Page 18 of Darkest Before Dawn (His Perfect Darkness #2)

“Like I said, I’ll take a profile. I shouldn’t even allow you to do that, but you’re right. I need you. But other than that, I don’t want you anywhere near this case.”

I’m speechless. I’m ready to give my all for this case, and now I’m being ordered to stay away? Does he think I’ll be too emotional to keep a clear head and do the work? Because that’s fucking sexist.

Bonds doesn’t meet my gaze as he stacks up the papers I delivered and heads out.

I was also supposed to tell him about the dead birds in my townhouse.

Rex has a team there analyzing everything, so now I think I’ll find out what they have to say before letting the department know.

With my luck, Bonds will insist I go into protective custody because the killer is targeting me. Rex will be thrilled.

Maybe Rex was behind this.

I pull out my phone before I can second-guess myself.

Me: You promised to stop meddling

Sir: I did.

Me: They took me off the case

My phone rings. I usually don’t have any cell reception in an interview room, but somehow, Rex is able to get through.

“I thought we had a truce.” I want to sound angry, but I can’t keep the hurt out of my voice. I need you on my side.

“They took you off the case?”

“Yes. Conflict of interest. I thought you were done interfering.”

“I had nothing to do with this.”

And why should I trust you? I want to shout. “You’re sure? Swear it to me, Rex. Swear it on your parents’ grave.”

“I swear.”

I sag back in my seat. He didn’t hesitate. Maybe it wasn’t him.

“You don’t need access,” Rex says. “Anything they have, we can get, so it doesn’t matter. The PD is several steps behind anyway, and even if they aren’t, we can get any information you need.”

He’s right, of course, but it was only a few hours ago he was dead set against me being a part of the investigation, and I’m still raw. I’m still getting used to the idea that he’s serious about helping me.

“If I find out you’re behind this, I will never forgive you.”

“I understand. Give me a chance to prove myself.”

“All right.” My voice betrays how much hope I have in him.

Damn this man.

But if Rex makes good on his promise to help, I will have full access to any evidence NRPD turns up, plus the resources of his lab and anything else we might turn up.

It’s too easy to step outside the bounds of the law, so I’ll have to make sure any evidence we find sticks when it’s time to go to trial. But Rex is right; this will go much faster if I’m not hemmed in by procedure. I’m willing to break the rules if it’ll save lives.

I wonder if that’s how Rex feels.

I snort. If Bonds thinks he can stop me, he has no idea what I’ve already overcome just to come into the station today. I’m working this case, and that’s final.

First, I’ll get him his damn profile. I have my own notes, but the files from the original case will be a big help, so I head to the bullpen to put in a request for them through official channels.

I wish Rex hadn’t chased Mina off; she can get her hands on almost anything in a matter of hours versus days or weeks.

I shoot an email to an old FBI pal of mine, Dirk Larsen.

He brought me in on a few of his cases as an unofficial consultant and owes me a few favors.

I’m also pretty sure he doesn’t know I have personal ties to the BK murders.

He emails back immediately to say he’ll see what he can do, but the person who has the most information on the case is Lacy Collins, a former detective who worked on the Elyria force back in the day.

She discovered BK’s true identity as an alarm system salesman named Dennis Bundy and tracked him to the warehouse where he was hiding out.

Dirk offers to put me back in touch with her. I tell him there’s no need and I still have her number.

Then I pull out my phone and pull up her contact info.

Lacy Collins was more than just my mentor. She found me as a runaway. She was my hero and adoptive family rolled into one.

And then I cut ties with her. I moved to California and started a new life. I had no friends and no family, but there was also no one I could hurt.

She, of all people, could guess my worst secret, the one that keeps me running from city to city without putting down roots or making friends.

Do I dare call her now? Will it put her in danger? Is it worth the risk?

I’m squeezing my phone so tight my knuckles are a sickly white.

