Page 15 of The Hanging Dolls (Zoe Storm #1)

FOURTEEN

The morning sky outside was a burst of peach and pink, shifting quickly to deep orange as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Light seeped through the thin curtains, painting the space in a warm glow.

Inside the gym, Zoe’s fists slammed into the punching bag, the thud of each hit steady and relentless. The gym across the motel was bare—equipment that looked rusty and squeaky, and a punching bag. But Zoe only needed the latter. Her breath came in sharp bursts, matching the rhythm of her punches.

As the sky outside deepened to gold, the room filled with a sharp, warm light. Sweat plastered her forehead and collected on her upper lip.

Keith didn’t want to talk to her. She knew he was lying about knowing Rachel but she had no idea why.

Could he have had something to do with her death?

The thought made her freeze. She ran through his reaction when she told him Rachel was dead—the palpable shock and resigned grief.

His reaction seemed authentic. But there was that pesky doubt knocking on her brain.

She was good at noticing things that slipped through the cracks.

But this time it was about her. It was hard to study people like specimen without that distance.

But why would he lie about their relationship?

She opened her wallet and looked at the old, faded picture. Rachel and Keith in Santa Barbara. They were leaning into each other, his arm around her shoulders. There was an ease between them, an intimacy that came with time and not with lust.

A two-week fling, my ass , she thought. It was not a coincidence that she had been sent to Harborwood where Keith happened to be; it was a sign.

Her eyes zeroed in on something in the picture.

The sleeve of Keith’s shirt had risen up, revealing the lower half of a tattoo. It looked like the letter R .

Zoe landed a final, hard punch, sending the bag swinging wildly. She stepped back, breathing hard, her gaze shifting to the bright morning sky through the window.

She was making her way across the street back to the motel’s parking lot when her phone rang.

It was the number on her phone saved as “Unknown”.

“Tell me you have something for me,” she said.

The throaty voice damaged by years of smoking chuckled on the other side, sounding like an engine that wouldn’t start. “Straight to the point. I like that.”

It was one of the few people who didn’t see the chirpy, wonky Zoe who apologized to the objects she bumped into. He probably wouldn’t recognize her in the real world. He knew the other side—the one hidden under layers of sugar, spice, and everything nice.

“Well?” she pushed.

“I got an opening. It’s with Bruiser. It’s a tough one, Z. You sure?”

She had heard about Bruiser. Had seen him in action too. But this was exactly what she needed.

“I’m in.”

“Great. I’ll send the details,” the voice said, before hanging up.

The coroner had sent over some reports that they needed to go over. The cool morning air hit her skin, refreshing after her intense workout. As she turned to walk down the motel’s narrow outdoor corridor, she noticed a man and a young woman emerging from a room a few doors down.

The man was in his mid-thirties, dressed in a rumpled business suit that looked like it had been slept in.

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, straightening his tie as he glanced nervously around the empty parking lot.

The woman beside him was barely out of her teens, dressed in a tight, short skirt and a low-cut top that screamed last night’s work not this morning’s casual wear.

Her makeup was smudged, and she looked both tired and satisfied, a sly smile playing on her lips.

Zoe slowed her pace, keeping her eyes forward but her ears tuned to their conversation as they fumbled with the door.

Right at that moment, she bumped into a wall of muscle. “Ouch.”

“Did you really not see me?” Aiden cocked a thick eyebrow.

“I have bad peripheral vision.” She rubbed her forehead, still focused on the couple.

“You might have a tumor in that case.” His tone was flat and dry.

“Can’t believe I’m doing this before work,” the man muttered, half to himself as he glanced at his watch.

The young woman laughed, a light, teasing sound. “Relax, handsome. No one’s gonna know. Your wife’s not gonna show up here, is she?”

Zoe grabbed Aiden’s elbow and nudged him forward, while maintaining a distance from the couple.

“What are you—?” He was horrified at the touch.

“Shush!” She pinched him.

The man chuckled, though it sounded more nervous than amused. “God, no. She’s gotten fat and boring since having the baby. She doesn’t have a clue.”

The woman smirked, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder. “Well, that’s why I’m here. To keep things interesting for you.”

“That’s right, babe,” he said, dropping his voice. “I’ll be back tonight. Same room, same time.”

“Looking forward to it,” she purred, leaning in to plant a quick, almost casual kiss on his lips.

“Still into spying, Storm?” Aiden muttered, half-amused, as they walked past the couple and out of earshot.

“What do you mean?” She resisted the urge to glance back.

Her mind raced, her stomach churning at the man’s brazen infidelity, the casual way he betrayed his wife without a second thought.

The young woman sauntered off, heels clicking on the pavement, while the man pulled out his phone, probably to call his wife and lie about his morning.

“You did this at Quantico too. Watching people like you were trying to catch them.”

She froze. “No, I wasn’t. And you weren’t at Quantico.”

“I was there for a seminar for a few weeks.” He avoided her gaze and fixed his glasses. Was that a nervous tick? “Anyway, I returned my car so we should carpool.”

“Why did you return your car?” She crossed her arms.

“So that we could carpool. And save FBI money.”

“Sure,” Zoe agreed nonchalantly, but her skin prickled at how astute Aiden was. He was always poking and prodding, looking for something in her to shake off. While Zoe walked with a skip in her step and muscles in her face hanging loose, Aiden was the opposite.

Statuesque and stoic.

“Did you ever have thoughts about wanting to kill him?” Aiden had asked, his long legs crossed.

“What?” It was their fourth session. Why wasn’t he signing her off to say she was fit to return to duty?

“He was a rapist and a master manipulator. Surely, you had violent thoughts about him?”

Zoe did. Every night. Every night she bottled the thoughts about wanting to break his bones one by one and slit his throat. That rancid rage clotted in her throat.

“Never,” she snapped.

Aiden stared at her blankly. “I don’t believe you.”