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“We’re going to set a trap,” I tell Micah, pouring myself another finger of whiskey. The amber liquid sloshes against the crystal tumbler, matching my restless energy. “One that ensures whoever’s behind these killings gets caught red-handed.”

Micah shifts his weight, his massive frame casting long shadows in my dimly lit office. “What kind of trap you thinking?”

I spread out the crime scene photos, arranging them in chronological order. “Look at the pattern. Each murder is more brutal than the last, designed to draw attention. To provoke a response. It could be a unrelated but my gut says it’s a copycat.” My finger taps the most recent photo. “They’re escalating, getting cocky. Time to use that against them and find out who it is.”

“You want me to leak some false intel?” Micah’s deep voice rumbles with understanding. “Set up a situation they can’t resist?”

“Exactly.” I drain my glass, savoring the burn. “Make it look like we’ve got a high-value target coming through—someone connected to the old New York operations. The kind of opportunity Alessandro’s crew wouldn’t be able to pass up.”

“And when they take the bait?”

“We’ll have Eve’s precinct ready to move.” A grim smile tugs at my lips. “Every cop in Columbus will be watching, waiting to catch them in the act. No more bodies turning up in dark alleys. No more families left wondering what happened to their loved ones.”

“On it, boss.” Micah pushes off from the wall, already pulling out his phone.

“Seb, go do whatever it is you do to charm the pants off Olivia. Just make sure to get her talking. Eli, you’re with me. Weneed to review the security protocols again, make sure there are no gaps.” I turn back to the surveillance photos spread across my desk. “We can’t afford any mistakes.”

I straighten, squaring my shoulders as I meet my men’s steady gazes. “It’s time we took this city back. Alessandro and his thugs have had free reign for too long, thinking they can operate with impunity.” My voice hardens with resolve. “That ends now.”

Chapter 15

Fleeting Dreams

Evelyn

Ipush away my half-eaten sandwich and sigh, glancing at the stack of paperwork still waiting on my desk. Being back at work helps keep my mind off everything happening with Zeke, but the endless reports are mind-numbing.

“You should finish that,” Narissa says from her desk across from mine, nodding at my abandoned lunch. “Never know when we’ll get another break.”

“Lost my appetite.” I shuffle through the files, trying to focus on the latest witness statements.

The words blur together, my thoughts drifting to last night and this morning’s activities with Zeke. The way he fucked me and commanded my body is seared into my memory.

The sensation of his touch still lingers on my skin like a gentle caress, making it hard to concentrate on anything besides the way his fingers trailed down my spine and his lips pressed against my neck.

The harsh ring of Narissa’s desk phone cuts through my distraction. She snatches it up on the second ring, her expression shifting from relaxed to alert in an instant.

“SVU, Detective Crane speaking.” She grabs her notepad, pen hovering. “Slow down. What’s the location?”

Her tone makes my skin prickle. I straighten in my chair, watching as she scribbles frantically.

“We’re on our way.” She slams down the phone and jumps to her feet. “Body found in an alley by a dive bar. Female victim, signs of sexual assault. They’re saying it matches our guy’s MO.”

“Fuck.” My chair scrapes against the floor as I stand, grabbing my jacket. Ice spreads through my veins, that familiar mix of dread and determination flooding my system. “How long has she been there?”

“Bartender found her when he took out the trash.” Rissa is already heading for the door, car keys jingling in her hand. “Dispatch says there are ligature marks on her wrists. Just like the others.”

I follow her out, my pulse thundering in my ears. Another victim. Another woman who suffered and died alone. It settles heavy in my chest as we rush to the elevator.

Fifteen minutes later, we pull up to the crime scene. The stench of stale beer and garbage assaults my nostrils. I recognize the neon sign—the same one that had buzzed above my head during those long nights of undercover work watching Gio and his men.

“Victim’s down here,” Officer Chen calls out, leading us down the alley. The morning sun barely reaches between the buildings, leaving most of the scene in shadow. Each step crunches on broken glass and gravel, the sound mixing with the distant wail of sirens.

The body lies crumpled behind a dumpster, partially hidden by cardboard boxes. She’s young—maybe mid-twenties—with long dark hair matted with blood. Her wrists bear the telltale rope burns I’ve seen in photos of the other victims. My throat tightens as I crouch beside her, noting the bruising around her neck, the torn clothing.

“Jesus,” Rissa whispers behind me. “The bartender found her when he came to dump the trash. Called it in right away, but …”

But it was too late. The words hang unspoken between us as I study the victim’s face. Her eyes are still open, glazed and empty, staring at nothing. Someone’s daughter. Maybe someone’s sister. Maybe even someone’s mother.