Page 19

“He was found this morning in his car,” Troya spoke hoarsely. “It was parked by the river. A jogger spotted him through the window.”

Calix stared down at the body on the table in the hospital morgue, an odd sense of numbness taking over him. He’d gotten the call less than twenty minutes ago and had rushed here, still wearing his pajama shirt over his jeans, which he’d only just remembered to throw on.

“Estimated time of death is between eleven and one.” Mitri, who was standing next to Troya on the opposite side of the table, took Cal in with a solemn expression. “Would you like to sit down, Detective?”

“No.” His fists tightened at his sides, though they couldn’t see it with the table blocking their view.

There was only a small thread of anger he could feel through the wall of ice that had encased him the moment he’d stepped foot into the room and seen the body with his own eyes. He tried to grab onto it, tried to cling and allow himself to experience the emotion it was clear the other two were, but it eluded him.

Not because he didn’t care.

Because he had never experienced a loss like this before in his adult life, and he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

If he even had a right to it.

“Maybe you should,” Troya suggested. “He was like a father figure to you.”

“I spoke to him once or twice a year,” Calix corrected in a clipped tone, but even though he was frozen inside, he wasn’t fooling either of them.

“Sit down, Cal,” the Inspector snapped, and even though he’d never followed his authority, the soothing balm of having a straightforward order got Calix into motion, at least a little.

He didn’t sit, but he did step away from the body, finally tearing his gaze off the still face that only yesterday had been colored with life and possibility.

“How did he die?” He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to say more firmly, “How did Bruce die?”

Bruce, who had been placed on this table and would later be placed in a casket and placed in the ground. The one person who’d believed in his idiotic teenage self, despite all the noise from the public and the evidence that could have leaned either way. If not for Bruce and Titus, Cal wouldn’t be here right now, he’d be locked up in prison on the other side of the city.

“Where’s Amory?” he demanded before either of them could answer his first question.

Troya grasped the back of his neck, obviously tense. “We can’t find her.”

“She’s disappeared,” Mitri confirmed. “I tried calling her a dozen times, but her multi-slate is off, which isn’t like her. I’m afraid whoever did this got to her, too. The last thing she told me yesterday evening before leaving the hospital was she’d gotten a call from Bruce and planned on meeting with him.”

“It wasn’t a meeting,” Cal corrected. “It was an interrogation.”

“Pardon?”

“There’s reason to believe she’s involved with the murders, either as the killer we’re after or as an accomplice.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“What are you talking about?” Troya rested a hand on Mitri’s shoulder and frowned at Cal. “We’re looking into Rhett Elliot still, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but—”

“According to the head nurse I spoke with this morning,” Mitri interrupted them, “Rhett never showed for his shift last night.”

“What?” Calix swore. “Why weren’t we notified?”

Mitri stared at him wide-eyed. “Amory said she was going to tell Bruce once she met up with him and go from there.”

“Fuck.” Troya turned and punched the metal door of the mortuary cabinet directly over the one that housed Bruce.

“There’s no way she did this,” Mitri insisted. “I know her! She would never! Being an officer of the law is her life! She’s wanted this job since she was in grade school!”

“Yet she chose to stay here and attend regular training instead of joining the Academy?” Troya set his hands on his hips. “Why is that? If her big dream had always been to be a cop?”

“Here,” Mitri snapped. “She wanted to be a cop here , specifically. Multiple paths can lead to the same destination, Inspector. Amory has always believed in cleaning up Emergence streets. Hunting down the corrupt and the monstrous—”

“What did you just say?” Calix stopped him. That word. Monstrous.

The man who’d fucked him in the woods that day had called him that.

Right after Cal and Amory had gotten separated.

Mitri’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Just that—”

Cal’s multi-slate rang then, and concerned it might have something to do with their missing suspects, he answered, not even bothering with the earpiece. “Detective Valimir.”

“Detective,” Titus’s cool voice came through the speakers, “I’d appreciate it if you could come to my office.”

“I’m kind of busy.” The last thing he wanted to do was confront the director and have another weird misfiring of his emotions. Seemed like whenever he was around the older man, he felt strange, and right now, he needed to keep his wits about him.

“It’s rather urgent, I’m afraid,” Titus said.

“So is this. I’m sorry but—”

“Give it to me,” another voice, this sounding more frantic and impatient, growled a moment before he spoke to Cal. “This is Rhett Elliot, Detective. Currently, I have a blaster to the director's head. Are you willing to come see him now?”

His blood went cold. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Five,” Rhett said. “I know you’re in the building. Five minutes and Director Mercer won’t have to leave here with his brains splattered all over the carpet.”

There was a derisive snort and then a loud cracking sound that had Calix and the others in the room with him tensing.

“What was that?” he asked, but the line went dead.

“This is a trap,” Troya stated the obvious as Calix and he headed for the exit.

“Call the station and get backup,” he ordered. “We need to secure the area in case he slips past me.”

