With Visions of Red (Broken Bonds#2) (7 page)

I
’ve been
in this position before. Torn between what I know and what I feel. What is required of me, and what I require of myself. There’s a part of me that questions how far I’ll stray before karma catches up. But the other part—the determined girl fresh out of training with vindicated revenge in her blood—can’t stop.

This is the first time I’ve been at a crossroads. But, even if I knew the destination at the end of either path, I’m not sure that would sway my course. I’ve come too far.

I hit “Enter” on my keyboard and quickly look away from the screen filling with data. I have never turned a blind eye to evidence before—but I have handled that knowledge questionably at times. My heart is urging me to turn a blind eye now, for completely selfish reasons.

Outside the glass walls of my office, chaos has broken out in the department. Officers scurry, fielding calls from the tip line while trying to weed through the many reports coming in from the people flooding the station.

Even at this hour, the calls keep coming. People who believe they have information on the “Arlington Slasher” or “Blood Count” have been showing up since the press conference this morning. Only the most pertinent parts of the profile were released to the public, but that was enough to get a reaction.

I’m just not convinced this method will lead us to the UNSUB. He’s careful not to leave any evidence linking back to himself; he’ll be just as cautious in his social life. The profile even stated that. If someone happened to get close enough to him, they probably wouldn’t live long enough to give us a report. He knows the area well, but that could mean he’s done his research, not that he’s from here. The logic is as simple as the very crude saying: don’t shit where you eat.

The UNSUB wouldn’t hunt in his own backyard.

As the officers continue to try to get a handle on the overflow in house, I turn back to my screen, not ready, but as prepared as I can be to take this next step.

I click the results and begin scrolling down the page. Colton Reed doesn’t have a very lengthy history. At least not one that’s on file. The details of his life are simple, common. Even boring.

I release the breath I’ve been holding as I continue to read. Colton’s last known residence was Roanoke. Never married. No known children. No felonies or misdemeanors. Not even a speeding ticket.

He attended George Mason University in Fairfax where his parents lived, presumably where he grew up, and then went straight into his field of study after graduation.

He worked for a major civil engineering company in Roanoke for five years as a site project engineer. He was promoted to a top engineering position before he apparently quit and left the state. No known forwarding address. Nothing. For almost two years, no new information on Colton Reed has been reported.

I sit here, staring at the screen, rereading every word and trying to render an accurate profile of the man I know while compiling this new information. Everything he’s revealed to me aligns with this account and backs my own observations. Colton is detail oriented. Organized. Is efficient at analyzing people and situations. He doesn’t take commitment lightly; he lived in the same area for most of his life, worked there and appeared ready to make a life there until he removed himself from all radars.

What doesn’t fit is how he went from a straight-laced career to a bondage rigger at a BDSM club. So I apply what I know: his brother owns the club. Colton said he needed help. That resolves the
how
…but what about the missing time between? Where are the pages to fill that gap?

Theories are taking form; triggers that may have spurred a sudden departure from Colton’s norm. Something monumental had to set off this unexpected behavior. Up until two years ago, Colton was predictable. Dependable. Above average, but he also flew just far enough below the radar not to draw attention.

Apprehension needles my chest. I could very well be building the profile of a serial killer. All the traits in Colton’s past portray an ideal life one needs to lead in order to avoid suspicion. To lead a double life.

But without a trigger, there’s no plausible derailment.

I scroll down to the bottom of the page, my eyes flicking over the details of his life as I try to figure out what I missed. He’s never shown signs of antisocial behavior. But that doesn’t mean it’s not there, below a well-constructed guise that fooled even me.

There’s no traumatic incident in his history to denote he’s a sociopath. Nothing that stands out amid his life to set off a chain reaction to create a serial murderer. And I had completely disregarded the possibility of him being a psychopath before—because one born into psychopathy has never known differently. They have never truly experienced guilt, nor have they ever truly felt emotional attachment to another life. I want to believe that I can recognize this disorder above the rest; it’s the most difficult to hide from a trained professional.

