Cole

––––––––

Tracing her jaw lightly, I watched her sleep for a few minutes before I left. She was so beautiful, like she had been painted to perfection and stepped right out of the canvas.

Nothing had changed; she was just as beautiful now as she was back then. Except here, laying beside me, Locke was a woman, a woman who had curves that I couldn't resist.

Running my thumb over her bottom lip, she shifted gently, rolling to her side. I would have given anything to just lay in bed with her all day, but I couldn't.

Following the lean lines and curves of her leg, I let my fingers scale down the soft skin. It was velvet under my fingertips, making my cock throb and ache for more. Her entire body was an aphrodisiac, making my blood warm and my flesh tingle.

I bristled with need as I stroked her inner thigh, running my hand up and down her perfect skin. Locke let out a delicate moan, but she didn't wake up. Gliding my hand down further, I plucked at the rope around her ankle.

She said she would stay. Trust has to start somewhere.

If I wanted her to believe me, I couldn't keep her tied up, confined to a single bed and four walls just to have my way. Locke needed to see me as the man I was, she needed to listen because there was a thread of trust dangling between us.

Free her, give her the chance to stay on her own.

The rope had burned through the first layer of her skin, turning it bright red. Touching the brazed surface, her foot jerked away on instinct, protecting the wound from further damage.

This isn't who you are. Don't be him.

Holding the knot in my fingers, I loosened it, letting it fall off like a bandage that wasn't required in order to heal.

All I could do was hope she meant what she said. Locke promised she would stay, and for now, I chose to hear her words.

Closing the door behind me, I locked it. My stomach turned as the metal clinked back into place. It made me cringe with disgust that the lock on the door was my safety. I had freed her from her binding, but I was not ready to cut her loose completely.

The pit in my gut deepened, spawning raw nerves and open sores. Tying her up was overkill, it was a split-second decision that should have never crossed my mind in the first place. But locking her in, that gave me a chance to still hold onto her.

Scrubbing my forehead, I convinced myself that this was the right thing to do. I relinquished the tether keeping her bound to the bed, but that's where it ended for now.

Locke was going to have to prove her loyalty to her own words, she was going to need to hold what she said on a pedestal and stay true to her promise. Then and only then, could the lock be discarded and forgotten.

Someone was following her, and the damage everything from her past had caused; to her, to her mother. . . to my dreams—I did what I thought I had to. There was no other option.

I doubted she would believe me if I told her the reason I needed to keep her here. If I explained the nightmares I had been having and how much my gut was screaming at me that something bad was going to happen to her, she'd think I was fucking crazy.

Hell, I thought I was going crazy until she showed up.

What if she figures it out? What if she sees his eyes in yours, hears his laugh in your voice? What if?

Shaking my head free of past rejection and black hate, I shut the front door and started for my car. My neighbor, Jane, waved as she pulled a paper bag of groceries from her trunk.

And I waved back, forcing a normal smile, and a normal head nod, pretending that nothing had changed since the last time we exchanged a hello.

It scared me to see how easy it was for me to trap my emotions and not scream out at her to call the cops, shouting that I had kidnapped a girl and was keeping her captive in my home.

I smiled. I actually smiled and she never registered the stress on my face or the sweat on my forehead.

Maybe I'm more like him than I thought. . .

Shit.

Fiddling with her key chain in my pocket, I sat at my desk in a daze. Six girls, six girls had been killed in less than four months. And I was no closer to helping the police track the man.

A stack of files sat on my desk, papers and pictures littered the area like a coating of ash after a horrible fire. I had sticky notes all over the damn place, pinned on certain facts, stuck to things I thought might be helpful in the crime scene photos.

But nothing seemed to send me in one particular direction.

“Glad you could finally find time in your schedule to show up.” Dean perched himself against the side of my desk, folding his hands into his ribs. “You're lucky I like you.”

Dropping her keys back into my pocket, I rested my hand on the desk. “Sorry, I really am, it was a family emergency.”