“There’s a hotel next door,” he divulged, already typing on his device to send the commands. “Titus’s office faces it. I’ll see if I can get a sniper up there. If there’s a good enough vantage—”

“Tell whoever you get if they can find a clear shot,” Calix stepped into the elevator, “take it.”

“Understood.” Troya followed him inside, but Cal stopped Mitri when he went to do the same.

“You stay here. I want answers about Bruce when I come back. I need everything you can possibly find,” Calix said.

Mitri wrung his hands but ended up nodding just as the doors shut on him.

“You thinking he might be in on it?” Troya asked as soon as the elevator began to rise. “He and Amory seem pretty close.”

“They went to the same college for a bit before she switched career paths,” Cal told him.

“Didn’t he just say being an officer has always been her dream?”

“Yeah, but apparently her dad didn’t approve. She went to college for a year before dropping out.”

Troya eyed him. “I didn’t realize you two had also gotten this close.”

“We haven’t.” He shrugged. “It’s my job to ask questions, you know that.”

“Pry, you mean,” Troya grunted. “That’s what you do, Cal. You pry. For a quiet guy, you’re pretty good at opening people up.”

He scowled, not sure why he’d felt the need to word it that way, but they came to their floor and the doors dinged. Both of them placed a hand on their weapons as they headed down the hall where a crowd was already beginning to gather.

“Clear these people,” Calix said.

“I’m going in with you.” Troya stuck close to his side. “We’re partners.”

“We’re I.P.F. agents,” he corrected. “Protecting the public comes first.”

They stopped in front of the closed office door and both unholstered and raised their weapons.

“Back up, people!” Troya waved at the crowd, putting himself between them and the door as Cal placed his hand on the control panel set in the side of the wall and opened it. “Shit, Cal, don’t!”

He stepped inside, gun aimed, and allowed the door to swish shut behind his back.

Rhett was standing on the other side of Titus’s desk with a blaster pressed against the director’s temple. The man was about a foot shorter than the director, and he didn’t seem nearly as put together, which was odd, considering their positions.

“Hello, Detective,” Titus greeted him in a breezy tone, as though he wasn’t currently at risk of dying at the hand of a madman. “I see you were rushed this morning.” His gaze lingered on Cal’s pajama shirt, a mint green color with a single yellow star stitched over his left hip.

“Shut up!” Rhett warned, shoving the tip of the gun more firmly against Titus’ forehead before turning to address Calix. “I didn’t do it, you have to help me, Detective.”

He quirked a brow. “Kind of hard to believe you’re innocent when you’ve got a weapon to the director's head like that.”

“I don’t know why I’m doing this!” he hissed. “I don’t know what’s going on, I just feel so…”

“You’re anxious, Rhett,” Titus supplied.

“Yes!” He nodded vehemently. “I’m anxious and scared! I didn’t do anything wrong, so why are you looking at me?! I haven’t killed anyone!”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Calix suggested. “Put the gun down, and we can talk.”

“You’ll shoot me if I do that.”

“No, I won’t. I’m an I.P.F. agent, remember? I’m not allowed to go around shooting people for no reason. This, this is pretty bad, but so far you haven’t actually hurt the director, so there’s still a chance for you. Put the weapon on the desk and step away, Rhett. I promise, I’ll hear you out.”

“No, no, that’s what she said too! She said she was an officer of the law, so I didn’t have to worry about a thing. That she’d keep my secret. Lying bitch!”

“Are you talking about Officer Paige?” Were they working together after all? “Do you know where she currently is?”

“Ask him!” Rhett shoved the blaster against Titus’s temple so hard he ended up losing his footing.

The director caught himself on the edge of the table, but Rhett was still annoyed that he’d moved, whacking the gun against his head.

“Hey!” Calix took a step closer, then froze when Rhett righted himself and pointed the gun back at Titus.

“Don’t you like the blood?” Rhett asked, and his mood seemed to shift dramatically from paranoid to bubbly in the blink of an eye. He even giggled. “That’s what I heard. Isn’t it? You like blood, too. How many people have you hurt, Detective? How much blood have you spilled to satisfy your monstrous cravings?”

“Where the hell did you hear that?” There was that word again. Monstrous. What the fuck was going on here?

“He told me,” Rhett pointed at Titus.

“I did no such thing,” the director instantly denied.

“Well, not directly. Not really. Sort of,” Rhett rambled. “They were talking about you, though, I’m sure of it. Hard to miss. Hard not to realize. There’s only one guy who’s famous for breaking the spine of a famous sports protégé, isn’t that right, Detective? Isn’t that you ?”

“He’s not in his right mind,” Titus said. “Rhett, you need mental help. You’re having a break. That’s all this is. Let us get you—”

“I won’t take the fall for something I didn’t do,” Rhett snarled. “I’ve seen you and the doctor. I’ve seen—”

“Were you accosted in the woods four weeks ago, Calix?” Titus asked suddenly, noting the way Cal bristled. “It was Rhett.”

“What?! No! Liar!”

“It was different than it was at the reunion, wasn’t it?” Titus kept going. “You had a feeling it wasn’t the same man.”

