Chapter 5
SAVANNAH
What is wrong with me?
I’m not someone who gives out my number to strangers. I don’t accept money from random people. And I never kiss a man just after meeting him. Now I’ve done that twice in as many days!
I’ve turned into a brazen hussy!
Firmly planted in a warm booth, I stare out the window of Taki Yuki and twirl my chopsticks around my bowl of oyakodon, a chicken rice bowl with veggies and eggs.
Above my head, vibrant Japanese umbrellas hang upside down from the ceiling.
Colorful Japanese fans decorate the walls.
More dark brown pleather booths, like the ones I’m in, line with the right and left walls, with square tables arranged in a grid in the middle.
At the back is the kitchen, where you order your food.
It’s not a five-star restaurant, but the Tanaka’s have made it a friendly place to be.
After I ran away from Luke, I came straight here for a late lunch. My first few steps toward the station were filled with exhilaration, but the further I got, the flame inside grew dim.
I really thought he’d chase me. Now I feel ashamed for wanting that and pathetic for thinking he would actually do so.
My head falls into my hands as I think of the three men who have me feeling things I’ve never felt before.
They are all similar in that they’re clearly much older than me, with bits of silver in their hair, and they all make me want to live a different life.
One filled with new adventures, new goals, and a new existence.
Is it a coincidence or fate? Meeting three men who make me feel things I’ve never felt before or thought I was capable of feeling.
Hunter, with his cinnamon hair, sandy eyes, and sexy, domineering disposition, makes me want to bend to his every demand.
Rory, with his obsidian curls, azure eyes, and lively temperament, makes me feel treasured.
Luke, with his smoky brown mane, emerald eyes, and spellbinding charisma, makes me yearn for more time to live.
“Rough day?” Mrs. Tanaka sits on the other side of the booth.
Perking up, I frown at her question. “Why do you say that?”
She points to the bowl in front of me. “You’ve barely touched your food.”
“More like a crisis of conscience,” I answer, then take a bite of rice and egg.
“Hit me with it.”
I nearly choke on the rice. After a few coughs and my face turning an ungodly shade of red, I reply, “I don’t know if this is something—”
“I’m fifty-five years old and have lived in New York my whole life. I highly doubt there’s anything you’re going to say that will make me clutch my pearls.” Mrs. Tanaka gives me an exasperated expression.
“Want to give me dating advice?” I snark.
Mrs. Tanaka doesn’t miss a beat. “Don’t date assholes.”
I snort. “I was thinking of advice a little more tailored to my situation.”
“Lay it on me, honey,” she offers again.
“I met a guy at this place I like to hang out—”
Mrs. Tanaka scrunches her nose. “Did you bring a criminal home or something?”
“Not a criminal.” I roll my eyes, then set down my chopstick, placing my hands in my lap. “It was an older man. And then…I met another man. And then…another guy at the library.” My fingers nervously tap against my thighs.
Instead of the shame I expect to receive, Mrs. Tanaka arches a brow and half smiles. “Look at you go, Miss Bachelorette. Three men? Nice.”
Chuckling, I cover my cheeks with my hands. “I’m serious. I don’t know what to do. I can’t date three men at once. I’m not a cheater.”
Mrs. Tanaka reads the uneasiness on my face and reaches for my hand in comfort.
“Savannah, first, calm down. Second, you never know what can come of life’s opportunities.
Don’t dismiss them so quickly. And third, just because it isn’t common doesn’t mean it’s bad.
Relationships come in many shapes and sizes. ”
Mouth turns into a frown. What does she mean by sizes?
Did she mean…? No. Not possible.
The door of Taki Yuki bursts open, and in steps a man I have avoided at all costs for the last eleven years.
Agent Travis Huntley.
He’s wearing a suit just like the last time I saw him. His hair is neatly combed, and his square jaw is tight. His lips are pressed into a tight line as his enraged eyes search the restaurant. When he spots me, he marches right for me.
Dropping Mrs. Tanaka’s hand, I sit up straight. I won’t let him intimidate me. I won’t cower like I did when I was an eighteen-year-old girl.
Behind Huntley, another man follows closely. He’s classically attractive with black curly hair, high cheekbones, and clear, bright eyes. The stubble on his face adds to his rough, masculine energy. But the fact that he’s with Huntley negates his good looks.
Mrs. Tanaka notices the shift in my mood and mirrors my posture.
Huntley stares me down as he approaches my table. “Savannah Bartlett,” he says by way of greeting.
He knows I changed my name, so I acknowledge him with the same respect he shows me. “Travis.”