“Family emergency?” Cocking his head, his brow arched high. “You realize who you're talking to, right?”

“I know, I know, and I'm sorry. It's just. . . I don't know, I'm having a rough time lately.”

“Cole, you can talk to me, you know that.”

Hanging my head, I circled my thumbs around each other. “Yeah, I know, but it's complicated. And I'm good now, really.”

Dean's lips curved down as he grunted. “Right, you're good now. Got it.” Scratching his chin, he looked around the room. “So, anything on the case? Anything you think we might have missed?”

“Well,” I said, exhaling loudly. “Most of the girls have come from the east side, but were found in Prairie Creek. So he's definitely comfortable in both places, I can tell you that.”

“And?”

“And, he's on the hunt, Dean.” My eyes stayed on the layout of my desk, never looking up. An anxious sweat trickled down the back of my neck as I pushed my palm against Locke's keys.

I had a girl locked in my house, I kidnapped her. I took her all because of a fucking dream and the possibility someone was hunting her down like prey.

Proof that my instincts were right were nonexistent, there was nothing that I could use to excuse my actions. Just my gut and the possibility of spotting a stalker wouldn't hold up in court.

Good intentions and working with the police, having a detective standing right beside me was uncomfortable as shit. I was doing my best to act normal, like I hadn't turned into a convict myself.

The line I walk is already thin. I'm lucky my ass isn't behind bars to begin with.

My past was layered like an onion. Every peel you took off the surface was spoiled, it was marked and branded by a person I didn't even know anymore.

I hated myself for it.

Maybe that's why you're doing this?

Guilt. Regret. Anger.

“What are you keeping from me, Cole? Just say it.”

Glancing up, his eyes turned from friendly to serious. “You remember the other day when I called you about sending someone to Johnston?” I wanted to tell him more, I wanted to spew what I had done. Everything I had ever done—past and present. I didn't.

“Yeah, and I was going to ask you about that too. My guy said you were gone when he got up there. What the hell was that all about?”

Swiveling in my chair, I bent forward and clasped my hands together. “I saw this guy, he looked like he was tailing a woman. He had on this green sweatshirt covering his head, I couldn't see what he looked like. He stopped when she stopped, he walked when she walked. I'm positive he was following her.” Lifting my eyes to meet his, Dean stared down on me, waiting for more, wondering why I hadn't told him this to begin with. “I tried to follow him myself, I even got out of the car to confront the guy—”

Slicing the air with his hand, he cut in. “That was stupid, Cole, you should have waited for my guy.”

“I know, I know, but I was afraid to lose him.” Gripping my temples, I rubbed them hard. “The thing is, when I got out of the car he was gone, just like that, he vanished.”

“Are you sure you even saw what you think? I mean you said it yourself, you haven't been sleeping well.”

“I know what I saw, Dean.” Shutting my eyes, I dragged my hands through my hair.

“Did you get a look at who he was following?”

My breathing froze. Scrunching my lips tight, I shook my head. “No, not really. She was young, brown. . . Maybe auburn colored hair. I'm not too sure.”

Liar.

Wrapping his hand around my shoulder, Dean squeezed it with reassurance. “Look, I know this case is fucked up, I do. But from now on, let us do our job and you do yours. Understand?”

Tell him. Tell him everything. Get ahead of this thing before you're in too deep.

Nodding in agreement, I looked up. “Understood.”

There was no explanation I could give him. I couldn't use my dreams as evidence, I couldn't warrant what I did in a way that made perfect sense.

The knot in my stomach and the ache in my joints meant nothing. No excuse could turn my actions into a gold medal and the label of being a hero. But that didn't change my mind, Locke was safe at my home.

And until this whole thing was all over and the asshole was behind bars or dead, that was where she would stay.

I spent the rest of the day just staring blankly at the screen on my computer. All I kept picturing in my head was the man I had seen. I scrutinized the way he walked, I analyzed how he used his hands and positioned them on his phone.

