Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
While I’m digging into my pastry, though, he catches me off guard. “And you’re dodging the question,” he says. “Are you worried about the Police Union’s Ball because you don’t have a date?”
I glare at him. Hard.
He laughs.
“I wasn’t even thinking about that stupid ball, but now I have another thing to worry about, so thanks for that.”
“Anytime. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
I sip the dark coffee, opting for a double espresso over my usual Americano. “What if this guy is just better than me, Jay? What if I do my absolute fucking best to find him, and I still don’t?”
That’s my biggest fear and it’s growing by the minute, my mind off the amazing coffee and Police Ball dates now and back to the case. “Each new body presents fresh evidence, but we still don’t have a connection between the cases and not one fucking piece of forensic evidence to help find this bastard.”
“Frankie,” Jay sighs, and I prepare myself for the rest of his fatherly talks which are lectures and life lessons in equal parts. I’ve had many of them over the years, and sometimes they inspire me, and other times they piss me off.
“This guy, this killer? He’s a fucking human. He’s not a monster, but a man.”
“Lots of men are monsters,” I remind him sarcastically.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. A lot of men do monstrous things but at the end of the day they are just men. Sad, angry little men. When you start thinking of them as some kind of supernatural shit, that’s when they win.”
“He’s smart,” I shoot back.
“You’re smart too and you have a natural ability to read people that’s only gotten better as you’ve gotten older. He might have a few more IQ points than any of us, but that doesn’t make him smarter. Plenty of smart people have been caught by dumbass cops, Frankie.”
I smile. “That’s true.”
“Solid detective work beats luck every fucking time. Sure, he’s smart and dangerous. But he’s also a cocky bastard. Guys that don’t get caught? They hide the bodies so we can’t find them. They don’t put on a goddamn show. This guy can be caught, which means we’ll catch him. That you’ll catch him. I’ll be there to witness it.”
I nod and take another sip of espresso and then another. Jay is right about one thing, this guy is man, a living, breathing man with blood pumping through his veins. Not a monster. “I hope you’re right.”
“I am,” he replies with confidence. “And you know, if you’re looking for a date to the ball, Cassandra has a son. He’s an accountant.” Before I can reply, Jay lets out a loud bark of laughter that echoes in the night air.
“I’m not double dating with you, Jay.”
“You don’t date at all,” he shoots back.
“True, so why start with a ballroom full of cops?”
I don’t even want to attend the damn ball. There’s no way I’ll subject a new date to that torture. I can't save myself, but I can certainly save someone else. “I’ll be there with a fake smile on my face. Blessedly alone.”
“Probably not,” he shoots back. “I’m sure Nate will be there. I hear he looks good in a suit.”
Jay laughs when I flip him the bird. “Just for that, dinner is on you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Damien
“Insiders report that we are now dealing with an active serial killer, but authorities have not yet verified if the recent homicide is connected to the previous two.”
I can barely hear the female voice as I walk through the heavy wooden doors of Serenity House.
This place is the mental health hospital for the rich and famous in the southwest. It’s not uncommon to find famous movie stars and musicians, politicians and powerful executives roaming the halls to visit loved ones.
Every inch of Serenity House looks like it’s a rehab facility straight off a Hollywood set, done in blond pine and shades of green and blue. It is as serene as its name, and the sound of the ocean waves crashing in the distance offers a constant feeling of tranquility.
At least that’s the hope and why we all shell out a five-figure fee each month.
“How is she today?” The check-in desk is an imposing monstrosity, so at odds with the rest of the campus.
The day nurse, Tara, quickly turns the volume on her computer down where the news was playing and greets me with a warm smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wolfe. Olivia’s having a good day. She had breakfast with some friends and even made it to art class.” I hate how they always sound so cheerful when they talk about my sister’s condition, like she’s actually living her life. We all know she’s hand fed pureed food because she can’t do it herself. And art class? She just sits there, doing nothing. I know they mean well, and the words are meant to encourage, but all they do is piss me off. Olivia is a bright and beautiful woman, at least she’s supposed to be. And she would be. If not for them. “Thanks. Where is she?”