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*******

Detective Oscar contacted us the following week to come in to the station.

“Did you know Z had a juvie record for stealing and stripping cars?” she asked Jake as soon as we sat down.

Jake nodded. “Yeah, why?”

“Given your law background and the high value of your business, it’s surprising that you’d have two employees with records.”

My brows shot up. “Two?”

I didn’t even know there was one!

I watched Detective Oscar and Jake look at each other, a silent conversation happening between them. “Who else?” I pushed.

“No one, babe. Don’t worry about it,” Jake murmured to me.

“No. Who?”

“Kase. And, before you ask, I’m not tellin’ you anythin’ else. It’s not my story to tell, and, more so, I know for a fact Kaseseriouslydoes not want you to know.”

As curious as I was, I knew getting the information from Jake wasn’t going to happen since he kept secrets like they were launch codes.

Plus, if Kase didn’t want me to know, I’d have to respect that. I knew the kind of man he was, and that was all that mattered.

“Sorry, I thought she knew,” Detective Oscar apologized, regaining our attention. “The reason I had you come in today was because with Z filling in the holes, we’ve been able to piece together what happened. I’m giving you the heads up right now, he’ll probably go for the insanity defense. I’m not your dad, Jake, but I’d say it’s also likely he’ll get it.”

“We already knew he was a fuckin’ sicko,” Jake muttered, his hand tightening on my thigh.

I looked at Detective Oscar. “It’s worse than that, isn’t it?”

She nodded her head slowly. “It’s messed up and ugly,” she warned before telling us Z’s heartbreaking story.

*******

Zachary Zane, then Double Z, before just Z, was Special Forces. In charge of a small group of men, he was known for being ruthless, conniving, and manipulative. He was also incredibly skilled with wires.

After his alcoholic father kicked him out when he was only eleven, he’d had to learn all of it to survive.

After spending seven years bouncing between juvie and neglectful foster homes, he put his skills to use by joining the military. Placing taps and traces, connecting and defusing bombs; if it had wires, he could do something with it. He had a high success rate. When he set a plan, he followed it to a T.

Until the one time he didn’t.

On a mission overseas, he met a local woman at the market. She’d looked up at him and smiled shyly when they both reached for the same container of milk.

Because of her perfect, sweet smile, he’d called her “Doll Face”.

Due to the nature of his job, they’d kept their relationship a secret. In a life full of hardness, she was the only soft he’d ever experienced. He fell quickly and deeply in love, to the point of distraction.

Leaving her one morning, he went to question a suspected terrorist. The interrogation was heavy on physical force. As the man hung by his bound wrists from a hook in his own warehouse, Z beat him. Savagely. Getting him close to death, one of Z’s men would patch him up before Z started again.

After more than forty-eight hours, they were getting nowhere and Z lost his patience. He wanted to get back to his love.

She always worried when he was gone too long.

He started punching, absolutely brutal hits, one after another after another. The man was close to death when a shriek filled the air.

Z turned, wiping blood and sweat from his face, to see the sister he hadn’t known the suspect had.