“It’s Agent Huntley,” he corrects me through gritted teeth.
“Not Special Agent?” I shouldn’t purposely provoke him, but I can’t help it. My fingers itch to hold my knife and show him just how unafraid I am.
Mrs. Tanaka looks at me like I’m crazy for antagonizing the hot-headed FBI agent.
The man next to Huntley coughs, seeming to cover a laugh if the repressed smirk is anything to go by. When he realizes my attention is on him, he extends his hand to me. “Agent Roman Cassidy, ma’am.”
“Nice to meet you,” I respond instinctively. At least he’s nicer than Huntley.
“We have some questions for you,” Huntley interjects.
“That’s nice.” I shrug a shoulder, appearing indifferent to the request, but I can feel a hard, quick pulse in my throat.
Do they know what I’ve done? Are they here to arrest me?
“Do we need to have this conversation at 26 Fed?” Huntley threatens, leaning into my space with his chest puffed up.
Mrs. Tanaka whips out her phone, pointing the camera at Huntley.
He whirls on her, the vein in his neck pulsing. “What the hell are you doing?”
Agent Cassidy steps forward, placing a hand on Huntley’s shoulder. “How about we calm down.”
“Shut up, Cassidy,” Huntley barks back at him.
Cassidy lifts his hands, moving back. “Your funeral, man.”
Huntley points a finger at Mrs. Tanaka. “Put that phone away or I’m going to escort you out of here in handcuffs. Maybe a night in a holding cell will teach you some respect.”
“What’s going on here?” Mr. Tanaka questions as he walks out of the kitchen.
My mouth goes dry, and my heart races in fear of how Huntley will react. Before things can spiral out of control, I jump to my feet. “I’ll go with you. Take me to the field office, and I’ll answer your questions there.”
The Tanaka’s are good people and don’t deserve to take on the brunt of Huntley’s temper in my defense.
Huntley is still significantly taller than I am, but it doesn’t intimidate me like it did eleven years ago. He glowers at me like I just threatened to key his car.
“Savannah.” Mrs. Tanaka’s voice sounds worried.
“I’m okay. Don’t worry,” I say without looking at her.
“Let’s go,” Huntley grips my upper arm, his hand like a vice. I snag my purse and coat before Huntley forcefully leads me outside and to his illegally parked SUV.
Cassidy trails behind us. “Ease up, Huntley. You can’t afford to get written up again.”
Huntley opens the rear passenger door and shoves me inside. He slams the door and directs his ire at Cassidy. His words are muffled, but I can still hear what he says. “I know you’re new here, but this is how things work. If you can’t handle it, go back to Texas.”
Cassidy motions to me with his hand. “If she were a criminal, I wouldn’t bat an eye at how you’re treating her, but she’s not. She’s a witness.”
Witness?
His reminder squeezes my heart. Not out of guilt, but because his words bring up ugly memories that I’d rather forget.
Huntley raises his voice. “She lived with that man for eighteen years. There’s no way she didn’t know what he was doing. She only testified for the prosecution to save her own ass!”
Cassidy shakes his head in indignation, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever, man. Just remember that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
Huntley’s shoulders rise. “Shut up and get in the car.”
Half an hour later, I’m in a gray room with a two-way mirror, a metal table, and two chairs. I sit with my hands folded and resting on the cold steel. On the table sits a manila folder with a huge FBI emblem stamped on the front.
Huntley sits in the chair on the opposite side of the table, his back to the mirror. Cassiday stands by the door, leaning against the wall.
“What do you know about the recent string of female bodies found all over New York City?” Huntley asks accusingly.
I release some of the tension in my body, relieved to know that this isn’t about my nighttime activities.
“Just what they’ve reported on the news,” I answer.
“Do you find it strange that the women are being murdered with the same MO as your father?” Huntley pats his hand on the folder between us.
He’s trying to goad me, but I still need to set the record straight.
My fingers tighten. “That man is not my father. He stopped being my father when he chose to hurt innocent people.”
Huntley smirks, loving that he touched a nerve. “What? Not proud of Daddy Dearest?” He opens the folder and pulls out twenty-four large images, laying them side by side in front of me. I assume he’s looking for a reaction, but it doesn’t work.
Each photo depicts a mutilated woman in her bathtub, floating in a clear liquid I know to be bleach. I don’t have to see all of the crime scenes to know what they look like. Agent Marreli showed them to me eleven years ago at my request.
The bedrooms appear to have been taken straight out of a horror movie. Blood spatter covers the walls, floor, ceiling, and bedding. Four pairs of handcuffs are on the bed, two hanging from the headboard and two from the footboard.