“Fair point.” He inclines his head to me then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and pressing his fingertips together. With his black eyes fixed on me, he takes a deep breath. “My name isn’t Alex. I don’t travel the world for six months in search of various religious memorabilia.” He reaches up and tugs on some of the black hair.
I gasp as it falls away, revealing light brown-blonde hair cut short.
“I don’t have dark hair, and these?” He points to his eyes. “They’re contacts. I’m not a traveler.”
“Then what and who the hell are you?” It comes out kind of like a shriek.
“My name is Jason Walters,” he says, the accent now dropped and the faint hint of a Midwest one filtering through. “I’m undercover with the FBI—but I really do have family in Sicily.”
“What the hell?!” I step back and look between him and Drake.
Drake still hasn’t moved, but Alex looks apologetic.
“Can you give me two minutes to explain?” Alex—Jason—asks.
“Two minutes,” I agree, holding two fingers up. “Starting right now.”
“This isn’t the first of these crimes. You just haven’t heard of them because no town wants it getting out that there are Satanists amongst them. Every string of murders has been in a town with a high population of Catholics and always where this particular group of travelers has been. I’ve been with them for six months. This is my third rodeo with the killings, but I’m no closer to finding out who’s responsible than I was when I joined them.” He sighs and rubs his hand over his lips. “It’s the same old story every time. The runes, the killings, the women… There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to them other than religion.”
Now, it makes sense why he knows so much about religion. “What do you mean this isn’t the first instance? Why haven’t we been told?”
“We have,” Drake grinds out. “We have the old case files on their way to us right now.”
“And you weren’t going to tell me,” I say quietly, looking between him and Alex. Jason. Whoever the fuck he is. He could be Big fucking Bird for all it really matters. “You weren’t, were you? You were going to let me work with you, within your department, on a case that potentially puts me and every single woman I know in danger, and you weren’t even going to give me all the facts and details, were you?”
Neither of them speaks. Alex/Jason is staring at his feet, and Drake is looking at the wall just as stonily as he was before.
“Were you?!” I repeat, my voice getting louder.
His head jerks. Just a tiny bit. But enough to confirm that he wasn’t.
I stop in front of him and stare at him. I’m still not in heels, so I have to tilt my head right back to even get a look in at his eyes, but my stare is obviously powerful enough to bother him, because his top teeth bite down on his bottom lip.
“Unreal. I don’t believe you! All of your crap this morning about protecting me. Well, thanks a lot, Detective. Thanks for giving me even half a fucking shot at protecting myself.”
He finally breaks, his hand reaching toward me. “Noelle—”
I back up, holding my arms out. “No. Don’t even… Don’t bother. I can’t even speak to you right now.” I yank his office door open and almost slam into my brother. “And you? Did you know?” I jerk my head toward Alex/Jason.
Trent’s lips turn down, and his nod is tiny.
“Am I the only one who didn’t?” I ask all three of them.
I don’t get an answer.
I don’t need an answer.
All of this information. All of this critical fucking information no one bothered to tell me—not least that I’ve been following a fucking FBI agent this morning.
“Screw you all,” I whisper, shoving past Trent. “I quit. Y’all assholes can do this shit yourself. I’m out.”
Hot tears burn the backs of my eyes as the betrayal hits, and I furiously wipe at my cheek as one escapes. I storm out onto the sidewalk and stop as the sun hits my face. If I’d hoped that the fresh air caressing my skin would make it better, I was wrong. I don’t know what I just hoped. I just know that, the last few days, I’ve been completely lied to.
While we were all at family dinner. While I was being told to keep safe. While I was cooking Drake dinner. While I was concerned about him and not sleeping—he was keeping this secret from me.
I won’t lie. I feel sick.
I thought I was a part of their team in a roundabout way.
I guess I was wrong.
So wrong.
“They know how fucked up that is, right?” Bek asks, swinging her legs into my bed and pulling the covers over.
We decided that a bottle of wine, pizza, and Netflix were the keys to tonight. After, of course, I cleared my house and office of every single file or piece of information on the case and locked every last bit into my home office. I really don’t care if that’s childish—I needed to get rid of my anger somehow, and that was the way that worked. The shoving of files and books and sheets of paper into a box was the release of annoyance I craved.
I told her everything. Of course I did. Have you ever tried to hide your tears from your best friend? No—because you can’t. It doesn’t matter if you’re fourteen and just been turned down by your first crush or you’re twenty-eight and just got brutally betrayed by people you thought you could trust with your life.
Okay. Maybe “brutally betrayed” is an exaggeration. “Seriously slighted” is perhaps a better explanation, although it seems somewhat of a contradiction.
“Yep,” I answer Bek, using my remote to scroll through the TV shows.
I’ve been fighting with myself all day. Are they really wrong—Drake and Trent and everyone? Am I overreacting?
I’ve come to the conclusion that, yes, they are wrong and, no, I’m not overreacting. I have every right to be angry with them for what they kept from me. Especially Drake and the conversation we had yesterday. He knew I wasn’t comfortable around Alex and he never thought to tell me or to clue me in at any point.
Bek takes the remote out of my hand and presses the power button. “Come on. It’s almost ten. We’ve already watched half a season of Empire. Let’s get some sleep before work tomorrow. I have an early appointment.”
I nod and wordlessly put my phone on my nightstand. I peek inside the drawer to make sure my favorite Tiffany-blue Glock is sitting pretty. Then I close it, shut the light off, and snuggle under the covers.
So my best friend isn’t much of a snuggler, but at least she doesn’t snore.
A foot smacking into mine jolts me awake.
“What—”
A hand slaps across my mouth, and the dim light of a phone illuminates Bek’s face. “Downstairs,” she breathes. “I heard something.”
Fear turns my veins ice cold.
“Maybe it’s a raccoon,” I say into her hand.
“That opened your back door?” she hisses.
All right. That’d be one smart raccoon.
A creak of a stair freezes us both.
Fuck ice cold. My veins are frozen. They’re fucking icebergs. I’m a fucking iceberg. I grab Bek’s hand from my mouth and squeeze her fingers.
“Drake?” she mouths.
I shake my head then lower her phone, glancing at the time before the screen hits the bed. Four a.m. She presses the side button that turns the light off, and in the pitch black of my bedroom, I slowly lean to the side. The low murmur of voices travels up the stairs. Male… Something recognizable but not at the same time.
I shut my eyes and squeeze them tight, willing the fear away. There’s someone in my house right now. Someone who does, undoubtedly, mean either me or Bek or both of us serious harm.
Usually, I’d look. Usually, I’d grab my gun, fearlessly run out there in my pajamas , and face them down. Tonight? Now? Not so much. I don’t feel fearless. I feel terrified. I can barely move thanks to the horrible apprehension pounding through my veins.