom lip, mulling over what I said. Her gaze darts away for a second before she asks, “No girlfriends? Ever? That’s hard to believe.”
A smirk curls my lips. I can’t help it. “My dick was never lonely, if that’s what you’re asking. But nothing…serious.”
She scowls, and the tiniest crease forms between her brows. “I see.”
I reach over and place a hand on her thigh, the warmth of her skin seeping through her jeans. “Until now, that is.”
She narrows her eyes on me, but a faint smile tugs on her mouth, betraying her offended demeanor. “Right.”
A beat later, my computer pings, and the screen lights up—Red’s online.
Safia sucks in a sharp breath, her fingers clutching her mug a little tighter.
“It’s go time,” I say, typing out a message. I keep it clear and direct. Red knows how to get things done, but she doesn’t need all the details of why. She doesn’t care, anyway. Money is her motivation.
I type in the job: alter security footage to erase Edward Vaughan-Morris’s gym and GPS locations on the nights of the murders, ensuring he has no alibi.
I add a request for her to plant photos—ones I took nearly two decades ago of Vaughan-Morris with the five other men who I eliminated.
I want the photos to look like evidence stored on his personal computer.
Also, I ask Red to slip in an email I drafted a few days ago to put the whole picture together.
It’s a big ask, and I know it. But I also know Red’s capable of pulling it off. Within seconds, she responds. It’ll cost me an extra 50K to rush the job by tonight.
I reply without a second thought. Done.
Red asks for payment in Bitcoin, upfront.
Safia leans over, frowning as I open a new tab to log into my Bitcoin wallet. Her breath catches when she sees the balance—over half a million dollars.
“Where did you…?” She stammers as I type in the transfer. “Either you’re very good at saving for a rainy day, Agent Kane, or you’ve been pulling in a side gig you haven’t told me about.”
I finish the transfer, sending Red the final amount. As I disconnect from the server, I look at Safia. She’s confused, maybe even suspicious.
It’s time to be honest with her, whether I like it or not.
“Occasionally,” I say slowly, inwardly wincing, “I contract out my services.”
Her brows knit together. “Your services?”
I fight the urge to look away. But if anyone deserves to know the whole truth, it’s her. I take a breath and steel myself. The words come out softer than I expect.
“My last client… Her husband used to beat her so badly she could barely see. I made sure she never had to look through swollen eyes again.”
I pause, gauging her reaction.
Safia’s expression stills, her eyes locking onto mine, unblinking. I can almost hear her thoughts. Racing, calculating, weighing what I just told her.
She takes a slow breath. “How many people have you killed, Theodore?”
“Seventeen,” I answer, unflinching.
She studies me with quiet contemplation, taking her time to absorb this part of me. She’s already stepped into the shadows, but will she continue walking farther into the darkness? Or will she stop and turn around? Will she run, after all?
After two painfully long minutes, she finally speaks. “Do you plan on taking on more…clients?”
I reach over, gently prying the mug from her grasp. I set it aside, taking her hands in mine, cocooning them, offering her a vow of honor.
“Not if you don’t want me to,” I whisper. “As long as you stay with me, little lamb, I’ll be whatever kind of man you need me to be.”
She looks down at our intertwined fingers, and I can feel the tension between us dwindle into a soft blanket of complex acceptance. Maslow purrs contentedly, nuzzling into my lap.
“He likes you,” Safia muses, peering down at her Maine coon. “He doesn’t usually like people.”
Maslow and I have that in common.
This morning, the winter sun shines brighter, warmer, as Safia and I drive to the field office, our fingers laced together between the gearshift.
Eighteen years. I can hardly believe it. Today, it all ends. Today is the day. I can feel it deep in my bones, like a sixth sense that’s been sharpening for almost two fucking decades. I glance at Safia. She’s relaxed, watching the road with easy contentedness.
Today is the beginning of forever.
When we pull into the parking lot, we reluctantly release each other’s hands, exchanging a quick, wordless look that captures respect and affection in a way that sounds simply cannot.
Once we’re out of the SUV, we keep a respectable distance.
The last thing we need is the HR nightmare that would follow if anyone sniffed out our…
connection. That can wait until the case is closed.
