39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

RICHARD

The pounding on the door might as well be inside my skull. I groan, rolling off the couch and stumbling towards the noise. My head is throbbing, and it feels like someone’s hammering nails into my brain.

I open the door, blinking against the harsh morning light. Cop cars are scattered across my yard, and I see Wilson stepping forward.

“Agent Reynolds,” he says, his voice low and serious. “We need to talk.”

“What’s going on?” I ask, already fearing the worst.

He doesn’t answer immediately, just gestures for me to follow him outside. We walk over to one of the cop cars, and I spot other officers milling around.

“We found your service gun at the detention center,” Wilson starts. “In the interrogation room where Victor’s body was discovered. You’ll be suspended pending investigation. IA will handle your case. You’ll have to surrender your badge and gun, make a public statement, and cooperate fully. If you’re innocent, this will clear up. If not...”

“I get it, Wilson,” I snap, cutting him off. “Let’s just get this over with.”

I hand over my badge and my backup gun. It feels like I’m losing a part of myself. We make our way to the precinct, the silence in the car oppressive.

At the office, they usher me into a conference room. Reporters are already gathered, the buzz of their chatter reaching us even through the closed doors.

“Ready?” Wilson asks, looking at me with those damn pitying eyes again.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply, straightening my shoulders.

We step out, and the cameras start flashing. I take a deep breath and face the crowd.

A reporter shoves a microphone in my face. “Agent Reynolds, can you explain what happened during the interrogation with Victor Montclair?”

I clear my throat. “Victor was supposed to answer a few more questions. We set up a private interrogation. As we were talking, the fire alarms started blaring. Victor saw an opportunity to escape and made a move for it. I shot him to contain the situation, but he overpowered me. I had to shoot him again in self-defense.”

The questions come rapid-fire.

“Were there any witnesses?”

“No, it was a private session,” I reply, maintaining my composure.

“Why wasn’t proper protocol followed?”

“I made a judgment call. Victor was a possible perp in a much bigger investigation, and I believed a private setting would be safer for everyone involved.”

“Do you think you acted appropriately, given the circumstances?”

“I did what I had to do to protect myself and others,” I say firmly.

The cameras keep flashing, capturing every word, every flicker of emotion. I can’t afford to slip up.

I fake unconsciousness, even though my head feels like it’s full of lead from whatever Izel slipped into my drink. I knew something was off the moment I took a sip. Sure, Izel clouds my judgment, but I’m still a profiler at heart. I could tell she’d mixed something into that glass. The bitter aftertaste gave it away, even if she thought she was being subtle.

As soon as I hear my car leave the driveway, I force myself up from the couch, every muscle protesting as the drug courses through my system. My legs wobble, and the room spins around me, but I grit my teeth and stumble into the kitchen. Water. I need water. I grab a glass, downing it like it’s the antidote to whatever she drugged me with. It doesn’t fix the drowsiness, but it helps me focus—just enough to keep my eyes open. Just enough to follow her.

I pull out my phone, ignoring how heavy my fingers feel as I call a cab. There's no way I’m driving like this, but I can’t afford to let her out of my sight. My head spins as I track her location on my phone, watching the little dot representing her move toward the detention center.

Victor. I should’ve known. She’s been planning this for a while, hasn’t she? I try not to think about how long. All I can focus on is getting there before she does something she can’t take back. I’ll be damned if I let her ruin her life over this.

When the cab drops me off, I trail her into the building, keeping my distance. Izel gets through security, and I stay back, watching her make her way to Victor’s cell. I’m barely able to stay on my feet, but I force my way through it, keeping out of sight. Just as I’m about to follow her into the hallway leading to the cells, I spot someone standing at the door—Martin.

He doesn’t see me at first. He’s too busy nervously glancing at his watch. I tap his shoulder, and he spins around so fast, his face draining of color when he sees it’s me.

“Impersonating a law enforcement officer is a crime,” I say firmly, even though I feel like I’m seconds from passing out. I eye him up and down, taking in the ridiculous attire he’s wearing. How the hell did Izel even think he'd pass for me?

“And impersonating this badly is a fucking felony.”

Martin straightens up, trying to act tough, but the fear in his eyes is clear. He squares his shoulders like he’s ready to fight, but we both know how that would end.

“Izel’s inside, and I’m not letting you fuck this up for her.”

I roll my eyes. “It won’t be necessary. Izel can never know I was here. You understand?”