Finally, I decide she needs to know. I hit the Call button, my heart pounding painfully with every ring. Her voicemail picks up, and I catch my breath at her voice. Firm, kind, no-nonsense. “This is Lacy Collins. Leave a message at the beep.”

My own voice sounds shaky and unsure. “Hey. It’s me. I’m sorry I’ve been MIA.” An apology can’t begin to make up for what I’ve done, so I continue in a rush. “But I need your help with some cases in New Rome.” I hesitate but then decide blunt honesty is best. “It’s BK. He’s back.”

I end the call and clutch the phone tight, my throat clogged with emotion. All my old demons are rising up to strangle me.

You should’ve died with your family, my uncle told me all those years ago. If you had, none of this would’ve happened. My aunt had just died, and he was grieving, but I knew he was right. I’m cursed.

I’ve never told anyone what happened in the years after BK destroyed my life.

It started with my parents and brothers.

First, I dreamed of their death, and then I lived it.

You’d think their murders would be the worst thing that happened to me, but then I went to my grandmother’s, and within a year, she was gone.

I had a vision of her slumped over the kitchen table and walked in after school to find her exactly as my vision had predicted.

Slumped over the table, dead from a heart attack.

My aunt took me in, and the cycle continued. I had a vision of her collapsing on the deck. This time, I shared what I’d seen, but it was no use. She died a few days later, and her husband could no longer bear the sight of me.

You’re an angel of death, my uncle said. My aunt wasn’t cold in the ground before he kicked me out of his house. You killed her. I want you gone.

Everyone close to me dies. My parents and brothers, my grandmother, my aunt. Lacy Collins helped me, and I rewarded her by cutting off all contact as soon as I was old enough to do so.

I haven’t allowed anyone to get close to me since.

Not until Rex.

But I can’t think about that right now. I’m already too close to falling apart.

I stop by the task force room and survey the wall full of evidence, including the pictures of the crime scene.

Luckily, Bonds isn’t around to shoo me away. I’ve also avoided seeing Burgess or Cucinelli, which is always a win.

A photo of the scene around the body of Emily Rodriguez catches my eye. There’s a dead bird in the frame.

The door creaks open, casting a light over the black feathers to make them shimmer green ? —

I suck in a breath, blinking back the memory of the dead birds at my townhouse.

“There was a dead bird left at the scene?” I say to myself.

An old-timer—a retired detective who volunteers a few days a week—hears me and limps over. “Yes. That detail wasn’t released to the public.”

Which is why I didn’t see it on the news.

“Terrible business.” The old timer peers at the photo of Emily Rodriquez with her dog, leaning in so close his nose almost touches the corkboard. “Reminds me of the Blackbird murders.”

“The Blackbird murders?”

“Yeah, from a decade ago. Two murders where the killer left a dead bird at the scene. Just like this.”

“A blackbird?”

“Different types of birds, actually. The press never gets it right. The victims were both young women with dark hair and eyes. Looked a bit like her.” He nods to the victim’s photo, then glances up and does a double-take when he sees my face. “And a bit like you.”

“This all happened in New Rome?”

He nods, still staring at me. His back may be stooped and his eyes bleary, but I can tell there’s a sharp mind working behind them.

“Did they catch the killer?”

“Nope.” He shakes his grizzled head. “A friend of mine was on the case. Could never let it go. Worked it on and off for years before he retired. He passed a year ago; otherwise, he’d still be working on it.”

I have the sense of a key clicking in a lock, the same feeling I get when I uncover a clue. “I need to see that case file.” I straighten and start to head out.

“Won’t be here,” the detective calls. “It’ll be down in storage at City Hall. That’s where they keep the cold cases.”

“Thank you,” I say. I have an urgent feeling that I need to see the Blackbird case file immediately.

Beady black eyes open in death. The feathered body placed at the foot of the victim, wings spread ? —

This isn’t a memory. It’s a vision. The birds are a clue. The Blackbird murders are another piece of the puzzle.

I head down the hall, striding with purpose. This is part of the case that I crave the most—when a picture is forming, and I have a line of pursuit.