And it will be closed. Today.
Taking a deep breath, I step through the doors of the command center.
I barely get two steps inside before Gigi, Williams, Zoey, and Conrad are on us, their faces lit with excitement and urgency.
They’re all talking over each other, trying to unload findings from the search of Vaughan-Morris’s home and office.
I hold up my hand, cutting through the noise. “My office. Everyone.”
We move through the room like a pack of hyenas. Safia trails behind my agents, her calm confidence feeding into my own. Once inside, I settle into the chair behind my desk and unlock my computer. Safia stands at my right, facing the eager cast, the ensemble of unknowing players.
Curtain’s up…
I nod to Gigi and Williams. “Go.”
Gigi draws in a sharp breath before launching in.
“We found a lot of interesting stuff at Vaughan-Morris’s home.
There was a stash of Wiz matches in a drawer—same brand as the ones found at each crime scene.
We also found several of Safia’s books, and another one on Greek mythology that had a dog-eared page on Prometheus.
Oh, and there was a coffee cup stain on a page in a Nordic mythology book, a chapter on Tyr.
Guess what rune represents that particular god? A fucking arrow.”
Safia’s fingers curl around the top of the computer chair, the touch so subtle I almost don’t notice. Her demeanor is carefully neutral, but I know she has questions.
Questions I’ll answer once the final act is over.
“And his office?” I look over at Conrad. “Find anything there?”
Conrad flips through his notes, nodding. “Yeah. Pictures of Vaughan-Morris outside Bocco’s with five of the other victims. The photos were taken about eighteen years ago. Looks like blackmail shots—we’re guessing Karl Andrews took them as insurance or something.”
I perk a brow. “The judge?”
“Yeah,” Conrad says. “We found an encrypted email sent to Vaughan-Morris by the first victim, Judge Karl Andrews. The message wasn’t subtle—Andrews was dying of cancer, wanted to ‘clear his conscience,’ as he put it.
It sounds like Vaughan-Morris decided that the only way for seven people to keep a secret was if six of them were dead. ”
Safia’s grip on my chair tightens. Before I can respond, Zoey pipes up, “Vaughan-Morris is claiming he’s being framed. Says he has no idea how any of that stuff got in his apartment or on his computer.”
I frown. “Was Judge Andrews really sick? Did you confirm?”
Zoey nods. “I called his family. They confirmed it—stage four cancer.”
Gigi chimes in next, her expression sour. “Vaughan-Morris says he has an alibi for at least four of the murders. He insists he was at the gym those nights. Asked us to pull the footage.”
Zoey snorts, holding up a laptop she’s been carrying under her arm.
“Already on it. Here’s the problem.” She sets the laptop on my desk and plays a CCTV video from Fitland, Vaughan-Morris’s gym.
The timestamp reads 8 p.m., showing him entering the gym, and then exiting at 9:30 p.m. Zoey fast-forwards through the footage, raising her eyebrows as she glances at me.
“He claims he was at the gym until around 11 p.m. on the nights in question, but…” she trails off, shrugging.
“You can’t fake a timestamp, not without leaving a trace. ”
Safia lifts a dubious eyebrow. “Are we sure it wasn’t doctored?”
Zoey lets out a laugh. “I ran it through all our software. There’s no sign of tampering.”
“None at all?” Safia presses.
“No,” Zoey says firmly. “If this were doctored, it was an expert job, beyond anything I’d be able to detect without knowing the unscrambling code.”
Williams clears his throat, glancing between me and Zoey. “I think we have enough for an arrest, but…”
My bones solidify as I glare up at Williams. He’s always been stubborn, even at Quantico. “But what?”
“Why all the theatrics?” Williams asks. “If he wanted all these guys dead, why not just kill them and hide their bodies? Why go through all this trouble? The matches, the lashes, the carvings… Why?”
The spotlight shifts to Safia, and it’s her time to shine.
She squares her shoulders, her gaze laser-focused as she begins. "By orchestrating these murders in such a calculated, ritualistic manner, he didn’t just eliminate his targets; he turned them into a story. A story he wanted us to buy into. He wanted us to dig deeper than we needed to dig.”