For a second, I think he’s about to argue, but he just nods. He steps aside reluctantly, but his eyes are still full of that stubborn fire, like he’s waiting for me to screw this up.

I start walking away, but Martin calls after me, “What are you doing?”

I glance over my shoulder. “Backing my girl up.”

Martin’s good, I’ll give him that. But he’s not good enough to know about the two-way glass in the holding cells. To anyone outside, it looks like frosted glass. But from the observation room? I’ll see everything.

Pulling my ID from my pocket, I swipe it against the scanner and slip into the observation room. Inside, Izel’s with Victor.

Izel stands in front of him, and I can see the rage barely held in check. She’s ready. More than ready. She’s not that broken girl he used to toy with. She’s a force now. The way she doesn’t flinch, the way she stands tall even when he’s trying to get inside her head—it’s exactly what I knew she was capable of.

When she throws that first punch, I feel it in my bones. She’s not holding back, not this time. And when Victor gives it back, I tense up, almost ready to break through the door. But I stop. Because I see it in her eyes—the fight. She’s not giving up. She’s not letting him win.

But when Victor tackles her to the ground, when his hands wrap around her throat, something in me snaps. My hand is on the door, ready to burst in and end him. The sight of her choking, struggling under his weight—it’s a nightmare I can barely stomach. I start to push the door open, ready to make my move, but then she moves. Izel shifts, finds her strength, and throws him off. She flips him, takes control, and for a second, I’m in awe of her. She’s not just fighting back; she’s winning. The girl I once had to protect is now doing what I couldn’t. She’s avenging everyone, everything. And when she pulls the trigger, when she finally ends it, I can’t help but feel proud—so fucking proud.

Proud because she is taking control, taking her fate into her own hands after years of being manipulated and abused. Proud because she’s finally putting an end to the monster who destroyed so many lives. Proud because, for once, she’s not the victim.

It’s over. She’s won. And I’ve never loved her more than in this moment.

When she walks out, leaving the gun on the table, I step out from the observation room.

Forensic countermeasures. I don’t even have to think. Instinct kicks in. I step over Victor’s lifeless body, crouching down to inspect the mess. Thankfully, all of Izel’s shots were clean—through and through. That makes this easier. I grab a pair of gloves from my pocket, slipping them on as I begin collecting the casings. One by one, I scoop them up, making sure to leave no trace. The last thing I need is for anyone to connect her to this.

I dig around in my jacket, finding my service weapon. Perfect. I kneel down, angling it just right, and fire one last shot into his chest. This time, the bullet stays lodged in him with no exit wound. That’s the one that’ll matter. No ballistics will link Izel to this. This final shot? That’s all me.

I walk over to the table, and grab her gun, wiping it down and replacing it with my service weapon.

I drop a quick message into Victor’s dead ears, “Rot in hell, you bastard.”

I slip out just as quietly as I came in, ensuring Izel isn’t aware of my presence.

A reporter’s question drags me back to the present. “So you admit to killing Victor Montclair?”

I take a deep breath, facing the sea of expectant faces. “Yes, I admit it. I shot Victor Montclair in self-defense.”

“Did your superiors know about this?”

I glance at Wilson. I can’t lie about this. Wilson will expose me. I knew this question was coming, but I have no answer. I open my mouth to respond, but Wilson steps in.

“Yes, we were informed,” Wilson says, stepping forward. I move to the side, giving him the space. “SSA Reynolds has always been thorough and methodical. He briefed us on the situation. In a high-pressure moment, he made a difficult but necessary decision to protect lives.”

What the... Why would Wilson lie? He continues answering a few more questions, painting a picture of me as a competent and reliable officer. Eventually, he signals the end of the conference.

As the crowd disperses, I walk over to Wilson, who’s now speaking with the Director. I wait at a distance, watching their conversation wind down before approaching him.

“Why did you lie back there?”

“Sometimes the truth isn’t what people need to hear, Agent Reynolds. It’s about protecting the bigger picture.”

I frown, not satisfied with his evasion. “You know I didn’t inform anyone. Why cover for me?”

He gives me a look, sidestepping my question. “Protocol isn’t always the answer.”

“Bullshit,” I snap. “You always follow the rules. You never cover for anyone. Why now?”

Wilson sighs, looking more tired than I’ve ever seen him. “We can’t afford to lose a good detective over a technicality. You made the right call, even if the paperwork wasn’t in order.”

