Chapter 27
The uniformed officer’s hand closed around Hoult’s elbow.
The cuffs clicked against the metal chair as Hoult stood, his movements loose and cooperative.
Hoult allowed himself to be led through the doorway, his shackles scraping against the floor.
Schmitt gathered his papers, but Tori remained frozen at the table, staring at the empty chair where her supposed brother had just confessed to stalking and trying to kill her.
Every detail Hoult had delivered matched the file they’d read. Purple pajamas, shared bedroom, bunk beds.
Blade didn’t buy it. Too clean. Too rehearsed. Someone had fed Hoult those details, coached him through each memory like lines in a script. Blade flattened his palm against the observation window, the glass cold against his skin.
Through the barrier, he could see Tori hunched forward, her hands trembling against her thighs. She’d swallowed it whole. The lie had landed its punch.
Edwards poked his head into the observation room. He nodded toward Tori through the glass. “She needs a minute.”
“Yeah, I see that.” He stepped back from the window, needing a moment himself.
He dialed Harlee’s direct line. She picked up on the first ring.
“What’s up, Tiger.”
“Tori told you about that, huh?”
“Totally,” Harlee said, keyboard clacking in the background. “How’d it go?”
“I’ll tell you later. I need a few things. Off the books. Urgent.”
Her typing stopped. “Go.”
“I’ve got our office running a DNA comparison between Jeremy Hoult and Tori using his stored sample, but I need everything you can dig up on Aletheia Psychiatric Research Institute in Seattle.
Patient records, staff directories, anything from 1998 to 2024.
If Hoult’s name pops up, I want to know immediately.
I also want you to see if there’s a connection to the Mandelbrot Group. ”
“That’s a tall order for—”
“There’s more. Nikos Crew Jr. had his name changed. We’ve got to figure out what it is now. And Officer Edgar Segarra, Millie Beach PD. Died ten months after the Crew murders. Shot during a traffic stop. No witnesses, no arrests.”
Harlee took a sharp breath. “You think this is connected?”
“I think something is going on. I just need to prove it.”
“How long do I have?”
Blade watched Tori through the glass. She pressed her palms against her eyes, her entire body shaking. The confession had shattered something fundamental inside her. The brother story offered closure wrapped in poison.
“Fast as you can manage. And Harlee? This stays between us until we know for sure.”
“Copy that.”
The line went dead. He pocketed the phone and returned to the window. Edwards had entered the interrogation room, his hand gentle on Tori’s shoulder. She looked up at him with gratitude, accepting comfort from a man who’d just delivered her greatest hope and deepest nightmare in a single package.
Tori stood and gathered her notebook, her pen, her composure. The professional mask slipped back into place, but cracks showed around the edges. She’d found her brother and lost him in the same breath. A monster wearing the face of her deepest longing.
The observation room door opened. Edwards stepped inside, his expression troubled.
“She wants to see him again.”
“That’s not happening.”
“She says she needs closure.”
Blade turned from the window. “She needs the truth. And that wasn’t it.”
Edwards studied his face. “You sound certain.”
“I am certain. Question is whether I can prove it before she destroys herself believing a lie.”
Edwards checked his phone. “Blood type’s right, but we’ll do a preliminary kinship DNA to confirm. Should have results within seventy-two hours.”
He caught up to Tori as she pushed through the maze of desks.
Around them, the station continued its routine.
Phones rang. Printers churned. A drunk in holding sang off-key somewhere down the hall.
His hands wanted to reach for her, pull her close, promise they’d figure this out.
But Tori needed space to think. Always had.
They stopped at the elevator bank. He pressed the down button and searched for the right words.
“You did good in there. Real good.”
She turned to face him. Her eyes locked on his, something broken flickering behind them. “He remembered our room. The purple pajamas. Everything.”
The elevator dinged. The doors slid open to reveal Sergeant Acker carrying a stack of case files. He stepped out, glanced at Tori, then at Blade.
“Heard you caught a break on your case,” Acker said.
“Something like that.” Blade pressed the down button again. The elevator had already moved on.
The elevator returned. They stepped inside.
The moment the doors slid shut, Tori collapsed against him.
He wrapped his arms around her and held on despite the fire shooting through his bicep.
Her head found the exact spot where Hoult’s knife had bitten deep.
He gritted his teeth, swallowed the pain.
They stood like that for a full minute before she remembered and jumped back. “Ay. Your cuts.”