Yes, that’s why Cal hadn’t referred to him as Heathe in his mind during the act. He’d wanted to believe it was Heathe because that made the most logical sense. There’d been differences in their demeanor, of course, but he’d chalked that up to the version he’d met at the reunion being an act. Heathe had been trying to lure him from the party. Of course he’d been charming up to that point.

But then again…

He frowned at Rhett, taking in his stature. While he hadn’t gotten a good look at the man who’d fucked him in the woods, he was certain he’d been taller and broader than the orderly. Their syntax had been similar, but that wasn’t enough to convince him.

“Oh, I get it, I understand.” Rhett waved the gun between them, too fast for Cal to risk firing his own weapon. “You’re in it together, aren’t you? Same as you were back then. When he cleared your name.”

Calix struggled to maintain control of his own emotions, but a zap of insecurity and suspicion rocked through him. “Excuse me?”

“He got you off the hook, so now you’re here to ensure he walks away as well, that it?” Rhett laughed, the sound off, manic. The bubbly mood was slipping as well, and the paranoia was returning.

“You ran a fellow classmate over with your car. He,” he jabbed Titus with the gun, “cuts off a few heads. They’re not really equal, Detective.”

“He’s lying,” Titus told Cal, holding his gaze steadily. “I’ve never cut off anyone’s head. You have my word.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Rhett said. “You both know. We all do. You hit that kid on purpose, and the director let you get away with it. You’re working together. Which means this was a mistake, and I should just shoot you both.”

Paranoia swept through Calix now as well. The jumble of words pouring from the orderly’s mouth brought forth old emotions and fears he would much rather stay buried. The guilt was there as well, because right now Bruce’s cold body was lying on a slab, while the three of them were up here still breathing.

It should be them on that slab.

Should be Rhett.

Should be Cal.

Hell, should be Titus if what Rhett was saying had even a modicum of truth to it.

Rhett took a step to the side, as though he’d need more room to pull the trigger. It was foolish and made no sense, but then again, nothing he’d been saying this entire time did.

Calix reacted faster, pulling the trigger on his blaster once before turning the weapon on Titus.

The first bullet went straight through Rhett’s head and out the other side, pinging into the wall. The body stood there for a moment, wavering on its feet before toppling to the ground in a heap.

“Are you planning on shooting me next, Detective?” Titus asked, still as calm as he’d been with the other gun pointed at him.

“Cal?!” Troya’s voice came through the door, followed by banging. “Calix?! Open the damn door! Cal?!”

“Well?” Titus cocked his head. “Now’s your chance, I assure you, you won’t get another.”

“Chance?”

“Don’t play dumb. We’re past that point.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Rhett did.”

“Rhett was clearly insane.”

“Yet you believe him?”

“I never said that.”

“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be aiming a gun at me, Detective.” Titus stood there, poised and graceful, as though in total control of the situation.

There was something comforting in that, something that made Cal want to take to his lead. Made him want to follow.

“Did you know I was broken?” he found himself asking. “Back then?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation, no need to think his answer over. Just short and simple.

Cal exhaled. “How?”

“I saw the footage, remember? You were aroused when you stepped out of the car to check on Nero Quentin. Some would call that an abnormal reaction to having just hit someone with a vehicle.”

“Some?” he licked his lips. “But not you?”

“Calix, it was a misattribution of desire. It’s as simple as that and actually rather common. The fear and adrenaline you felt when you hit Nero increased your heart rate and your blood pressure, which in turn increased blood flow to your genitals.”

Cal grimaced at that term, but the director wasn’t done.

“For someone like you, someone who’d already experienced a blending of pain, fear, and pleasure, it’s not surprising your body reacted that way. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. In the eyes of society, it might not be considered normal, but in the eyes of science…Well, that’s a separate matter.”

Calix searched his gaze, seeking out any signs of change when he asked, “Was it you? Did you get rid of the tape?”

He’d always thought it was Bruce but…The chief had never mentioned noticing he’d been hard in that video. Honestly, Cal was a bit surprised Titus had picked up on it. It wasn’t that noticeable, which was why he’d believed Bruce hadn’t seen. Why he hadn’t been worried about it all this time.

“A simple thank you will suffice,” Titus drawled. “There’s no need to wave a gun in my face. Unless you plan on shooting to silence me? I just reminded you I’ve seen the tape.”

He’d seen the tape and he was clearly more perceptive than Bruce or any of the other officers who’d been assigned Calix’s case. He’d seen them, which meant he knew what Cal knew deep down.

“Did you tell him?” He motioned to Rhett’s cooling corpse.

“I haven’t told a soul,” Titus reassured. “And I never will.”

“Because?”

“Because, little monstrous one, I see no reason to.”

If Cal hadn’t already been thrown by that word twice already this morning, he might believe—

There was a chirp, and all of a sudden the door to the office began to open. Calix dropped his weapon, frowning at Titus as Troya and three other officers flooded into the room.

“Are you okay?” Troya demanded, shaking Cal to get his attention.

Was he?

Cal maintained eye contact with Titus even as the director began answering the questions of the officer nearest him.

He had no fucking clue.