Chapter 27
Sawyer
I’ve never been a “tied up with a neat little bow” kind of guy. There are too many loose ends. Too many threads that are left dangling when a mission is wrapped up. I learned at a young age that, when things seem too good to be true…they usually are.
Which has to be why the pit in my stomach has only grown since Anastasia gave me the news that Leopold believes he’s caught the guy after her.
She’s giddy beside me as we walk up the steps into the police station.
Practically overflowing with joy at the mere thought that this has all come to an end.
Weston and Jack are both unusually quiet as they follow close behind, and I can’t help but wonder if they’re not thinking the same thing I am.
It’s too easy.
For a guy who has been completely off the radar—how did he get caught now?
“Hey!” Gen, the night secretary at the police station, greets. “I’ll let him know you’re here.” She smiles, her greying hair in a bouncy ponytail as she heads through a door behind her and into the back side of the office.
I glance over at Weston. The grim set to his mouth is evidence that he’s not feeling too sure about this either. Ryker is on his way over to Linda’s house to sit with her so Zane can come here, but even he’d seemed off about it.
This isn’t sitting well with any of us. And that speaks volumes…doesn’t it?
My fingers flex at my sides as desperation to feel Anastasia’s hand in mine takes over. But Jack is here, and flaunting the fact that I got the girl just doesn’t seem right. Especially after the guy nearly died.
So, I keep my hands to myself.
The back door opens, and Leopold comes out, a grim look on his face.
He nods for us to come back, and we do, each of us silent as we make our way through the precinct.
Fluorescent lights bright overhead, I struggle against my desire to turn and sprint out of this place.
It doesn’t matter how many years pass; being inside a police station still makes my skin crawl.
Leopold pauses outside the viewing room, set directly off the interrogation room. “We found this guy after a call was made to one of our tip lines.”
“Tip lines?” Weston questions.
“We have one that runs twenty-four-seven. We’d put out a call for information after Sawyer’s shop went up. Most of the calls we got were pointless. People reporting neighbors just to see them get into trouble, but this one was oddly specific.”
“Specific how?” Jack questions.
“Well, they described a man who fit the description of the surveillance photo you provided us. They got a glimpse of his living room through an open window while they were out on a walk, and that’s what prompted them to finally call.”
“What was in the living room?” Anastasia asks.
“We’re still sorting through it all.” He sighs. “Jack, if you’d like to question him with me, I could use you on this one. We don’t deal with many serial killers in Stormwatch Landing.”
“Of course. I’d be more than happy to get my hands on this guy,” he growls. “I just wish I’d actually seen his face. That way, I’d know where to bury my fist.”
“Might throw him off to see you alive. His name is Ryan Foster. Moved to town a few months ago and has been renting a place over on Mariners Way. According to his neighbors, he keeps to himself, and most of the time, the curtains are closed. It was just this morning that he had them open.”
“Why this morning?” I ask, unease trickling up my spine.
Leopold shrugs at my question. “It was good weather. Maybe he opened them briefly and forgot to close them. Either way, we’ve got enough evidence to put him away.”
Something’s not sitting right with me, but I set it aside—for now.
“You guys can go in, and we’ll get started. I have to warn you, what is going to be said will likely be hard to hear,” he adds to Weston and Anastasia. “Especially for the two of you.”
“We’ll be fine,” Weston says, tone sharp. He pulls open the door to the viewing room and guides Anastasia inside. I start to follow, but Leopold stops me and closes the door.
“What is it?”
“What was on the wall of his living room?” Leopold’s expression is grim as he offers me the folder he was holding. “I don’t want Weston to see it.”
My stomach sinks because if he doesn’t want Weston to see it? Then that means it likely has to do with Violet. I take a deep breath and open the file. Jack moves up beside me and looks down at the photographs on a photo wall.
Bile burns my throat.
A pretty brunette is sitting on a park bench beside a young Anastasia, mid-laugh. Another image of the two of them on the beach, both lying out in the sun.
Then another—the broken body of a girl who had her life stolen far too early.
A second of her. This one with a crying girl kneeling beside her, holding her friend. Anastasia. She’s screaming up toward the sky, clinging to Violet.
My throat constricts. Emotion burning straight through me. But as it does, it twists into a darkness so heavy that I can barely breathe.
