21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

RICHARD

My blood is boiling, and I can feel the anger pulsating through my veins like a fucking inferno. I can’t believe I let it get to this point, that I lied to Izel. She deserved better, and now, everything’s in shambles. Luna’s still missing, Izel’s pissed, and I’m left holding the bag of my own mistakes.

“Everything okay, Rick?” Colton shoots me a look.

Okay? No, everything’s far from okay. I’m a fucking mess, and I’ve dragged everyone down with me.

“No, Colton, everything’s not fucking okay.”

“What’s going on? What do we need to do?” Emily chimes in.

I take a deep breath, keeping the rage in check. “First, locate Luna’s phone. She might be using it or something. We need to find her.”

Emily furrows her brows, typing away at her computer like her life depends on it. After a moment, she looks up.

“Her phone was last tracked at your house, Rick. Since then, there’s been no activity—it’s been turned off.”

My grip tightens on the edge of the table, and without thinking, I slam my fist onto the wall. The frame with all our notes and plans crashes down, like my whole fucking world.

“Fuck!” I curse.

Colton’s eyes widen, and he steps forward. “Richard, man, calm down. Losing your shit won’t help Luna.”

I shoot him a look that says, “Easy for you to say.” But he’s right. Losing my cool won’t fix anything, won’t bring Luna back.

I take a deep breath, collecting myself. “Sorry, Colton. It’s just... everything’s a mess. I fucked up with Izel, Luna’s missing, and I don’t know where to start fixing this shit.”

Colton puts a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll figure this out. First, let’s focus on finding Luna. We can deal with the rest later.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

I glance at Emily, who’s still staring at the mess on the floor. “Emily, any other leads? Anything we can use to track Luna down?”

She shakes her head, her eyes going back to the computer screen. “Not yet, but I’ll keep digging.”

“Noah, any word from forensics yet? I need those reports on the letters.”

Noah nods and steps out for a moment. He comes back with a manila. “Got ’em right here.”

He hands it over, and I waste no time ripping it open. I spread out the reports on the table. The names jump out at me, each one a victim, each one tied to the blood in those letters. But when I get to the last one, my heart fucking stops.

Luna.

It’s a match for her blood.

I do my damndest to keep my shit together, but the room tilts, and I feel like I’m about to lose it. My grip on the table tightens, and every instinct I have is telling me to smash everything in this goddamn office. I can’t fucking breathe.

“What’s wrong, Rick?” I hear Noah ask.

Wordlessly, I hold up the sixth report and shove it into his hands. I can’t even bring myself to say it out loud. The look on his face when he sees Luna’s name confirms what I already know—this shit just got way too personal.

Colton, who’s been watching silently, finally moves closer. His face is hard, but I can see the pain in his eyes—like he’s keeping it together for my sake. I know he’s feeling it too. Luna’s like a little sister to him, to all of us.

“Fuck,” Colton mutters. His eyes almost water up, but he blinks it away. We don’t have a body yet, so we can’t assume the worst. We have to stay level-headed, no matter how fucked up this is.

He steps back and studies the reports, forcing himself to stay calm. “So, the killer’s mocking us by sending you these letters,” Colton comments. “It’s classic serial killer behavior, taunting the cops, trying to prove they’re smarter than us.”

“But why target you?” Noah asks, still trying to wrap his head around it.

Colton speaks before I can. “Richard’s the lead investigator. This psycho’s putting up a challenge, trying to get under his skin, make him lose his cool. They want him off balance.”

I nod, putting it together in my head. The timing of the letters, the way they showed up just before each murder—

“The letters... they came a week or so before each murder. That means Luna is still alive.”

Saying it out loud gives me a sliver of hope. Luna’s still alive. She has to be. I cling to that thought like a lifeline, even as my brain keeps throwing worst-case scenarios at me.

Don’t be dead, Luna. Don’t be dead .

“This is my fault,” I say. “I should’ve fucking figured it out sooner.”

Colton and Noah look at me with concern, but they don’t say anything. They can’t. What is there to say? I was the one who missed the signs, who didn’t connect the dots. I should’ve pieced this together sooner. I’ve been sitting on these letters for months, and because of my fuck-up, Luna’s in danger. Maybe worse. No. Fuck that. She’s not dead. I refuse to believe it.