I’m about to argue more when he cuts me off. “Look, this isn’t up for debate. You’re suspended, effective immediately.”

“Suspended?” I repeat, confusion washing over me. “I thought I’d be imprisoned for sure.”

Wilson shakes his head. “No, you’re not getting imprisoned. We need you, Reynolds. You’re a damn good detective, and we can’t afford to lose you. But you need to take a step back, get your head straight.”

“So, I just walk away with a suspension?”

“For now, yes,” he says firmly. “Take the time, reflect on what happened. We’ll reassess after your suspension.”

Just as I’m about to respond, Wilson’s phone rings. He glances at the screen and then back at me. “I’ve got to take this,” he says, already turning away. “Go home, Reynolds. We’ll talk later.”

I watch him walk off, phone pressed to his ear, his voice fading as he moves down the hallway. I’m left standing there, still trying to wrap my head around everything that just happened.

I head towards the exit. I need to figure out why Wilson covered for me, and what this all means for my future. But for now, all I can do is follow orders and take some time to clear my head.

Two Months Later…

I’m staring at the board, piecing together everything about the Ghostface Striker. Victor Montclair is dead, finally. But there’s something that keeps itching at the back of my head, something I can’t shake off.

I’m so lost in thought I don’t even hear Luna come in until she’s right behind me. “What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be suspended, not playing detective.”

I turn to face her. “Something isn’t adding up, Luna. I know Victor Montclair is dead, but there are loose ends.”

“Even Wilson has dropped the case, Rick. You should, too,” she says, exasperated.

“Isn’t that strange?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Wilson never drops a case so high profile. And now there’s a homicide detective on it instead?”

Luna crosses her arms, sighing. “You need to let it go. You’re risking too much. Have you spoken to Izel?”

I shake my head. “You know I can’t. My phone could be wired, and I don’t want any FBI officers sniffing around her and linking anything back to the Striker’s case. Some rookie might make a connection and blow everything wide open.”

She softens a bit, stepping closer. “I know you’re worried, but you need to be careful. You’re no good to anyone if you get yourself deeper into trouble.”

I barely register her warning. “Did you get me what I asked for?”

Luna sighs, reaching into her bag. “You mean illegally digging up high school records for some guy named David Taylor, who owns that restaurant you took your girlfriend to? Here.” She hands me a file, looking both amused and resigned.

I take the file and sit down heavily. I pour myself a generous glass of bourbon, feeling the burn as it slides down. Luna sits next to me, grabbing the bottle and taking a swig directly. I watch her for a moment before focusing on the file in my hands.

Will is the one name that keeps coming up in connection to this case. Despite everything, the trail always circles back to him in some way. But the guy is a ghost—no one seems to know what he looks like or where he’s gone. So now I’m going through David’s old yearbook, hoping to find some clue.

Luna watches me, curiosity piqued. “What are you looking for?”

I don’t answer her. My eyes are glued to the pages, flipping through photos of faces I don’t recognize, until I finally find what I’m looking for. There’s a picture of Ava, and beside her… holy hell.

Will…

I walk back into the office, and it's like stepping into a different world. My first day back after suspension, and nothing feels the same. This place that once felt like home now feels alien. The comfort I used to find here, I know now, can only come from Izel.

As I step further in, I’m greeted by Noah, Colton, Emily, and Luna. They welcome me with smiles and pats on the back, saying things like, “This place hasn’t been the same without you,” and “Good to have you back, Rick.” I offer them awkward smiles, feeling out of place and disconnected.

I glance around the room, taking in the familiar sights. The desks, the monitor, the smell of stale coffee—all of it feels foreign now. I make my way to my desk, which is buried under a pile of case files. Everyone eventually files out, leaving me alone to confront the mountain of work.

Just as I’m pretending to read a file, Wilson walks in. He stands in the doorway, giving me a welcoming nod. “Reynolds, good to have you back.”

I look up from the file I’m barely looking at and force a smile. “Just the man I was looking for.”

Wilson raises an eyebrow, stepping further into the room. “Oh? And what can I do for you?”

I lean back in my chair, tapping a pen against the desk. “I was just going through some old files, trying to get back into the swing of things. Funny thing, though, I came across something interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

I grin, leaning forward. “I’ll get to that in a while. But let me continue the story. After I came across something interesting , it got me thinking harder about why a Deputy Director would go out of his way to save a Supervisory Special Agent from a murder rap of the potential infamous Ghostface Striker. And I came up with a few theories.”

