9. Scarlett
NINE
SCARLETT
Jasper's sharp jaw is currently performing fury-filled jumping jacks as we race back to the crime scene, and I discreetly survey him from below my lashes.
I replay the look of astonishment and disbelief when he arrived, and inspected the hasty job I'd done on my poor tires.
God, it was almost impossible to stifle the chuckle at the obscenities that he shouted.
His dark sapphire eyes, with their bruising intensity, radiated rage, and the way his body tensed, ready to fight whoever did this to me, was pure gold and sexy as fuck.
Now I'm sitting confined in this metal box with him, the scent of his cologne invading all of my pores as he drives us at breakneck speed, completely disobeying every speed limit this city has, back to the scene.
The sight of his long, well-shaped fingers choking the steering wheel has me picturing the same fingers doing very inappropriate things to my body.
"Tell me about the scene and the victim. "
He briefly takes his eyes off the road and meets my gaze. "Male, late forties, family money with connections to the higher-ups. He used fire again to cover his tracks. This guy was left in an alleyway, and it looks like he used trash to help the accelerant along."
"Mutilation?" I question as I take in the details, my mind whirling with possibilities. So far, the victims have been of middle or lower-class origins, and no one has had any connections. What has made Ashmaker target this one?
"Yup, severed cock, Stephens is pretty sure it's lodged in the throat like the rest of them. This guy is fucking sick, Lyssa. There has to be a connection that we're missing. Why men? Why cut off their cocks? There's a message we're overlooking. He's speaking to us. We're just not listening."
I don't dispute his assessment. Jasper's right, there has to be a connection, a reason he's targeting these particular men. I have my suspicions, but I'm not willing to volunteer my thoughts yet. I'd rather keep all my cards close to my chest until I'm sure. "The mayor is involved?"
"Yeah," he releases a weary sigh, and it makes me wonder if he managed to get any sleep.
I'd ask him, but I don't want him to turn that same question in my direction.
I'd rather not lie to him any more than I have to, and there's no way I'm admitting that I have no idea what happened to me last night.
A flash of something niggles at my mind, an image or perhaps a feeling, yet it's frustratingly gone before I can grasp it, leaving me more unsettled than I care to admit.
"The deceased's family was apparently a large donor to his campaign last year.
The heat and pressure to catch this guy are about to be turned up.
The reporters somehow caught wind of it, even before we managed to get the forensic team fully on-site.
It's a bloody zoo, and you need to prepare yourself, Lyssa.
The fingers are already being pointed in our direction as to why he hasn't been caught yet. " Well, fuck.
"Who is the victim?" I question as we turn down an alleyway in a seedier part of the city. Leaving behind the shiny high-rises and affluent single-family homes, and instead being greeted by rundown shops and small war-era row houses.
"George Weston." My eyebrow shoots up toward my hairline with shock, and Jasper must clock it because he grimaces. "Yeah, of those Westons. He's the son and heir apparent to the fortune and companies."
"Anything different about this one?" What would someone with George Weston's wealth and stature be doing in this part of town? Did Ashmaker bring him here to torture him, or did he ambush him? None of this is making sense.
"Not really, torture, mutilation, and dismemberment, then the fire to cover his tracks. It's definitely Ashmaker." He raises his hand in placation. "I know, don't call him that, but really, what else are we supposed to call this freak? He literally burns them to ash."
We pull up to the yellow police tape, and it's absolute chaos with red and blue flashing lights, uniformed cops trying to hold back the crowds of reporters and spectators, and a white command tent already set up.
I get out of the car, and it's the strangest thing: I'm instantly hit with a sense of déjà vu, but I know with certainty that I've never been here.
A shooting pain sears through my temples, halting my movements, and bringing a grimace to my mouth.
"Lyssa?" Jasper questions with concern in his tone, as he comes around the car to my side. I wish I had brought my sunglasses. He's too observant and perceptive.
I don't get a chance to answer him as I spy Director Shaw furiously stomping in our direction, his face red like a damn tomato.