I clench my fists, letting the nails dig into my palms. It’s all I can do to stop myself from breaking something. But what good would that do?

Colton’s voice pulls me back from the edge. “It’s not your fault, Rick. Serial killers send mocking letters. They don’t write love notes.”

He’s right. It clicks in my brain like a switch flipping on. If this was meant to mock us, to get under my skin, then why the hell weren’t these letters made public? Why didn’t this sicko send them to the media, plaster them all over the news to show off? The more I think about it, the less it makes sense.

“Because they weren’t taunting us. They were trying to help, but they couldn’t come right out and say it.”

“So you’re saying whoever sent these letters... they knew about the murders but couldn’t stop them? Maybe they’re involved somehow but didn’t want the victims to die?”

“Or they knew who the killer was and couldn’t blow their cover,” I mutter. “Think about it. If they’re too close to the killer, they couldn’t risk exposing themselves. So they sent these letters instead, hoping we’d figure it out.”

Noah’s face hardens. “If this theory holds up, then Luna’s got a chance. But we need to move fast, Rick. This means whoever sent those letters is likely watching the killer’s every move. If we figure out who they are, we might get a lead on the bastard responsible.”

“Alright, Noah. Get these letters and the ones from the Billy Brooke case out to the media. Maybe someone out there recognizes something—a pattern, a phrase, anything. Hell at this point, I’m willing to take a long shot that someone might recognize the handwriting.”

He starts making the calls, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. It is not long before Emily's voice pulls my attention.

“Rick, I might have something.”

I whip my head around, seeing her finally pull her eyes up from the computer screen. “What is it?”

“I’ve got a possible location for Luna’s car. It’s not far from here.”

The hunt for Luna takes us to the outskirts of town, where the woods loom like a dark mystery waiting to unfold. Colton, Noah, and I, armed with a picture of Luna and the description of her car, approach the locals, hoping for a lead.

“Excuse me,” I ask a middle-aged woman walking her dog. “Have you seen a girl driving a car like this around here?” I show her the picture of Luna and the details of the car.

“No, sorry. I haven’t seen her. Is everything okay?” she asks, squinting at the image and shaking her head.

Noah jumps in. “It’s an emergency. We’re looking for her, and any information could help.”

The woman furrows her brows, concern replacing her initial confusion. “I’ll keep an eye out. Hope you find her.”

“Thank you,” Noah says, and we move on to a group of teenagers hanging out nearby.

“Hey, guys, sorry to bother you,” Colton begins, showing them the picture of Luna. “Have any of you seen this girl driving around recently?”

They glance at the photo, exchanging uncertain looks. One of them finally speaks up, “I think I saw a car like that near the woods earlier. Why?”

Noah grabs the kid by the shoulders. “Take us there. Now.”

The group guides us towards the edge of the woods. Luna could be anywhere in there, and time is slipping away like sand through our fingers.

We push deeper into the woods, and Luna’s car comes into view. My heart nearly sinks into my stomach. Did she crash? Or did someone force her off the road? For the first time, I don’t have the courage to look inside. Part of me is terrified of what I might find, hoping against hope that she isn’t in there.

I take a look closer and notice that it’s not parked neatly; it’s covered with tree branches, like someone deliberately trashed it.

“What the fuck?” Noah mutters, eyeing the car with suspicion.

Colton steps forward, his eyes scanning the vehicle. “Looks like someone had a field day with Luna’s car. Asshole probably did this on purpose.”

We approach the car, and it becomes evident that this is no ordinary vandalism. The branches are strategically placed, as if someone wanted to hide the car. We start clearing them, revealing the driver’s side.

I open the door cautiously, half-expecting to find Luna inside. But the driver’s seat is empty. Relief floods through me, so intense it almost knocks me off my feet. She’s not here. Thank God, she’s not here.

Noah, his face hardening, mutters, “What the hell is going on here?”

“Gloves, guys. We need to check for any clues,” I say.

We quickly slip on the gloves as we search the car. Underneath the seats and scattered around the floor, we find fragments of something bone-chilling. A skull, a few scattered bones, and the unmistakable remains of a human skeleton.

“What the fuck?” I mutter.

Colton, staring at the macabre scene, hisses, “This is sick. Someone dumped a dead body in Luna’s car.”