And I want to believe that the connection I feel to Colton is real. That it’s felt and desired equally between us. I close my eyes and envision Colton’s blue eyes blazing with emotion as he looks at me. Feel his touch, tender and then maddeningly aggressive, as he takes me. My heart races, and my eyes fly open.

I don’t need a background check to tell me what I already know. Colton may have some darkness buried, something he’s trying to forget—but he’s not antisocial. He feels with a depth that I have craved to feel forever…and I’m furious that I’ve broken his trust.

One day, I will tell Colton about my abduction. And that might be the day he invests his full trust in me to reveal the missing pages of his life. Until then, I refuse to let my twisted brain turn him into the monster.

I know who the true monster is—I’ve known her for a long time.

Moving the pointer to click off his information, I notice a flashing arrow. It wasn’t there moments ago—it was just flagged. My heart knocks my chest hard as I drag the curser across the screen to hover over the arrow.

A field pops up with a name: Julian Reed.

Colton has been flagged as a person of interest. And it has nothing to do with his possible connection to the victims. It’s because of his relation to the owner of The Lair.

Before I allow my brain to start formulating possibilities, I click Julian’s name. A new page blinks on, the scrollbar becoming shorter and shorter as the data overwhelms the screen. As I read, a vise-like force clutches my throat. I can’t breathe.

The rabbit hole I’ve tumbled down becomes darker, deeper, pulling me farther into the hollowness. I can’t find purchase along the dirty walls as I reach and claw. There is only down.

My hand trembling, I click “Print” and then collect the pages as they’re spit from the machine. Snatching the last one from the tray, I have just enough mental capability to grab my shoulder holster and slip it on as I leave my office.

I weave a path through the crush of uniforms and people crowding the bullpen, my sight focused on the office straight ahead. Someone calls my name, but I don’t respond. Don’t turn around. There is only one person I want to confront right now.

When I reach his door, I don’t knock. I march into the office to find Carson behind his computer screen. His wide gaze captures mine as I fling the pages down onto his desk.

“You better start talking, and you better have a fucking good explanation as to why I shouldn’t go to Quinn right now and have you removed from this case.” The words rush out hot past my lips as my chest heaves. I ball my hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

After he looks over Julian’s file, Carson stands, hands raised. “All right. Just calm down, and I’ll fill you in.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” I snap. I close the office door and lower the blinds, blocking out the chaos. Then I move closer to Carson, my eyes taking in every facial tick, bead of sweat, his posture and movements. I’m tuned in to his body language as I wait to hear his justification.

“You flagged Colton Reed,” I accuse.

He nods. “Yeah, I did. Just now, but it’s warranted. I missed the connection the first time around…but that’s because I was so focused on the brother.” He runs a hand through his auburn hair. “I was a rookie detective. And I was cocky. I thought I could nail him all by myself.”

“You’re still a fucking rookie, Carson. This just proves it.” I shake my head. “You’re working an angle behind my back. Behind Quinn’s back. He’s going to lose his shit when he finds out you got transferred here to pursue an old case.”

Carson’s brow furrows. “Quinn knows.”

And the betrayal is complete. Quick and cutting. Gritting my teeth, I fall down into a chair.

Quinn knows.

I piece together everything then. The killings making headlines, the departments made aware. Carson contacting Quinn about a possible connection between the two cases. And Quinn bringing him in. All without including me in the know.

What’s worse? My own damn interference, which ultimately kept me from seeing clearly. I came across this victim during my initial ViCAP search and didn’t follow through. In fact, as soon as I realized the vic’s association to a serial killer case I had worked, I shut it down.

As far as I was concerned, that case was closed.

I was sure of that.

There was no way that the perpetrator from the Roanoke killings could be responsible for the Arlington murders.

Marni Holloway was a victim in a string of killings that took place over a stretch of three years. The murders happened far enough apart that no one connected they were serials until later, and then they suddenly stopped.

