Chapter 10
Tori slid into the passenger seat of Blade’s Charger, her mind crackling like a live wire.
The professional analyst in her was already connecting dots.
The Keplerian fractal drawing lifted from Florek’s blotter wasn’t just some random symbol.
It was a thread that tied Donald Florek to Damien Sullivan and his nonsensical warnings about patterns and her parents’ murder.
Were they nonsensical? Maybe not if Dr. Anton Stone also studied fractals.
Fractals.
That one word seemed to tie all three together.
And underneath it all, something darker pulsed. A recognition she couldn’t place.
“The connections are there,” Blade said, starting the engine.
“You’re reading my mind.” She yanked the seat belt across her chest and clicked it. “Funny thing, though. Dr. Stone drops ‘fractals’ like he’s been studying them for years. But me? First time that word ever hit my ears was yesterday. Out of Damien Sullivan’s mouth.”
“Can’t be coincidence,” Blade said. “Stone claims he became interested in fractals because, well, I assume because of his patient, but he didn’t actually say.”
“I’d say you’ve found your number one suspect.” Tori angled the vent until the blast of cold air hit her face.
“Stone’s definitely a person of interest, but I’m not ready to turn the guy’s life upside down over fractal talk.”
Tori looked out the side window. Stone hadn’t hesitated. He’d pulled out that crystal butterfly and offered up the explanation before they’d even asked the right questions.
“If he’s the killer, he’s a narcissist,” she said. “Telling us about the fractals after looking at the drawing would practically be a confession.”
“Still, I’ll have a deputy run a background check,” Blade said. “If he’s not the killer, what’s the connection?”
She slid her notebook out of her purse. “What if Dr. Stone had a patient tied to my parents’ murders?”
“You mean like Sullivan?” Blade lifted his brow. “You’re thinking he’s our link between past and present.”
“I’m thinking we’ve stepped into something big, but without the case file, nada.” She scribbled notes on the page. “Stone counsels someone tied to fractals. Damien mentions fractals in connection with my parents’ case. And Florek ends up dead right after seeing Stone about threats . . .”
Blade’s phone strobed against the dash. The name “Wells” burned across the screen. He answered on speaker. “Agent Wells. You’re on speaker. I’ve got Dr. Crew with me.” A quick glance at Tori. “Talk to me.”
“Blade, hey—hope you’re caffeinated, because I’ve got news.” Wells’s voice boomed out cheerful as ever, like he was announcing a surprise party instead of calling from the Bureau. “Bad news, actually.”
Tori’s stomach tightened. That tone. A sugarcoat over decay.
“Dr. Forest’s dead,” Wells continued. “Found in his holding cell this morning. Stab wounds. We have another inmate in custody for it.”
Blade’s eyes cut to Tori, and she shook her head in disbelief.
“He wasn’t in state custody?”
“Correct. They transferred him yesterday to the federal courthouse for jury selection. He was in the holding facility there. He didn’t make it to the courtroom.” Wells rattled it off like a weather report. “Shame. Guy had answers we needed. But that’s how it shakes out.”
Blade’s breath came sharp through his nose. “Any chance this locks the chain on the organ harvesting ring?”
“Hard to say yet,” Wells said. “What I can say is that it doesn’t look great for me as head of the task force when a key witness dies before trial.” He paused. “But don’t wear it, Detective. Keep that chin up. I’ll be in touch, and we’ll convene the task force soon. Trust me—we’ll get there.”
The line clicked dead.
Blade sagged back, hands dragging down his face.
Her heart hurt for him. “Blade . . .” She wanted to shove aside her own ghosts and carry some of his weight.
He pulled into a gas station, parking under the canopy. “Can you pull up the coverage?”
Tori’s fingers slid across her phone screen and found the local news. A female reporter stood outside what looked like a federal courthouse, microphone poised.
The banner across the bottom read: brEAKING NEWS—DR. WALTER FOREST DEAD IN CUSTODY.
She turned the volume up and pressed play on the video.
“Dr. Walter Forest was found in his cell early this morning,” the reporter said.
“Forest had been transferred to a federal courthouse yesterday to begin jury selection for his upcoming trial when the attack occurred. According to sources, Forest was stabbed by another inmate while being held in a temporary holding facility. The suspect has not been named, and an investigation is ongoing.”