“And it’s been here for a long fucking time,” Noah adds.

“Or someone staged it,” I say, my mind racing with possibilities.

“Who would do this to her?”

“Someone who has her,” I reply, feeling a cold dread settle over me. But why dump a skeleton?

I turn to Colton. “Call for the forensics. We need this shit sorted out.”

Colton nods and pulls out his phone to make the call. The woods echo with the urgency of the situation, and every second feels like an eternity.

Noah takes a deep breath. “I’ll call the local PD.”

I give him a grim nod. “Do it, Noah. And tell them to hurry their asses here.”

As Colton makes the call and Noah barks into his phone, I find a secluded spot and dial Wilson. There’s no time for niceties, so I get straight to the point.

“Wilson here.”

“We’ve got a situation,” I spit out. “Luna’s car, it’s a fucking crime scene. I need backup, forensics, the whole damn cavalry.”

“I’ll get the team ready. Keep me updated, Reynolds.”

Within what feels like both an eternity and a blink, the forensics arrive. They roll in like a well-oiled machine, and I guide them to the scene.

They click photographs, measure distances, and document every detail. The local homicide detective is called in, a grizzled veteran with eyes that have seen too much.

“Detective Harris,” he nods, acknowledging the weight of the situation. “How did you come across this car?”

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “We were looking for Luna. She’s a part of our team. The GPS of her car was last tracked near here, and then it went dark. We found her car like this.”

Harris raises an eyebrow. “Luna’s part of your team?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “We’re with the FBI. She’s one of our agents.”

“We’ll run tests on the remains and check for any leads. But finding Luna is the priority.”

No shit, Sherlock. I resist the urge to snap and instead focus on the task at hand.

He goes about his business, and I find myself checking my phone again, hoping for some word from Izel. Nothing. She’s still radio silent.

In the last four hours since she walked away, I’ve left her eighteen voicemails. Each one more desperate than the last. But there’s nothing but silence.

The forensic team wraps up their investigation, and Valentina approaches me.

“SSA Reynolds?”

“What can you tell me?”

Valentina gestures at the skull, her fingers gently gliding over its contours as she traces the lines. “Based on the lateral and sagittal structures, this skeleton belongs to a kid, probably 14-16 years old. And here’s the thing—this body wasn’t left to decay naturally. Acids were used to speed up the process.”

I grimace, the image of Luna’s car turning into a mobile crime scene burning into my brain. “So, what the hell does that mean?”

Valentina adjusts her gloves. “I’ll run some tests, but from what I can tell now, this kid died over ten years ago. Someone went through the trouble of committing murder and leaving the body in Luna’s car.”

“But why? Why leave a decade-old murder in Luna’s car?”

Colton, who’s been listening, cuts in. “Someone’s playing games with us.”

“Yeah, they wanted us to find this. But why? What the hell are they trying to achieve?”

Valentina chimes in. “Could be a message, a warning. Or maybe they just enjoy fucking with people’s heads.”

Colton’s jaw tightens. “So, we’re dealing with a sicko who’s been holding onto this secret for over ten years, and now they decide to unleash it?”

“Exactly. But we need to focus on finding Luna. Whatever sick game this asshole is playing, Luna’s at the center of it.”

Valentina nods and walks away, leaving us standing there. We head in the direction of my car. As we reach it, Noah breaks the silence.

“We need to clear our heads. How about we grab some coffee? We could all use it.”

“Yeah, let’s do that. We’ll think better with some caffeine in our systems,” Colton suggests.

I want to keep pushing, keep searching for Luna, but the exhaustion is catching up. We’d be useless if we continue like living zombies.

I pull out my phone and dial Emily. “Hey, Emily, I need you to keep an eye on Luna’s phone tracking. Let me know if there’s any movement. We’re grabbing a coffee and regrouping.”

“Got it, Rick. I’ll keep you posted,” Emily replies.

The nearest coffee shop is three streets away. We push through the door, the bell above it jingling softly. Inside, a few late-night patrons sit at tables, engrossed in their laptops or quietly chatting. The barista, a young woman with dark hair tied back in a ponytail, greets us with a tired but genuine smile.

Noah steps up to the counter first. “Three large coffees, black. And make it quick, please.”