Marni Holloway was determined to be the last victim. She was also in a romantic relationship with Julian Reed according to his file. Also noted in his file: Detective Alec Carson worked her case. Carson pegged Julian as the main suspect in her murder, regardless of the fact that it was documented as an unsolved serial case.

But there’s more…a new entry made just today. An entry that only Carson could’ve made that incriminates Colton in a two-year old case.

A blinding pressure builds behind my eyes and my ears fill with a high whirring noise. I squeeze my eyes closed. Block out the sound. Cradle my head in my hands.

I hear Carson’s voice trying to break through the attack, but it’s just a distant plea.

“Agent Bonds,” he says, and I feel his touch on my shoulder.

I lift my head, and Carson’s concerned face comes into focus. The flooding
whoosh
in my ears dies down to a slow trickle. “I’m all right.”

“You probably haven’t eaten anything for a while,” he says, offering a helpful excuse. “I get like that on a case, too. We should take a break.”

I shake my head, and immediately regret it. Pain lashes out at my temples. “No. Not until you tell me everything.”

He stands and backs up a step, keeping his gaze on me while offering me some distance. “I read your profile on the Roanoke Roper—” He waves a hand. “Sorry. Old habits. I mean, I read your profile on the Roanoke serial killer when I first got assigned as a detective on the case. It was my first actual case as a detective.”

“That had to be tough,” I say.

He releases a clipped breath. “Yeah. And I won’t lie, I mocked your profile. I didn’t buy into that shi—” he breaks off “—that analytic stuff back then. Truthfully, I was following Detective Quinn’s lead after he was called in to head up the investigation once it was upgraded to a serial killer case.”

“I remember. He wasn’t too thrilled about my profile, either.” It was the second time I’d been assigned to one of Quinn’s cases, and it was the one that put a bad taste in his mouth for me. Despite my tireless work on the profile, and his month spent away from his department to work a high profile case, the UNSUB was never apprehended.

It remains a cold case now.

“You were targeting Julian,” I say, continuing to ply the pieces together.

Carson nods. “Once I closed in on him, the killings stopped. I knew it was him. I had a feeling. There was just something off about that guy…and man, I wanted to nail him so bad. But he had an alibi. ”

“But the victims of the Roanoke killings were all prostitutes,” I say, mentally examining the case and profile, trying to figure out how he could’ve possibly made that connection. “I didn’t profile the last victim, but from what I recall, she wasn’t a prostitute.”

Carson squares his shoulders. “I was working an angle back then.” He turns and heads to his desk where he pulls out a couple of files from the side-drawer. “The girlfriend discovered the truth and he disposed of her, just like the others. I thought it was a sloppy cover, but no one else agreed with me.”

I run my sweat-slicked palms over my jeans and shake my head. “Weren’t you just scolding me earlier today about theories and speculations? That’s really reaching, Carson.”

He flips open a file. “Like I said, it was my first case. I’ve learned a lot since then, but I wasn’t that far off.” He tweaks out a page from the folder and walks around the desk to hand it to me. “I believe gut instinct is still the best weapon a detective has.”

A sickness coats my stomach as I read the report. “Where did you get this?”

“I’m a detective, Agent Bonds. That’s what I do. I detect and investigate. One thing about cities you live in your whole life? Information is easy to come by from the locals. Not much skill needed there.”

I stand and fold the page, then slip it into my pocket.

“You can’t take that—”

“I wish you would’ve approached me back then, Carson. I really do. I would’ve saved you a lot of wasted hours.” I turn to leave, but Carson catches my wrist.

On reflex, I twist my arm, breaking out of his hold and securing his arm. He yanks me in close to him, my body flush against his. “I’ve invested a whole lot more than hours into this case, Sadie. I’ve lost a girlfriend, become distant with my family, moved away from my home city…all in pursuit of this killer. And I’m not about to let you walk out of here without us coming to an understanding.”

I stay locked onto his hard gaze, noticing for the first time the flecks of gold in his brown irises. His measured breaths are slow and long as he keeps me firmly in place against him.