Chapter 19
Bradford
“So,” Cade begins as we stand around the tree farm office, voice flat. “Are we having, like, a team-building exercise? Or did you just want to share the souvenir photos from a job done well?”
“You want to sit down?” I snap, not looking up from the mess of pictures on the desk.
“I’ll stand. Keeps the blood flowing.” Cade leans in, taps the photo of the old man’s chest—what’s left of it. “Can I get this framed? Put it in my bunk? That’s some nice work.”
I shoot him a look. His eyes are glassy, and his black shirt is buttoned wrong, one side riding higher than the other.
There is something so fucking wrong with this guy.
Turner shifts from one foot to the other. “Cops drove by here three times last night. Never seen them do that before, and I’ve been here for two months.”
“They’re not watching you,” Cade laughs at him. “They’re watching him.” He jerks his chin at me. “He’s the one who has the lore around his whole damn farm.”
I set the photos down. “Why fire, Cade?”
“Here we go, Doc. You gonna try and make me better?” He grins, hovering over my desk.
“I think you want me to apologize for improvising. But the guy was a fucking freak. Gave me the creeps even before he started talking.” He shrugs.
“Besides. Dead’s dead. Doesn’t matter how you get there, or how you choose to clear evidence. It just matters that you do.”
Turner folds his arms across his chest. “Did you really have to cut off his dick though? Orders were to be clean. We wouldn’t have needed fire if there wasn’t so much fucking blood.”
Cade tilts his head, eyes innocent. “We came out clean.”
Turner looks away—something I wish so desperately I could fucking do, too.
Cade’s smile grows. “It’s a classic move, you know. Sends a message. You can fuck up kids lives without thoroughly being tortured for it. You don’t fuck with the innocent. All it does is turn them into monsters when they’re older.”
My jaw tenses. “That wasn’t the message we were paid to send.”
Cade gives a little bow. “Well, it was the one that needed to be.”
The heater rattles in the corner, belching out fake warmth.
I decide to shift gear, and push. “So fires are your MO? I thought Lubbock was a one-off. Knight never clarified it was a pattern for you.”
He stiffens. “I don’t like unfinished business.”
“Even when the job is done?”
His jade eyes glimmer with something I vaguely recognize.
“You know what unfinished business looks like, Doc? It looks like—” he pauses, eyes on mine, “it looks like your old pal Knight sending me out here to be babysat by you, because he doesn’t want to get caught for all the fucked up shit he does to people. ”
I bristle. “That wasn’t my call. You’re lucky.”
“Sure,” he says. “But you’re the one who’s taking orders from someone who’s technically beneath you, Colonel.”
“Watch it.” Turner’s eyes darken, and Gunner, his PTSD dog, lets out a bark.
Cade glances at him, then back at me. “You know what I’d do if I were you?
” He tilts his head, every inch of his face mocking.
“I’d put a bullet where it fucking belongs.
Between my eyes.” He taps his finger against his forehead.
“Why don’t you do that? Probably satisfy the sick needs you have under that tough boy exterior. ”
I take a deep breath. He’s testing me.
I hold his creepy fucking stare, and let the room go heavy with it. “You’re not a psychopath. You’re just an asshole with a vendetta and daddy issues.”
Cade straightens and takes a step away from me. “You’re just pissed you can’t control me with your cute psychobabble bullshit.”
My hands curl on the desk. “Following my orders is the only thing between us and twenty years in Supermax. Or the death penalty in your case.”
“The death penalty would be a fucking relief,” Cade spews at me. “You don’t even fucking know. Knight didn’t want to leave me in there, because he thought I’d rat on him and his fuckery.”
I exchange a look with Turner, who has a hand on the top of his big black hound, as if he’s grounding himself through the dog. Honestly, I hope he is, because it’s been a while since we’ve been able to have any kind of session.
Cade leans back. “That’s what I thought.” He turns to leave the office, and grabs the doorknob, hand squeezing tight. “If you want to talk about control, maybe you ought to start with yourself, Doc. You’re losing yours. It’s all over your goddamn face.”
He slams the door behind him so hard that a few of the crime scene photos flutter to the floor. Turner stands statue-still by the window, then sags against it like someone’s let all the air out of his body.
“He’s gotta go.” Turner’s voice is low. “We can fix this. You know how, too.”
I purse my lips, shaking my head despite my own fucking murderous thoughts. “The kid has some deep wounds. If we could ever just get to the bottom of them…”
“You really don’t give up,” Turner scoffs, letting out a sigh.
“Not until I get the order to.” I shove myself back from the desk. “Let’s do a little exposure therapy. Come on.”
I gotta do something to make myself feel like I’m doing something right.