“It’s fine. I think we both needed that.”
She ran a finger under her eye, checking her reflection in the mirrored ceiling. “What would a girl do without waterproof mascara?”
Blade didn’t think she needed mascara at all, but he didn’t mention it.
His phone buzzed. A text from Harlee.
Found Madison. She’s fine. Took personal days. Her parents just retired and moved down from New York. She’s been helping them unpack a condo in Boca. Very Florida.
He exhaled and held the phone out for Tori to read.
She let out a breath too. “Good. She deserved to stay out of this.”
“Yeah.” He pocketed the phone. One less thing to carry.
The doors opened to the main lobby, where civilians waited on hard plastic chairs and desk sergeants processed paperwork.
Kiara stood near the information desk. Her blond hair shimmered in the afternoon light streaming through the glass doors.
She wore a navy dress that he’d complimented last week, back when their biggest concern was where to eat.
She looked so normal. So untouched by the violence that had consumed his last forty-eight hours.
At least she hadn’t seen him hugging Tori in the elevator.
Her eyes locked on his across the lobby.
“Hey.” Kiara waved and crossed toward them.
They stopped beside a bulletin board covered in community announcements.
A child’s laughter drifted from somewhere near the front desk.
A mother bounced a drooling toddler on her hip while she filled out paperwork.
Dealing with basic problems. Parking tickets.
Noise complaints. Things that could be fixed with the right forms and the proper signatures.
A simple apology would never make up for the debt he owed this woman. He’d dodged her calls. Left her hanging for days without a word and canceled dates time and time again.
“Kiara—” His throat tightened. The words he should say—denials, explanations, promises—all died before they reached his lips. She deserved better than lip service. She deserved better than him.
“You look terrible.” Her green eyes swept over him, probably cataloging the exhaustion.
“Thanks. That’s what every guy wants to hear.”
She didn’t smile at his attempt at humor. “I heard you were attacked. How are you doing?”
He shifted, his bicep protesting the movement. “Stiff, but fine. How are you doing?”
She blew out a breath, her hands fidgeting with her purse strap. “Yesterday, I was called into HR. Someone filed an anonymous complaint about me accessing the sealed IA file after hours. I was placed on indefinite administrative leave. They took my credentials and walked me out.”
“Kiara, I’m so sorry.” He moved in, half a step, as instinct overrode reason. “I’ll make a call. Tell them it was my fault. I twisted your arm, pressured you—”
“Please don’t do that.” She cut him off with a raised hand. “I knew the risks when I helped, and I did it anyway.”
A uniformed officer walked past, his radio crackling with dispatch codes. Blade watched Kiara’s face, seeing the kindness in her eyes. The way her mouth curved downward, not in anger but in understanding.
“Kiara, I’m so sorry,” Tori said. “You don’t deserve this. You risked everything to help me learn the truth about my family. I owe you for that.”
“No, you don’t. I’m just glad you found answers about your family.” Kiara pulled Tori into a gentle hug that surprised him. “I really hope you guys figure everything out—about your brother and everything else.”
Her eyes found Blade’s over Tori’s shoulder, and he understood she meant him and Tori also.
Kiara stepped back, smoothed her dress, and walked toward the exit without another word.
The automatic doors closed behind her with a soft whoosh.
Tori slipped her hand into his. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He exhaled hard. Kiara’s kindness made it worse. “She loses her career for helping us and still walks out like she’s thanking the world for the chance.”
“We’ll find a way to make it right for her.”
Yeah. He wanted to believe that. Especially now, with the truth staring him right in the face. Kiara had been right all along.
He’d been in love with Tori and never knew it.
“C’mon,” he said, tugging Tori’s hand. “Let’s go.”
They walked through the glass doors into the afternoon heat. The asphalt radiated warmth through his boots as he crossed the parking lot. His Charger sat in the shade of a dying palm tree, its black paint dulled by dust and salt air. He really should run it through a car wash.
He opened the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel. The leather seat scorched his back through his shirt. The car was idling from his remote start, but the air-conditioning hadn’t done much to cut through the heat.
Tori thumbed across her phone screen and tapped rapid fire on the keyboard. Whatever she typed stayed between her and the phone.
“Seems like our only path forward is that key,” he said, backing out of the parking space.
“Your wish is Jett’s command. Harlee says they’ve found something and to meet them at the gym.” She buckled her seat belt. “Vamos, Tiger.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “If you think that’s funny, wait till you hear my siblings’ names.”
