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That was a problem.
Ethan’s fingers flew over the keyboard as he searched for the club’s security system. Locating the IP address and working on access took less than three minutes. And that was when he hit another snag.
There were no archived recordings. The club’s system only offered a live view. No footage. No records.
Ethan switched from one available feed to the next, clicking through angles of the main floor, the VIP sections, the bar, hallways, and backrooms. But when he tapped into the office camera—nothing. A black screen.
Son of a bitch.
Whoever owned the place wasn’t just cautious; they were operating in the shadows, and the fact that one of the men who wrecked Mrs. Harvey’s deli had gone straight there told him everything he needed to know.
Ethan changed tactics. He started digging into the club’s ownership records while watching the street cameras outside, waiting for the man to exit.
Then, another alert pulled his attention. He turned to the second monitor, scanning the latest batch of case files his system had flagged as potential matches to the three murders NYPD was investigating. Two of them stood out. Pittsburgh. Almost identical crime scenes.
Ethan pulled every available detail, layering the New York and Pittsburgh cases into a single timeline. The Pennsylvania murders had happened over eight years ago.
Serial killers didn’t usually move locations. They hunted in familiar territory and controlled environments. A shift like that meant a copycat had picked up where the original killer left off, or something had forced the killer to relocate. Ethan leaned back, rubbing his jaw.
He could list every major serial killer in the United States from memory. Of those, only three had ever changed locations. There were always drifters—highway predators who prowled freeways and backroads—but those killers sought chaos. Terror.
True serial killers weren’t looking to instill fear in the public. They killed for the sake of killing. And that meant the guy wasn’t done.
A soft rustle near the stairs caught his attention. Thor padded into the room, his large frame moving with lazy confidence as he flopped onto his dog bed with a deep sigh.
A quiet knock followed. Ethan’s fingers flew over the keyboard, instantly shutting down all visible monitors. He turned in his chair.
Star stood in the doorway, wearing only his T-shirt, the hem brushing her thighs. She leaned against the frame, her eyes still heavy with sleep.
“I didn’t want to come in if you were in the middle of something.”
Ethan held out a hand. “Come here.”
She crossed the room, letting him pull her onto his lap. She nestled against his shoulder, inhaling deeply before sighing softly. “You couldn’t sleep?”
He rubbed slow circles on her arm. “Was already awake. Figured I’d check into what happened to Mrs. Harvey’s deli.”
She yawned, her entire body shuddering as she finished. “What did you find out?”
“Nothing much yet.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You should be asleep.”
She hummed in agreement but didn’t move. “I woke up, and you were gone.” She tipped her head up to look at him. “You shouldn’t do that. Makes a woman feel unappreciated.”
Ethan chuckled, sliding his arms under her as he stood effortlessly. “Trust me, you’re very appreciated.”
She melted against him, her lips curving into a sleepy smile. “You’re strong,” she murmured, her breath warm against his skin.
He carried her back upstairs, placing her gently on the bed before tucking the blanket around her and brushing a kiss over her forehead. “I’m going to head back down,” he whispered.
She snuggled into the pillow, already half-asleep. “Okay.”
Ethan watched her for a beat longer before heading back downstairs.
As soon as he powered his screens back up, his attention snapped to the nightclub’s exit. His search for the second man had finally paid off. The bastard had left through the back alley.
And he wasn’t alone. Ethan’s gaze sharpened. The man walking beside him was Enzo DeLuca, the same guy Star had unknowingly recorded at the hardware store.
A connection to the Mafia. His fingers drummed against the desk as the realization settled. This was an old-school Mafia tactic. You pressure the community. Shake down the most respected businesses first. Smash windows, rough people up, make a scene. When the damage is done, you offer protection—at a price.