bolt open. He was wearing a fake beard and that’s what’s in the cop’s hands.
“I didn’t get a good look at him,” I answer with my arms wrapping tighter around myself, “but yes. I think he was.”
The night continues, the sounds and the flashing lights and the speculation consuming every moment but all I can think about, all I can see and feel are those pale blues and the singeing touch.
If he’s not the one who left the note, how did he know to insert himself so seamlessly the way he did? Questions pile up and not a single answer comes to light.
“You need to go home. I’m taking you home.” Taylor’s statement comes with a hand on my shoulder that startles me back to the present.
With muted voices on his speaker and then white noise, Taylor presses the push-to-talk button and answers, “Copy that,” before moving his hand to the small of my back.
“Let me drive. Andrews will follow and I’ll ride back with him.” With a nod and a thank you, I don’t protest. I can barely think straight. I can barely even see what is directly in front of me. Instead I recall the cases. The first time I met Cody and the FBI team that was assigned when the bodies started compounding on one another.
His signature was the letters. His script matches the note. The entire quiet drive home I glance between the photo on my phone and Taylor, who does his best to comfort me, but the kindest thing he does is turn on the radio.
If he wants me dead… I’d be dead.
What the hell does Marcus want from me?
Cody
The messages come through one after the other. Reception out here in this part of Virginia is a bitch and as I sit in the back of the van, I listen to each of them get worse. It’s the makings of a horrific nightmare.
In the first one, Delilah disguises her fear with a sense of indignation. Knowing she’s scared, my blood instantly runs cold. Where are you? But she ended the call with a softer, I need you.
She can’t hide the fear in that statement.
Which makes the second and third messages harder to listen to.
Marcus.
My reaction to hearing his name on her lips is visceral. Bastard! Anger tears through me that he went to her, that he dared to make contact with her.
I’ll kill him. If he touches her, I’ll cut his fucking throat open.
Attempting to play off the emotions that roll through me while surrounded by my team in the back of the van, I can barely respond.
“Right, Walsh?” Evan jokes, shoving his shoulder against mine as we head down the highway.
“Right,” I say as I nod in agreement and then lean forward, gripping the back of Parker’s headrest. “Hey, I need to stop up here for a minute,” I call up to the driver, Bradley. The van has always seemed small with the six of us spread out in the eight-seat vehicle. Two in each row and the black cases in the back stacked up just behind me.
I do all right playing it off even though I feel sick to my stomach, and my hand’s wrapped around my phone with a viselike grip.
They all know about Marcus, but they don’t know the truth. The details are where the betrayal lies and they wouldn’t understand that.
I don’t rush out of the van when we stop. If I did, they’d know something’s up. They probably already do. I don’t want them involved any more than they’ll insert themselves without being told shit. They only need to know what they already know about me and Delilah, which isn’t a damn thing.
She’s for me to take care of and unless I really need them, I’m keeping them in the dark. That’s the way it has to be. The rest stop is typical. They’re always the same. Gas station on one side for passenger vehicles, with diesel pumps on the other for trucks and other commercial transport. The smell of gasoline is strong as I make my way past the pumps. There’s a convenience store with an entrance on the outside and then inside contains a food court and restrooms. The brisk night air is the only comfort against my hot skin.
Evan, a man taller than me and with more years in the bureau too, climbs out behind me and yells for me to wait up. The walk with him is silent and I know he’s catching on to