Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
She sits up taller in her chair, her gaze glued to my own. “You’ve kept things from me.”
I have. “Only to keep you safe.”
“Not only for that reason,” she shoots back.
“Mostly,” I reply and let a slow smile spread across my face.
Her expression matches mine.
“Let’s not fight anymore, Frankie. I’m willing to forgive you.”
She laughs. “Forgive me?”
“Yes,” I nod and turn down the oven, crossing the kitchen until I’m right in her face. “Give me a good reason to forgive you.”
She loves the challenge I present, and the shadows in her eyes vanish as she rises to her feet, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “I think it’s you who needs to earn my forgiveness.”
“You first.” I tease her with a fiery kiss that makes my pulse pound and my cock harden behind my zipper, pulling back just as things start to heat up.
Frankie lets out a half-moan, half-whimper. “Tease.”
“You have to earn it,” I whisper. “Show me how much you want me, Francesca. How much you crave me. Need me. Show me how badly you want to fuck me.”
Her eyes glaze over, and I can feel her body trembling. “You know I do.”
“And now I need you to show me.”
Her gaze lights up with excitement, her skin flushing as she begins to reveal exactly what I want. I make sure that I’m the only one she sees, the only one she trusts for the rest of the night.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Frankie
Damien has been gone most of the morning and I have a feeling he’s planning something special. Again. I’ve got to hand it to him. The guy knows how to sweep a girl off her feet. A remote cabin in the woods isn’t exactly my idea of a cozy couple’s retreat, but being alone with him, away from the noise and chaos of the city, has a certain appeal.
The further we are from civilization, the more the fog in my mind starts to lift. I can finally take a deep breath and think clearly for the first time in what feels like ages.
It’s the reason I dug out my laptop to go over the case materials with fresh eyes. Often, it’s the fastest way to find something we missed during the heat of the investigation and right now, with a few days’ distance from the facts of The Butcher’s crimes, my eyes are damn fresh.
I start at the beginning with Hope House. The key to why these men were killed is buried there. Whatever this vendetta is, the answers, as well as clues to the remaining victims, are hiding in that place. I’ve had theories brewing for a while, but without solid evidence to back them up. So I spend the day searching through records, following leads that were too faint to see before.
I go over the police blotters from the years the victims lived at Hope House. Then I expand the search, going back five years before and five years after they left, and what I find leaves me cold.
The police were regular visitors at Hope House for years—no surprise for a place full of traumatized orphans. Fights broke out constantly among the kids. Most didn’t warrant anything other than a report that an officer had stopped by and given them a talking-to. But something jumps out at me now, a detail I should’ve caught long ago.
Hawkins.
Just Hawkins. No first name. No initials. That’s probably why I missed it initially. Hawkins is a common enough name, and I didn’t make the connection. I wasn’t looking for him, I trusted Jay. So, when I skimmed these blotters early on, I just saw the name and moved on. It never occurred to me it could be Jay.
But now, scanning report after report, his presence is unmistakable. Jason Hawkins. He was there, and I failed to notice.
How the hell did I miss this? I lean back in my chair, staring at his name until it blurs. The oversight seems impossible now. If he visited the house hundreds of times during his years in uniform, he must have some idea what might’ve sparked this killing spree. He has to.
“Son of a bitch,” I whisper to myself. Jay’s been lying to me about the entire case. But why?
I need caffeine for this. In the kitchen, I grab a mug and pour coffee, letting the aroma fill the room. It doesn’t settle the knot in my stomach, but the warmth helps me focus.
Back at my laptop, I zero in on the years when all the victims were at Hope House together, including Damien and Olivia. Four summers where their lives overlapped. Three of the other potential victims were there during those same summers. As I examine the reports more closely, a pattern emerges.
At first, the boys fought often, but nothing worse than a few black eyes or busted lips. Then something shifted. The fights became more frequent, more brutal—broken teeth, split skin. Yet Jay never arrested anyone. He never even called Child Services. Not once.