Everything about that moment played over and over in my head like it was set on repeat. His gait was wide and a little offset, as if he was bow-legged as a kid and spent years wearing those metal braces to help correct the issue.

My older brother had gone through the same thing. I recognized the stance and the way his hips rotated out awkwardly a little wider than they should. The man's feet perched inwards, toes crossing paths with each step, same as my brother.

That was one thing I could always pick out on people. After spending so much time watching my brother in the same situation, it stuck out more than anything else.

An odd thing to remember, I know, but that's why I was so goddamn good at my job; the details. It was the same reason I could remember Locke's eyes and how they glistened with tears as she replayed that night, the way her lips trembled when she looked across the courtroom and pointed him out to the jury.

The devil's in the details. That saying had never been more true.

Sitting in my car, I held Locke's keys in my hand, staring at them like they would burst into flames before giving me the answers I needed.

Go home. She's been alone all day, just go to her.

Tossing her keys up in the air, they clinked together as they fell back into my palm. Running my thumb over the small peaks, I stroked the flat metal surface.

Maybe not just yet.

* * * * *

Twisting the key in the lock, I heard it clank free. Taking a deep breath, I turned the handle and stepped into the darkness. Feeling the wall, I found the switch and flipped on the light.

It was quiet, so quiet I could hear the bulbs as they sizzled with heat. A gentle thump hit my calf, falling onto the top of my foot with a plop. Glancing down, her cat, Frito, was rolling and rubbing against my leg.

His large cat eyes met mine as he let out a meow that sounded desperate. Dropping to my haunches, I scratched the top of his head.

“Hey, Frito, you're probably starving, huh?” Purring, he shifted his head into my hand, craving the attention. “Alright, I'll feed you before I leave, but first I want to look around.”

I wasn't sure what the hell I was looking for or if I'd find anything at all. But maybe there was something here that could link her and the other victims. Something that might connect the dots and tell me how or why he's picking them to begin with.

Starting in the kitchen, I fumbled through drawers and containers, scanning mail and menus, magnets on the fridge and receipts she had piled up in a small basket.

Nothing was sticking out.

Locke wasn't going to any of the local colleges, she didn't frequent any of the bars the other girls had been seen at. She shopped at two stores, she ordered from a single take out restaurant around the corner. She paid her bills—late sometimes—just like the rest of us.

But as far as I could tell, this woman was so far off the radar she was almost invisible.

Strolling through her living room, I ran my fingers over the pictures she had sitting on the entertainment center. Stopping at one, I lifted it up and held it in my hands.

Locke was young, maybe seven or eight, standing next to another girl that was a little older. Her sister. The two of them had their arms wrapped over each others shoulders and big goofy grins smearing their faces.

She looked happy, truly happy. The girl I remembered and the woman I found; they didn't look like they even knew this little girl at all.

Can you blame her after what happened?

Placing the picture back, I stepped around the coffee table and noticed the small light flickering on her answering machine. The red light went on then off, flashing a single number one.

I hovered over the table, fingers dancing against my thigh, tempted to push the button. Need to know ate away at me, it gnawed and chewed at the bone, making my fingertips tingle.

Don't, it doesn't matter.

The pad of my finger inched closer, shaking slightly as I tried to hold some reserve. Inches turned to centimeters, centimeters turned to millimeters, millimeters turned to light pressure. Pushed.

“Hello Ms. Saunder, this is Detective Frank Demacchio. I'm sorry to call you like this, but the last cell number I have for you isn't working and it took me ages to get this number. Well, the reason for my call is not on good graces, and I hate to have to tell you this in a message.” The detective let out a labored breath into the receiver, forcing a slight crackle through the speaker. “Ms. Saunder, I know what I've told you in the past, but—”

The man's voice kept speaking, but I couldn't hear anymore. He could have just told her she was also a fucking millionaire and that the Sears Tower had just grown wings and was flying into space. The rest didn't fucking matter.

He said enough.

He said all I needed to hear.

Everything just changed.