He crosses his arms, waiting. “Oh, this should be good.”

I hold up a finger. “Option A: You have a secret soft spot for rebellious detectives. Maybe you see a younger, more handsome version of yourself in me.”

Wilson smirks but says nothing. I continue.

“Option B: You’re secretly my long-lost father, and this is your convoluted way of making up for years of abandonment.”

“And Option C,” I say, leaning in, “You can’t lock me up if you’ve been gatekeeping that information yourself.”

Wilson’s expression turns cold, but he doesn’t immediately respond. “So, which one is it, Willam Robert Wilson ?” I ask, pushing the envelope containing the picture of his and Ava. “I hope that’s not too informal, Sir. After all, we’re not exactly high school mates catching up.”

Wilson takes the envelope and pulls out the picture. His lips curl into a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks at it for a moment, lost in thought.

“Help me understand,” I continue, since he’s clearly not planning to speak, “what does David have to do with this? Why was he trying to paint you as the one trying to kill or have killed Ava?”

Wilson scoffs, finally looking up from the picture. “David? That little weasel is just jealous,” he says with disdain. “He has always been jealous of me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Jealous? Of what, exactly?”

Wilson’s eyes narrow. “You really want to know? Fine. David’s been trying to sabotage me for years. He’s planted evidence, spread rumors, so of course it's not surprising that he wanted to paint me as her killer. He was jealous because he liked Ava.”

I nod. “And Ava was your girlfriend.”

Wilson doesn’t confirm it, but a small smile creeps onto his face. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look almost happy, like he’s been waiting for someone to acknowledge it, even after all these years.

“You recognized Izel the minute she walked into the bureau, didn’t you?” I continue, the realization hitting me hard. “Is that why you wanted her under my protection?”

“I’ve said it before, Reynolds. You’re a good profiler,” Wilson replies. “I was in love with Ava. We were planning to run away to Virginia. But the day we were about to escape she went missing, her father told me she left me for another guy. I didn’t believe it. I went to Hollowbrook PD, but Victor Montclair’s influence kept me from doing much. So, I joined the force, hoping to find Ava.”

“So you put me on the case to get information about Ava from Izel,” I say, the pieces falling into place.

“Exactly,” Wilson nods. “I needed someone I could trust to get close to Izel.”

“And what if it hadn’t worked?” I ask, a chill running down my spine.

“People fall in love with non-living things,” Wilson replies, a grim smile on his face. “Izel is still a living, breathing girl. And if she’s anything like her mother, she knows how to lure men... good men.”

“Why didn’t you see Ava when you knew she was at the bureau?”

Wilson’s eyes turn distant. “Who says I didn’t? I just didn’t have the courage to go up to her.”

Understanding washes over me. The man who always seemed unshakable, the one who drilled protocols into our heads, was just as human as the rest of us.

“I’ll work with Internal Affairs to ensure you don’t face any charges,” Wilson says, snapping back to the present. “But remember, Richard, a man can either be a profiler—”

“Or be in love,” I finish for him, recalling his words from earlier.

He nods, a sad smile tugging at his lips. It’s like he’s speaking from experience, like he’s giving me permission to choose something he never could.

I’ve spent over a decade climbing the ranks, busting my ass to get where I am today. Getting promoted to SSA didn’t take long, but the journey was fucking lonely. My apartment isn’t a home, it’s just a place to crash. It’s always been just me, coming home to no one. I never planned on having anything more. Not until Izel.

She’s my home. It’s only been a few months since I last saw her, and already I feel like my heart is being ripped out. The thought of going back to that empty apartment, of spending my days chasing ghosts while my heart is somewhere else, it’s unbearable. Izel is my light, my reason. Without her, everything seems pointless.

“You can have my badge,” I say firmly.

He looks at me, eyebrows raised. “Are you sure about this, Supervisory Special Agent Richard Reynolds?”

“Fuck yes, I’m sure.”

Izel’s face flashes in my mind, her smile, the way she looks at me like I’m her whole world. She’s more than just a reason to quit; she’s a reason to live.

I have no idea what the future holds, but for the first time in years, I feel like I’m doing something right. I’m choosing love, choosing her . And fuck, if that isn’t the best decision I’ve ever made.