The screen cut to file footage of Forest being led away in handcuffs months ago, his expensive suit wrinkled and his hair disheveled. Tori remembered that day. The day Corbin and Luna nearly died infiltrating Dr. Forest’s secret laboratory.
“Walter Forest and his daughter Elizabeth Forest were arrested for their alleged involvement in a human organ trafficking ring operating out of the Chiron BioInnovation Center,” the reporter continued.
“The charges include trafficking in human organs, criminal assault, medical malpractice, and conspiracy. Dr. Elizabeth Forest died while in custody earlier this year from complications of heart failure. She had been awaiting trial alongside her father. We’ll update you as we receive more information. ”
The video ended. Tori put down her phone. “What does this mean?”
“All those months digging, and the one witness who could’ve blown the organ ring wide open is murdered before trial?” Blade smacked his palm flat against the steering wheel.
His breaths came clipped, measured. Like he was forcing his lungs to fall in line while the case bled out underneath him.
“Hey.” She touched his forearm. “We still have Elizabeth’s research notes. The FBI seized everything from Chiron.” Not to mention Trinity Brown, a walking, talking science experiment.
“Notes aren’t testimony.” Blade pulled out a piece of gum and folded it into his mouth. “Forest could have named names, exposed the whole network. Now we’re back to circumstantial evidence and secondhand information.”
The evidence against Forest and his daughter had been rock solid.
Financial records, victim testimonies, the lab equipment seized from Chiron.
More than enough to put them away for life.
But the FBI had wanted those at the top of the ladder.
They’d needed Forest alive to trace the money flowing into his operation, to identify whoever had bankrolled it.
A few midlevel associates sat in federal holding cells, but those arrests felt like swatting flies while the spider remained hidden in its web.
Somewhere in the shadows lurked someone with deep enough pockets to fund human experimentation, someone who viewed people as spare parts for the highest bidder.
Someone who could afford to eliminate loose ends before they testified.
“Well, sitting here isn’t going to help. What’s next?” she asked.
He inhaled a deep breath through his nostrils and chewed a few more rounds on the gum. “I’ll drop you off at your place, then stop in to chat with Agent Wells. See what’s left of our case.”
He shifted into drive and circled the parking lot toward the exit.
Tori watched his profile as he navigated around a minivan.
Another case consuming his evening. Another plan derailed.
How was Kiara going to handle it when Blade didn’t show?
She probably had dinner reservations somewhere with cloth napkins and wine lists, expecting her boyfriend to arrive on time with flowers and apologies for his demanding job.
Instead, she’d get a phone call about federal investigations and dead witnesses.
She twisted her fingers in her lap. Kiara deserved better than a man married to his badge. Didn’t all women?
Blade pulled into Tori’s driveway and cut the engine. He unbuckled his seat belt.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
His brows dipped, head tilting like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Walking you in.”
“Blade.”
“Tori.” He stepped out of the Charger and waited for her to follow.
She unlocked the door and shoved it open, light spilling across the living room as she slapped on the switch. Blade trailed in behind, palm hovering close to his Glock like he expected company.
“Kitchen first,” he said, already angling past her.
She planted herself in the doorway, arms hooked across her chest. “What, you moonlighting as my bodyguard now?”
He rattled the back door, leaned in to check the strike plate, then peeled the blinds apart with two fingers.
“I’ve been taking care of myself for years, Mr. Macho.”
“Humor me,” he said, opening her pantry door and glancing inside.
“You gonna check under my bed for monsters too?” She followed him down the hallway, half amused and half irritated by his thoroughness. “Maybe look in my closets for the boogeyman?”
He pushed open her bedroom door and flicked on the light. “Laugh all you want. Your stalker got close enough to lick your ear yesterday.”
“Gross.” The image hit her like ice water.
That hot breath against her ear, the knife’s edge pressing into her throat.
And then there was Forest’s death. No way that was random inmate violence. Someone had orchestrated it. Someone with enough reach to eliminate a federal witness.
Blade checked her bedroom windows, testing each lock and lifting the frames to verify they held. She trailed behind him to the guest room, then the hall bathroom.
Thankfully her cleaning lady had come two days ago. Otherwise, he’d be cataloging dust bunnies along with potential entry points.
“All clear,” he said, returning to the living room. “Keep your doors locked. Call me if anything feels off.”
As he headed for the front door, she caught his arm. “Hey, tough guy. You better watch your six too, all right? Whoever wanted Forest silenced might not appreciate you poking around their business.”