Before I leave, I remember I need to get my keycard replaced so I don’t have trouble getting back into the precinct.

Bonds might want to cut off my access, but I’m still a member of the force.

Plus, I should check in with the desk sergeant.

Explain why I fled the Green Street scene and haven’t returned to work until now.

But when I go to greet him, he says, “Detective. I didn’t expect you back in so soon. You sent that email saying you were taking a couple personal days.”

“Oh, yeah,” I say slowly. Rex must have logged into my work account to send that email, covering for me while I was distraught. It would be considerate if it wasn’t so on the nose and overbearing. So perfectly Rex.

I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t miss the way he took care of me. Even when he invaded my privacy to do it.

The sergeant continues. “And then I saw your name change and it all made sense. Here.” He slides an envelope towards me. I pick it up, unsure of what it is. “By the way, congratulations.”

Congratulations? “What?”

“On your nuptials? At least, I assume that’s why your name changed.”

“My. . . what?”

“I assumed you got married, and that’s why you changed your last name.” The sergeant looks as confused as I feel. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“No, no. . . it’s fine.” Slowly I make sense of what he’s telling me. “You said my last name has changed?”

“In our system. That’s your new badge there.” He nods to the envelope he handed over.

I open it and shake out the new white badge. I can guess what the last name will be before I see it.

It reads, “Detective Inara Roy.” I have a surreal sense of deja vu and shake my head to clear it. It’s not a vision, just a feeling that I’ve entered some sort of alternate reality.

Roy. So that’s the reason the sergeant thinks I got hitched. Somehow, someone changed my name in the system.

“There’re a couple of forms for you to fill out, too,” the sergeant prattles on, oblivious to the fact that my brain is glitching. “Do you have your new ID?”

My shock is fading, drowned out by disbelief. I can’t believe this is happening. “There’s been a mistake. I haven’t changed my last name.”

The sergeant frowns at the computer. “Our system says otherwise.”

I stare at the badge. Inara Roy.

I don’t need a detective badge to solve this mystery. There’s only one man who has the power and influence to do something like this: Rex fucking Roy.

You belong to me.

Are all billionaires like dogs needing to pee on their territory and advertise their ownership in any way they can? Or just the one billionaire who’s obsessed with me?

Either way, I’m going to kill him.

“Your system is wrong,” I grind out.

The sergeant doesn’t seem to know what to say.

I sigh. “How do I fix it?”

“Name changes are processed at City Hall. You might go talk to them.”

“Great. I’ll get right on that.” I don’t have time for this, but I need to push back.

And I have to go down to City Hall anyway to look up old records anyway.

New badge in my pocket, I head outside, texting as I go.

Me: Wtf

Me: You changed my name.

Sir: Good morning, Mrs. Roy.

Unbelievable. I ignore the way my heart feels a little thrill, knowing he’s publicly claimed me.

Me: Marking your territory?

Sir: Now everyone will know you belong to me

Gah! I knew it. I add a few angry emojis to my next message.

Me: everyone will think we’re married

Sir: Exactly.

Is he serious?

Me: I’m changing it back. enjoy it while it lasts

Sir: I will

I can feel his smugness radiating from my phone.

I text him:

I thought you were going to back off

Sir: Never

A minute ago, I felt like I had lost everyone I’d ever gotten close to. But here’s Rex reminding me he won’t leave. It warms me through more than I can say.

Biting my lip, I shoot back a reply.

Me: Maybe I wanted you to take my last name

Sir: that can be arranged

Sir: Shall we hyphenate?

Despite myself, my lips curve into a smile. It’s just so ridiculous.

Sir: Roy-Ramos has a nice ring to it.

Me: NO

Me: we’re not changing our names. We’re not married

Sir: I have paperwork that says otherwise

Did he really file for a marriage license? No. He has to be bluffing.

Me: get ready for the fastest divorce in history

I pocket my phone before walking out the front doors of the precinct.

And all hell breaks loose.