Chapter One
Brando
A hush fell across my soul.
They say that every cop has a limit. A certain number of bodies, one too many abductions, the last and final homicide that turned your heart bleak. I never thought that was true until today.
Maybe I became a detective for the wrong reasons. Maybe those wrong reasons helped right my horrific wrongs. Whatever those reasons were, they no longer played a part in my choices after today.
Two months ago, my partner and I killed the man who terrorized the University of Denver’s college campus in a stand-off. A serial rapist and murderer who disposed of his victim’s bodies beneath the floorboards of the abandoned hotel he’d taken over.
We found the bodies today. All fifteen of them. They dated back five years. So maybe it wasn’t the number of decomposing bodies under the floorboards—unfortunately, I’d seen worse—but the fact that I’d been following this case for two years thinking I was on top of things, and there were three years before me unaccounted for.
Three years and fifteen victims rotting under the floorboards while I chased other monsters. Like a pirate searching for his treasure, only to end up with a rotten chest of bones.
I failed all those women.
My soul sealed up and turned its back to me as I stood over the gaping hole in the floorboards the CSI unit had spent the night before excavating. All I could think about was Madison Hart, his third to last victim. Her angelic face, her broken gray eyes—that would have been her end, had she not escaped.
I’d ignored the pattern and overlooked the disappearances, brushing them off as typical college boredom when enrollment records had shown increases in drops.
I felt the shattering of my stability as it happened. The hardening of a soul long since frozen. My brain and heart separated, no longer on the same team.
I failed.
That’s all I could think about as my partner and I spent the following three weeks piecing together the cases. Trying to form fifteen stories from the bones. Madison’s disappearance case had been solved. She was set to fly in to Denver on the first of the month for the official closing of her case.
But finding those fifteen bodies opened fifteen new murder investigations. Each victim would get a new case, even with their murderer on his own gurney in the county morgue waiting an official autopsy. They would run DNA, retrace steps long since forgotten, and perform autopsies. Who knew where the answers they found would lead me. How many more women had he taken? Or worse, a new rapist, a new crime, an all-new killer to hunt.
More bodies. Faded with time, contorted with evil.
I couldn’t do it.
I knew it in the darkest places in my soul; I could not take on another murder investigation. One more body, or unsolved case.
I couldn’t risk losing another Madison.
My head hit my desk.
I ran on two hours sleep and five coffees. The caffeine had started to have the opposite effect, turning my stomach to lead and my brain to mush.
“You okay?” Ethan Cook, my partner, asked, slapping a heavy hand on my back.
I groaned, unmoving.
I heard his body crack as he settled into the chair across from my desk. Ethan was a forty-five-year-old detective who hadn’t reached his limit yet. He lived for the hunt, the end of a CASE CLOSED and a happy ending. They didn’t happen often, but I thought deep down how he combated all the bad was knowing he’d have a happy ending eventually.
I envied his ability to sift through the dregs of bad for one shred of good. I wasn’t that optimistic. Or maybe I knew there wasn’t any good to find.
“Hart’s coming in today, right?”
The idea of seeing Madison in my current state forced me into action. I sat up and ran a hand down my face, knocking out the wrinkles in my white dress shirt. “We’re officially closing her case.”
Ethan smiled and the gray in his goatee belied his youthful disposition. For forty-five, he acted twenty. Which was probably why we’d been able to work together for the past two years. I was twenty-four when I scored my first case. Working the street being a patrol officer with the Denver PD right out of college had been a bucket of ice-water in the face. My dreams of catching serial killers had evaporated in exchange for drunken domestic disputes and shoplifters. Until twenty-year-old Madison Hart was abducted from the DU campus. Captain Gutierrez wanted fresh young eyes on the case, and since I’d requested detective the moment I applied at the Denver Police Department, he gave me the case.
Two years later, I was a twenty-six-year-old detective who’d already reached his limit.
That had to be a sick record.
“Good feeling, ain’t it, kid?” Ethan sat back, letting his smile fade when I didn’t suggest a celebration party. “What’s up with you? You haven’t been sharp since we had the stand-off with the Campus Slayer.”
I cringed at the nickname the media had given the fucker who kidnapped college students, raped them, and then stuffed their bodies under the floorboards to rot. I didn’t know how to tell him how I felt, hell, even I hadn’t fully come to terms with my emotions. They were out of place and sudden, and for all I knew I was having a bad couple of weeks. Maybe I needed a happy ending like Ethan.
Or maybe I needed a new memory. A chance to wipe away the evil I’d brushed faces with.
I wasn’t a smiling man. I’d never been one for overt displays of emotions because frankly, I’d never had them. I had drive, and I had time, and that made for a lot of determination when your sights were set on catching a suspect. But beyond my job, I saw and felt nothing. Faking a smile for Ethan in that moment was taxing.
“I’m good,” I assured him, my lips lifting in the corner. We were both cops and we could easily hear and sense a lie; I turned my head slightly and picked up a pen on my desk, shifting the attention from my face to other parts of my body. “Just tired, I guess. This is heavy, Ethan.” I dropped my smile and casted my gaze onto him. “Fifteen murder investigations without a single happy ending. Tell me you’re not feeling that hit?”
His head bobbed, and a shimmer of unease slithered over his gaze. He wasn’t jumping for joy for that either. “Happy endings come from knowing the suspect won’t be out there doing the same thing to someone else.” His meaty finger jabbed at me. “Because you emptied a clip into his chest. Not all happy endings are glowing in gold, Brando.” He sat up and grabbed both hand rails on the chair, beginning to push himself up. “I came to say congratulations on a case closed. I know this one hurt.” He walked around and patted my shoulder before taking off.
