“I asked you a question,” Brett said, now standing directly behind the newcomer as he casually slipped on his coat. Chest puffed out, standing as tall as he could, Brett was still several inches shorter than the other man. His confidence wavered when the stranger turned, towering over him, and met his glare head-on.
Tension weighed heavy in the room as the two stayed locked in their stare-off. For the second time that night, everyone’s attention was directed at the man.
“I’m not looking for trouble, just needed a drink. I suggest you step back. I don’t do well with people in my personal space.”
“Get out of this bar, and stop harassing my girlfriend,” Brett spat, pointing across the bar to where I’d scooted as far away from the two men as possible.
The mystery man shot me a quick glance. My heart sank in my chest like a lead weight. Not that I thought I had a chance with the guy, but the idea that I could be with a man like him would’ve been fun to imagine later tonight.
“I was just leaving. Have a good night.”
He didn’t look back. Not once.
When the door shut behind him, I deflated, sagging against the register with his two bills crumpled in my fist. It was too much to hope for anyway; better he left now than for me to get my hopes up.
The hard buttons moved beneath my finger as I pressed in the amount for his beers. It was only then that I noticed the amount he left for the two simple drinks. His total added up to eight dollars, which left me with a $192 tip.
I grinned at the two hundred-dollar bills as I carefully smoothed out the wrinkles I’d caused.
“You all right, Ellie?” Brett’s words went in one ear and out the other. “Ellie, I’m talking to you.”
The annoyance in his tone had me looking up at my ex-boyfriend.
Ex, not current like Brett told the man.
Not that it mattered. I’d never see the stranger again.
Even though the thought made me long for something.
Something I was destined to never have.
3
Chandler
Fingers wrapped around the smooth edge of the chipped porcelain sink, I leaned forward toward the small mirror. A hollow man stared back at me, his eyes vacant and sad. Exactly what that bartender said earlier. Dark circles made my blue eyes more purple than clear. Inflamed red veins streaking through the whites didn’t help my strung-out look.
That was exactly how I felt. Strung out. But not on any drug or massive amounts of alcohol. No, I was strung out on life, my job eating at me case by case. The assignment before this was the worst to date. Anything dealing with kids was terrible, but finding them the way we did…. My reflection shook its head in disappointment. I didn’t find the bastard soon enough. Didn’t save those kids from the horrors they would live with for the rest of their lives.
That was what I had to live with too. The memory of their haunted eyes, blank expressions. Hell, maybe that was why my own gaze was so distant, haunted… sad.
Devastated was a better word.
Destroyed that I was never quick enough, always one step behind these bastards who I profile and help apprehend. Inadequate was how I felt most days. Lost, even.
Lost until those bright blue eyes met mine across the bar. Those eyes saw me, the tortured side I kept locked away. It was fucking unnerving.
I’d been told that was how some people felt under my watchful eye, but I’d never felt the same. Not even my own teammates had that effect. To feel stripped bare, everything I wanted hidden being exposed, left me vulnerable. Whoever this Ellie woman was, she was something special.
Someone special to someone else.
“Fuck,” I grumbled and shoved off the sink. “Get it the fuck together, Peters.” I attempted to make my inner voice as gruff and commanding as my friend Mathews’ for emphasis but fell short.
The hard exterior I had formed to perform in my job, to profile and track down the vilest of criminals across the country, fractured when we almost lost Mathews’ girl, Alta. It had been downhill ever since. That was a year ago. Fourteen cases later. Fourteen cases, twenty-five dead men and women, seventeen saved.
But did any of it matter? It was never enough. There was always someone else ready to come up with some new demented way to hurt another.
I scrubbed at my face. I couldn’t let myself go there again.
The soles of my feet stuck to the thin motel room carpet as I stalked toward the double bed that had a bedspread that looked older than me. The sudden urge to dig out my black light hit me, but I pushed it away. If I saw exactly what was on the bed, I’d never get any sleep.
And I needed sleep.
The stiff material bunched in my grip as I stripped the bed to put on the fresh set I always brought with me. Careful to keep the contact minimal, I tossed the lump of bedding in the corner.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I stared at the bare mattress.
Maybe it was just my eyes playing tricks on me from exhaustion and there really wasn’t a dark stain in the middle of it.
After blinking several times, the stain was still there. It was disturbing that annoyance filtered through me instead of surprise. Shit happened in motel rooms—I would know—especially shady, cheap-ass motels like the one which was destined to be my home until we caught the unsub. Destined because it was the only motel within a forty-mile radius from the police station.
Staying local helped submerge me in the case, allowing me to be available at any time for updates or when the next body was found.
Which it would. These killers didn’t stop on their own.
A grimace wrinkled my features as I glanced back at the mattress.
Sleep, yes. There, no.
Twisting, I tugged the small plastic chair from under the table and settled into the seat. The table wobbled on uneven legs under the weight of my elbow as I propped my head up and stared out the sheer yellowed curtains to the glowing Vacancy sign just outside the window.
The nights were the worst during solo assignments, which were becoming more frequent. At night there wasn’t anyone to commiserate with on the shitty lodging, no one to theorize on why the unsub did what he did. No one to laugh with or share the burden of the job.
A pang of loneliness ached in my chest. Heel of my hand to my pec, I pressed hard to ease the almost hollow sensation. Tonight was like a wake-up call. She showed me what I was missing with just a glance.
Acceptance. Understanding. Seen.
For the first time, a person’s brokenness didn’t invoke pity.
No, hers called to me.
The neon sign blurred, my lids heavy with sleep.
Not that any of that mattered with Ellie. She had someone else, and I would leave the moment this job was done.
We would never happen.
The last thought that slid through as I fell into a light sleep was of her knowing gaze and the spark of hope it spurred in my desolate soul.
The delicious smell of bacon and fresh coffee swirled on a gust of bitter wind, making my mouth water before I’d even approached the door. Loose gray gravel crunched under my boots as I wove through the twenty or so trucks parked in the lot beside the diner. Seemed most of the town was here.
The outside wasn’t much to look at with its peeling blue paint, dirty windows, and rotting wooden steps that led to an unsteady landing. But none of that mattered if the food was good.