Minutes later, Blade pulled into the lot and parked behind the Kingdom MMA building. He studied the peeling paint as they walked toward the entrance. “Remind me to get this place painted.”
Tori nodded, running her finger along a strip of loose paint. “Stryker spent so much on the inside remodel, he didn’t have anything left for outside.”
“Yeah.” Blade pulled the door open, holding it for her. “Be nice for him to wake up and see it looking good.”
They jogged up the metal staircase and pushed through the office door.
Jett looked up from his workstation. The ultrawide monitor glowed around him, displaying code that scrolled too fast to read. Harlee sat across the room, her fingers dancing across a mechanical keyboard that clacked like machine gun fire.
“Tell me you found something useful,” Tori said.
Harlee spun her chair toward them. “We ran Damien’s financials backward and forward. No safe deposit box payments anywhere.”
Blade dropped into the nearest chair. “What about his wife? Michelle?”
Harlee looked at him like he’d asked what color the sky was. “We checked that. Both sets of parents. Came up empty.”
Jett rolled his chair toward Blade, wheels squeaking against the concrete floor. He handed over a sheet of paper covered in technical diagrams and specifications. “I uploaded photos of your key to my analysis software. Found the manufacturer, the type, everything.”
Blade studied the printout. Numbers and measurements filled the margins alongside close-up photographs of the key’s teeth and grooves.
“Bad news is it’s super common,” Jett continued. “Good news is it’s a specific model from First National’s old security system. I eliminated several banks right off the bat, but it didn’t narrow things down much.”
“Damien would’ve used a bank nearby,” Blade said. “Somewhere he had regular access.”
“Exactly. That’s why we shifted gears and did things the old-fashioned way.” Jett grinned and pointed toward the code streaming across his monitors. “With a twist.”
Harlee swiveled back to face them. “We built an AI agent.”
“With Corbin’s permission,” Jett added, “we cloned his voice.”
Blade’s eyebrows shot up. “You did what?”
“My AI agent is calling every bank in Florida. Corbin’s cloned voice tells them he’s a Special Agent with FDLE, his father passed away, and he’s got this key with a number but doesn’t know where it goes.”
“Don’t worry,” Harlee said. “We programmed in a sad son voice.”
Jett took over the explanation, his hands moving as fast as his words. “Once we eliminate the box by name, AI Corbin says his dad was a criminal and there’s a possibility he used a different name.” He tapped the paper in Blade’s hand. “These are the banks that refused to give any information.”
Harlee held up another sheet. “But these are the ones that gave us the name of whoever owned that box number.”
Blade looked at the second list. Longer than he’d expected. “How does that help us?”
“Because we ran those names against a database of known aliases for Damien Sullivan,” Jett said. He pulled a folded sheet from his shirt pocket and handed it to Blade. “Only one hit.”
He unfolded the paper. A single name stared back at him, written in Jett’s careful handwriting. His heart hammered against his ribs.
He grabbed Jett by the face and kissed the top of his head. “I love your brilliant brain.”
He turned toward Harlee, arms spread wide.
“Touch me and die, Tiger,” she warned, but she couldn’t hide her grin.
Blade laughed and handed the paper to Tori. She scanned the bank name and address, her eyebrows lifting.
“Half hour drive,” she said. “Not bad.”
He pulled out his phone and dialed Garrison’s number, hitting speaker as it rang.
“ADA Garrison.”
“Rene, it’s Blade. I’ve got you on speaker. I need a warrant for a safe deposit box. We’ve got probable cause based on a known alias for Damien Sullivan and the identity of the box holder. The deceased’s son, Corbin King, will consent to the search.” He glanced at Jett to make sure.
Jett gave him a thumbs-up and rolled his chair closer to the phone.
“The alias complicates the identity issue,” Garrison said. “The court will likely want bank records or lease documents as supporting proof that Sullivan actually used this identity.”
Harlee spun in her chair and shot both thumbs up.
“We have supporting documentation,” he said.
“Good. Send it over. Give me half an hour and I’ll see if I can get it signed.”
The line went dead. Blade pocketed the phone and checked his watch. Three forty-seven. The afternoon was burning away, but they finally had a solid lead.
Tori stretched in her chair. “Think Damien actually hid his blackmail book in the box?”
“Only one way to find out. And the bank will be closing soon.” He stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. “Either way, we’re about to get answers.”