Williams crosses his arms, but he’s listening, drawn in.
Safia continues, “He likely knew we’d find the connection to Bocco’s, so he made himself a victim.
A potential target. The truth was going to come out, one way or another—that they were part of an underground gambling ring.
This way, he controlled the narrative, not Andrews.
If it weren’t for the DNA found at the storage unit, we’d have no idea he was involved, if anything, we’d give him taxpayer funded protection. ”
Williams’s eyebrows knit together. “But what about the carvings? The lashings? Why go that far?”
Safia’s voice doesn’t falter. "Another layer of misdirection. He read my books. He knew what to do to make us think that a serial killer, a real serial killer, someone methodical with a higher vision than simply murder was responsible. It was a game to him.” She shrugs, briefly glancing down at me. “A game we won.”
Williams nods. “Right.”
Gigi claps her hands. “So…should I get an arrest warrant for the bastard?”
I look up at Safia, feeling a rush of satisfaction. This is it. The case is as good as closed. “Where is Vaughan-Morris now? Are we holding him?”
Williams shakes his head. “Not yet. We wanted to get your okay before moving forward.”
For eighteen years, I've been holding my breath. And for the first time in nearly two decades, I can finally breathe.
“Go get him,” I say. “And take backup. He won’t go quietly.”
The team disperses quickly. Safia lingers, her eyes narrowed as she remains by my side. "That's a lot of evidence, Agent Kane."
I smirk up at her. "Sometimes a penny is worth more than a dollar."
As we stand outside Penny’s door, Safia fidgets nervously, the store-bought pie wobbling slightly in her hands. I place a calming palm on the small of her back, leaning in close.
“Relax, little lamb,” I murmur softly. “Tonight is a celebration.”
Safia shakes her head. “Not yet,” she mutters, her gaze flicking down the hall. She’s been on edge all day. She clicks her tongue. “Why’s the warrant taking so long? It should’ve been issued by now.”
“He’s an important man, Safia. I’m sure the DA needs to dot every I and cross every T.”
“Still…”
She’s restless, but I don’t mind it. I have enough faith for the both of us. The sound of Penny’s voice calls out from the other side of the door, followed by faint shuffling.
The door opens, and Penny’s face lights up with a grin. “Just in time!” she exclaims. When her gaze lands on the pie, her smile fades. She shakes her head, hands on her hips, and gives Safia a scowl that could freeze fire. “You can leave that outside.”
Safia blinks. “Sorry?”
“Tonight is a special occasion,” Penny says firmly, nodding to the carpeted floor just outside her door. “And we don’t eat store-bought dessert on special occasions.” She gestures to the ground, expectant. “I’m waiting.”
Safia balks, hesitating, before she sets the pie on the floor.
I can barely hold back a laugh, grinning at Penny. “You’re fucking crazy, Pen.”
Penny shrugs. “A learned trait, I’m sure.”
She opens the door wider, ushering us in with a satisfied grin. We slip off our shoes and jackets. Penny takes them and carefully hangs them in the coat closet.
Safia sniffs the air, smiling. “It smells delicious. What are you making?”
Penny beams with pride. “A roast. I don’t make it often, but today’s special, isn’t it?”
Safia frowns as Penny leads us into the living room, puzzled. “Special?”
“Very special, indeed.” Penny motions for us to sit, and I settle down beside Safia on the couch. Penny sinks into an armchair, gesturing to three flutes of champagne on the coffee table. “Shall we make a toast?”
Safia’s frown deepens as I hand her a glass.
Penny raises her flute high into the air.
“To my dear boy, Theo,” she says warmly. “Jaime would be so very proud of you.”
Safia blinks, glancing up at me, then at Penny. Before she can ask, I raise my glass, leaning toward her.
“And to PennyWise Cleaners. It’s amazing what a set of keys can accomplish.”
Safia’s eyes widen with realization, and she turns to Penny in shock. “You… You knew?”
Penny’s smile is calm, full of something fierce and proud. “Knew? It was my idea, dear.” She tilts her head at me, and my heart feels whole, no longer shattered and afraid. “I’m just glad I lived long enough to see my plan come to fruition.”
And there it is—the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.