"What's this about your tires being slashed, Agent Lyssa?
" I give Jasper a dirty glare as he rolls his eyes and shifts awkwardly to hide, I'm sure, his grin of satisfaction at throwing me under the bus.
"Random vandalism, Sir. Probably just some street punks, nothing to worry about." My murderous glare at Jasper has him wiggling his thick, dark brows at me from where Shaw can't get a good glance at him. His serious eyes are now sparkling with pure enjoyment. Insufferable, hot asshole.
"I see, well, if you're not too occupied with your own life, Agent Lyssa, maybe you could do your fucking job and catch this asshole, before he kills another prominent member of our society.
" Shaw's angry words are a bucket of cold water thrown over me, and instantly cause my walls to rise and the mask I often wear to emerge.
"Yes, Sir. I'll do my best." I stride away towards the tarped-off areas, shielding the scene from reporters and bystanders who might otherwise get a photo.
A cold rage whips through my body as I try not to show how Director Shaw's harsh words have impacted me.
I notice he didn't reprimand Agent Garnier in the same way, just me, even though he's the lead on this.
My fingernails bite into my palm as I attempt to keep myself centered and focused on my task.
It doesn't matter. I know the two of us will never be measured fairly.
After all, I'm not, and never will be, part of the boys' club.
"Lyssa, what the fuck are you wearing?" Jasper's amused voice penetrates through my furious thoughts. The current image in my head of me, strangling him with my bare hands, comes to a screeching halt.
No, don't turn around, don't even acknowledge the fucker, he's just trying to get a reaction out of you.
That's what I instruct myself, but unfortunately, it seems I very rarely take my own advice lately.
Maybe it's because I'm a damn Aries, but I know my temper will one day be my downfall.
"Shut the fuck up, Garnier, and focus on the job we have to do and not my wardrobe! " I growl.
"Jesus, Lyssa, you use that filthy mouth to kiss your mother?" He speeds up so he's at pace with me, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the look of pure devilment on his whiskered face.
Without skipping a beat, I reply to him, "My mom abandoned me in the system when I was born, so I doubt she cares how filthy my mouth is."
The sound of him choking on air almost makes me smile. Almost. "Fuck... Lyssa... I..."
I cut him off, not wanting to hear his lame apologies.
They won't change anything, and honestly, I don't want his or anyone else's pity.
The very thought of it makes my skin crawl.
"Save it, Garnier. I do not care. It was a long time ago, and it doesn't bother me.
" That's not exactly true; a part of me still deals with the deep resentment at being abandoned.
Knowing that I was healthy, she carried me to term, even named me before discarding me, and made sure I could never find out who she was.
I refuse to allow anyone to see that weakness, though.
I move past the last barriers and approach the body, or what's left of the smoldering remains.
This one seems a bit crisper than the others.
Is it possible it had more time to burn before being discovered, or was there a different accelerant used to speed up the process?
"Stephens, how long do we think he's been dead?
" I don't bother with civility. It's not like this is a social call.
Dr. Stephens pulls his intense gaze away from the remains, his head turning in my direction.
His bright eyes roam down my frame, landing on my sneakers, and his thin lips twitch.
I watch impassively as his gaze moves quickly from me to Jasper, and I stop myself from rolling my eyes.
He really needs to either be more discreet in his attraction to my partner, or go all in and ask him out.
At this point, everyone around us can see the interest with just one glance.
I'm not sure if Jasper swings that way, but I'd love to be a fly on the wall if and when Stephens dares to make that jump.
"Hard to say with the effects of the fire.
Not long would be my guess. He would have suffered a large amount of blood loss first, and been in excruciating pain.
" Stephens rises to his full height, removes his gloves, and discards them, before rubbing at his jaw.
"There seems to be more rage with this one.
Even with the burns, I can see Ashmaker...
I mean, ummm... the killer took out his rage on him.
I count no less than ten deep stab wounds across his torso, possibly more, but until I get him on my table, it's hard to tell. "