Colton finds a corner booth, and we settle in. The fatigue in our bodies is evident in every slouch and tired glance.

As we wait, my attention drifts around the coffee shop. Suddenly, I catch sight of Izel.

There she is, sitting across the room, seemingly unaware of us. Relief floods through me, swiftly overtaken by a rush of anger because she’s not alone. My eyes narrow as I see her laughing and talking with some guy. A fucking guy.

Colton and Noah are deep in conversation about Luna, but my focus is entirely on Izel. I can’t make out their words, but it doesn’t matter. Seeing her with someone else sets a fire burning inside me.

“What the fuck is she doing?” I mutter under my breath.

Noah looks at me. “Rick, you okay?”

I force a nod, tearing my eyes away from Izel. “Yeah, just tired. Keep talking. I’m listening.”

The barista brings our coffees over, setting them down with a small nod. “Anything else I can get for you?”

“No, this is good. Thanks,” I hear Colton say.

I take a sip of the bitter coffee, the taste matching the bitterness in my gut. Colton and Noah continue talking, but my focus is divided between their words and the scene across the room. Izel is laughing with the douchebag sitting across from her.

Colton notices my distraction. “Everything okay, Rick?”

I force a smile. “Yeah, just processing everything.”

Noah follows my gaze and raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that Izel?”

Colton leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “You seem awfully interested in what she’s doing over there. Something you want to share with the class?”

“No,” I snap, almost bitterly.

Noah smirks, clearly not buying it. “You didn’t want her out of your house, did you? You practically went ballistic when she left with her grandfather.”

“Yeah, what was that all about? You don’t usually give a shit where people go. Even less if it’s a former suspect.”

Noah leans forward. “You’ve got feelings for her, don’t you? Come on, admit it.”

I remain silent because the last thing I need is these assholes prying into my personal life.

Colton lets out a low whistle. “Wow, Rick. This is a first. Mr. Ice Cold has a soft spot.”

“Shut the fuck up, Colton,” I growl, but it lacks the usual bite.

Noah isn’t deterred. “So, what is it? You in love with her or something?”

I glare at him, my temper fraying at the edges. “Drop it.”

My eyes drift back to Izel, who’s still laughing with that douchebag. She hasn’t glanced my way once. Not a fucking glance. I glance down at my coffee. I need something stronger, something like bourbon. I can’t believe I’m thinking about bourbon on duty but fuck it. I need a distraction.

“So, you’re not fucking her, are you?”

I’m suddenly taken back to the last happy moments with her in my car. We were going to have the night of our lives, and I ruined it.

“Rick,” Noah presses, “are you?”

“No, I’m not fucking her,” I say through gritted teeth. But the words feel like a lie.

“So, you wouldn’t mind if I fucked her, would you?”

Without thinking, I grab the knife from the table and slam it through Noah’s palm, pinning his hand to the wooden surface. The sound of the blade cutting through flesh and bone is sickeningly satisfying. Noah’s silent scream pierces the air.

“What the fuck, Richard?” Colton shouts, jumping up from his chair.

I lean in close to Noah. “You ever say something like that again, and I’ll fucking end your existence. Do you understand?”

Noah’s face is twisted in agony, sweat pouring down his forehead. “I was just messing with you, man. Fuck, I didn’t think you’d go psycho on me.”

I pull the knife out with a swift motion and blood splatters across the table. Noah clutches his hand, whimpering. I don’t even flinch.

Colton, still keeping a cautious distance, speaks softly. “Rick, you need to get a grip. We’re all on edge, but this... this is too far.”

I run a hand through my hair, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away. The reality of what I just did starts to sink in, and with it, a wave of guilt.

“Fuck,” I mutter, looking at Noah’s bloodied hand. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Noah glares at me. “No shit, Sherlock. You need to get your head straight, or you’re going to get us all killed.”

I take another look at Izel, who is still oblivious to everything. The sight of her laughing only intensifies the ache in my chest. I can’t let my feelings for her destroy everything I’ve worked for. But right now, they’re all I can think about.

Colton gets a first aid kit from my car and starts tending to Noah’s wound. “You need to talk to her, Rick. Figure out what the hell is going on between you two. Because this,” he gestures to the bloody mess on the table, “isn’t sustainable.”