Destroy.
That’s what I want to do.
I’m no murderer. I’ve taken lives before, and I know the weight of pulling a trigger better than I care to admit. But with every life I took, another was saved. Women and children who were trafficked, addicts unable to get their next hit because I helped cut off the supply.
Ryan Foster is not a threat at the present moment. Not when he’s currently in police custody.
But I still want to march into that room and slaughter him for what he’s done. Discard him the same way he did Violet.
The same way he wanted to do to Anastasia.
“Breathe, Sawyer,” Leopold warns. “We’re going to nail this guy.”
I can’t respond because I don’t trust what I’m about to say. So, I slide the top image away, revealing one final photograph beneath.
Anastasia and me.
Taken the night of the Shrimp and Grits Festival. She’s leaning into me, her hand on my chest, and I’m gripping the countertop behind her.
The picture is intimate.
A tense moment between two friends, both desperate for more, but neither brave enough to take that leap.
The shot was clearly taken through the back window. Which means this guy was standing right between my shop and hers. Watching us.
Disgust and rage surge through me, and I slam the folder shut. “Go nail this guy,” I tell Leopold. “Before I do.”
“Gladly.” He takes the folder and nods toward Jack.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Leopold offers a single nod, then heads into the room.
I prepare myself for the FBI agent’s anger at the photo taken just a day after he and Anastasia broke up. Instead, he takes a deep breath, his expression anything but anger.
“I feel like a fool for not seeing it before. But thank you for stepping back. Seeing what she means to you, I can’t imagine how hard that was.”
“Thanks. It was. And for what it’s worth, I didn’t want to steal her from you. I just wanted her happy.”
He nods. “She never looked at me the way she looks at you. I see that now.” He runs a hand through his hair and smiles awkwardly.
“Well, let’s go see if we can get a confession so this can all be put behind us and I can go home with my tail between my legs.
” With a laugh, he holds out his hand. “Thanks for coming back for me. I owe you one.”
“You owe me nothing. You’re welcome.” I shake his hand, then head into the viewing room while he steps into the interrogation room.
Weston is watching me, a perceptive expression on his face.
But nothing he says will have me confessing what I saw in those images.
Especially knowing he’ll likely see them from a distance in just a few minutes.
But seeing from a distance and getting an up-close view of the horrific way his sister had been discarded like trash on the side of the road are two different things.
I’d known that Anastasia was the one who found her. She’d said as much. But knowing and seeing are two totally different things. That brokenness in her expression will haunt me until the day I die.
I wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her in to press a kiss on the top of her head.
The door opens, and Zane comes in, Garrison at his side.
I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I should have enough muscle backup to keep Weston in this room.
Hopefully. Ryker might be our only option for diffusing him should this guy open his mouth and say anything about Weston’s sister. And unfortunately, he’s not here.
After offering Zane a nod, I shift my attention to the man in the room.
He looks like any other man you’d pass on the street. Jeans and a white T-shirt, his hair styled. Both brown eyes watch Leopold and Jack with cool detachment.
“I am Captain Leopold, and this is Agent Weathers with the FBI. Though I imagine you know exactly who he is.”
“Any particular reason I’m here, Captain Leopold?”
“Do you really need to ask?” Jack demands.
The man looks over at him. “Given I did, Agent Weathers, I would say yes.”
“How do you know Anastasia Knox?”
The man looks at Leopold. “Who? You’ll have to forgive me for not knowing the locals yet. I just got to town a few months ago.”
“But this isn’t the first time you’ve been to Stormwatch Landing, is it?” Jack questions. He’s pacing the room like an animal ready to attack. And who can blame the guy? There’s not a person in this room who doesn’t want to go through the glass and remove the threat.
Eliminate danger.
It’s what we were trained to do.
“Can’t say it is. But my last trip here wasn’t very memorable.”
Weston leans forward, resting both hands on the narrow table in front of him. Anastasia moves away from me and wraps both of her arms around his waist. I move in closer, ready to remove her from his path should he decide to do just what we all want to do.
“Funny you should say that. Because there’s not a person in this town who has forgotten the brutal murder of Violet Hayes. It was pretty memorable to us.”
The man looks at Leopold, expression cold and emotionless. “Who?”