Once he’d left, so did I. I needed a nap and a shower before I met with Madison Hart. I settled on a shower and a coffee instead, enduring the cold water from the old pipes at the station. I faced my unsmiling reflection in the station’s bathroom mirror, holding my gaze head-on like it was a challenge from within.
Not all monsters killed people. Some monsters did nothing to stop it from happening.
Shadows fell over my eyes, muting what little life remained.
I ripped my towel from my waist and got dressed mechanically. Briefs, undershirt, and a black suit paired with a charcoal tie and similar colored dress shirt. I toweled my hair until it was manageable and then plunged a palmful of gel into it. Dressing helped calm my nerves. If I looked put-together on the outside, no one could see the disastrous mess I was inside.
I’d learned early on in life that pretenses were as important as the truth. What people saw and what people wanted rarely aligned in that perfect way. Odds are, your perception twisted your desires until you were looking at what you thought you wanted. People wanted a cop who dressed nice and knew what he was doing.
They had no idea they were getting a twenty-six-year-old man who barely had his shit together. Pretenses—saving face since I was thirteen.
Sighing, I pushed into the cafeteria and headed over to the coffee stand. I held up one finger and the barista—having grown used to my silent caffeine demands—nodded and moved to give me my order. I lay down a five-dollar bill, knowing she’d pocket the tip, and leaned against the counter, watching her pour the steady stream of rich brown liquid into the paper cup.
Madison’s flight landed in an hour; I took my coffee to go and crawled into my unmarked Charger. Madison’s boyfriend, Klayton, had been the one to communicate with me. He expressed that he wanted to get our meeting done as soon as possible, so he could get Madison out of Denver and back home. I wanted that too. I wanted nothing but good for that girl.
Thinking about her put a lump in my throat and a burn in my gut. There was something about her, in her soul, a strength so damn strong she’d been one of two victims who escaped her abductor alive. It didn’t help that she looked spot-on like my mother. It didn’t help at all. But at least some part of my soul could cross their pasts and pull a shred of good from them. At least Madison got away.
Swallowing the burn in my throat, I headed onto the freeway, easing into traffic on my way to the airport. I parked in the designated waiting area until I got a text notification that their flight had landed.
I spotted her immediately. Her dark blond hair was down, flowing around her petite face. Her bottom lip was between her teeth, but she looked at ease.
The sight of her punched me in my chest. Seeing Madison healed made it easier to breathe. It made it okay for a few seconds.
Beside her was Klayton Caldwell, her boyfriend. And right behind them was someone I hadn’t expected to follow. Catherine Abbott. My heart started to pound. She was wearing skinny jeans the color of ink, this deep dark black, with torn knees and a pair of worn black and white Converses. The jeans hugged her legs so perfectly, I could spot the swell of her ass and the dip in her knees.
“Hell,” I breathed, leaning over the steering wheel to get a better look. Her skinny arms were covered in tattoos and her torso was hugged by a plain white shirt. The V-neck collar plunged so low I could see her cleavage from where I sat in my car gawking at her. Her obsidian hair and pale creamy skin only seemed to add to the pull of her entirety. The fucking girl was temptation wrapped in badass packaging.
I had that reaction every time I saw her. It was quiet, internal; no one looking at me would know my cock was so hard it hurt, and my heartbeat pounded in my ears. To add insult to injury, she felt it too. The first time I laid eyes on her, hers had dilated. I’d spoken to her during my investigation two years ago for the first time, and the bomb between us had been begging for a reason to detonate.
But nothing ever happened. Because that reaction existed so deeply inside, it wouldn’t survive on the outside. One of those attractions that wouldn’t fare in real time. It thrived safely in that space between want and fantasy. She hadn’t made a move, I would never make one—nothing passed since our minimal interactions.
And nothing would.
I straightened my expression and closed the door on my lust. I hadn’t lusted after anyone in years. Hadn’t been in love past intense attraction. I couldn’t do … forever. I could do right now, and I could maybe do tomorrow, but I couldn’t give anyone more than that.
Not to mention Catherine’s past was similar to Madison’s. They were strong, and they didn’t need some weak cop salivating over their broken parts.
I pulled up and got out, wiping my expression clean except for a soft smile for Madison. She gave me one back. I didn’t move to hug her; a smile was fine. She didn’t like men touching her or near her without her permission.
She took control and stepped forward, giving me her hand. Offering me her hand was such a huge step, I took the gift and shook her hand delicately. “How was your flight, sweetheart?” I asked, delving into her light gray eyes as she told me the flight was fine. I moved around the polite answers to find the worry on the edge of her gaze.
Being in Denver was hard for her.
“Klayton,” I greeted, giving him my hand. His tattooed arm shot out and grasped mine, giving me a firm shake. I met his gaze the same way I met Madison’s. Head on and honest. Good people deserved it. “I’ll get her in and out as fast as I can. Thank you for coming down.”
He didn’t answer me; he grabbed Madison’s hand and returned his attention where he wanted it. On her. “Let’s get you in the car,” he said, guiding her over to my Charger.
That left me with Catherine. My gaze latched on hers, and in seconds that fucking bomb was back. The fuse begged to be lit. To explode. To take us both down. It was such an odd reaction to have to another human being. To sense your demise in them and at the same time you wondered what it would feel like to be destroyed by them. My self-destructive side I’d sealed up tight wanted out. It wanted this woman to destroy us.