6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

RICHARD

I find myself caught in the uneven depths of Izel's eyes, and for a moment, I’m lost in their beauty. With a fire in her gaze and unyielding strength, she challenges me. She’s fearless, pushing back despite the growing danger.

But I’m also aware of the power dynamic at play here. As an FBI agent, I hold a position of authority, and I’ve just threatened her, not once, but twice. If she wanted, she could make my life hell, have my badge, and even my ass on a platter. It’s confusing to me that she doesn’t seem to understand that I can’t use my authority to intimidate her, no matter how difficult she’s being.

I want to apologize, to somehow make her see that I’m here to help, not to add to her troubles. But honestly, in my seven years as an FBI agent, no one has ever pushed me this far, made me this angry. I get that she’s dealing with a lot, but that doesn’t give her a free pass to turn my job and my life upside down.

Without breaking eye contact with Izel, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. I dial Noah’s number.

Noah’s voice comes through on the other end, and I get straight to the point. “Noah, Izel’s phone is missing. Do you have it with you?”

There’s a brief pause, and I can feel Izel’s gaze on me, watching my every move.

“No, I don’t have it. She didn’t have it at the crime scene, either. Did you check the apartment thoroughly?”

“I already did. It’s not there. Find that phone and let me know as soon as you do.”

Noah promises to do his best, and I hang up, still never breaking eye contact with Izel. My phone call might have eased her concerns about me stealing her phone, but it’s clear that we’re far from being on the same page.

“You’ll have your phone first thing in the morning.”

I can hear her breathing pick up, her heart racing, and it’s clear that this phone means more to her than she’s letting on. I lean in closer, so close that my lips are dangerously close to hers. That’s when she finally nods in agreement.

I can’t believe I almost kissed her. What the hell was I thinking? I need to get my shit together. This whole situation is messing with my head.

I scold myself mentally, cursing my lack of control. We’re in the middle of a murder investigation, and here I am, getting dangerously close to crossing a line with a potential suspect. Fuck, I should know better.

I take a moment to collect my thoughts, glancing at Izel, who’s still maintaining her act of strength. She acts all tough and unshaken, but the moment a man gets anywhere close to her personal space, she goes on the defensive.

I’ve noticed it before, and I can’t ignore it now. It’s like she’s been through something that’s left her with a deep-rooted fear.

I take a steadying breath, forcing myself to step back mentally as well as physically. Pushing off the wall, I try to shake off the thoughts swirling in my head. This line we’re toeing? It’s too dangerous. I can’t let myself fall into it. I head for my room, needing a moment away from her, away from whatever the hell this is that keeps pulling me toward her.

As I step into my room, I let the door close behind me and glance around, hoping the familiar space will steady me. My eyes fall on the stack of papers on my desk—the reports I’ve been avoiding since Emily sent them. Anything to get my mind back on track.

I cross the room, sit down, and pick up the first page, flipping through the details on Izel. Her background checks out, at least on paper. She’s twenty-six, moved to this town just four months ago, and works as a freelancer. She used to live with her grandparents, nothing sketchy in her past, no run-ins with the FBI or any officials. So why the hell does she hate the FBI and officers so much?

I dig deeper, going through her schooling and all the details. Everything checks out, and even her health reports seem pretty damn normal. Nothing in her past screams trouble, but there’s something about her reaction to law enforcement that’s off. It’s like she’s got a personal vendetta, and I can’t figure out why.

I grab my phone and call Noah again. “Noah, when you get your hands on Izel’s phone, I want you to thoroughly investigate it. She was way too attached to it. I want to know every detail, every contact, every text.”

“Sure thing. I’ll get on it.”

I glance at the sketch artist’s report. “Any luck with the sketch?”

Noah’s response isn’t what I was hoping for. “Sorry, Rick, we don’t have a match yet.”

I mutter a curse under my breath and sit up straighter. “What about Izel’s background? You find anything sketchy?”

Noah’s silent for a second before responding, and I can already tell I’m not going to like his answer. “Nothing. She’s squeaky clean. Not even a fucking parking ticket. It’s almost suspicious how unsuspicious it is.”

“Yeah, figures.” It’s bugging me, though. “But get this—earlier, I told her about Lyla.”

There’s a pause on the line, and when Noah speaks again, he sounds genuinely surprised. “Since when do you talk about… you know, a closed case?”

I can hear the unspoken words— since when do you bring up Lyla ? Hell, I don’t. I never fucking do.

“I had to gauge her reaction,” I say, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “She didn’t even know Lyla. Yet, she had so much emotion. She was hurt, angry as fuck, like I’d personally killed Lyla myself. And yet… she didn’t bat an eye over her own fucking roommate getting killed.”

“So, you’re saying she cared more about a girl she never knew than the one she lived with?”

“Exactly,” I mutter, standing up and pacing the room. “It’s almost like she saw her roommate’s death coming, like she expected it. And Lyla? She reacted like it hit her personally.”

“Are you suspecting that Izel was assaulted or something?”

I stop, staring out the window at the street below. “I think it’s possible. But we don’t have anything concrete yet. I need you to keep digging. There’s more to Izel than what’s on paper. I want every detail, Noah. Whatever you can find.”

“You got it,” he reassures. “I’ll keep you posted.”

Frustration creeps in as I disconnect the call. My eyelids are getting heavy, and I realize I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours.

I push everything aside and sink into the mattress. I know I need rest; my brain’s fried, and I can barely think straight. Sleep starts to take over, and I just hope that somewhere in my dreams, I’ll find the answers I need because that’s all I can think about. But as sleep pulls me in deeper, a pair of mismatched eyes haunts my thoughts, making it hard to shut my mind off.

I wake up after a much-needed rest and start getting ready for the day. It’s a relief to finally have some shuteye, but the weight of the case still lingers like a bad hangover. I’ve stationed two cops outside my place, and one is going to be inside, keeping an eye on Izel.

Noah knocks on the door, holding Izel’s phone like it’s a ticking time bomb. He hands it over, and I give him a nod of gratitude.

I walk out of my room and Izel emerges from hers, and fuck me, she looks like a walking fantasy. Barely-there shorts and a camisole that could make a priest question his faith. I mentally slap myself. She’s under my protection and observation, for crying out loud. These kinds of thoughts have no place here.

She’s yawning, and what creeps me out is that she didn’t have any trouble sleeping. Not that I’d want her to, but it’s just plain weird. She rubs her eyes, and something about her feels so innocent, even in that sexy getup.

Izel heads in my direction, and I’m doing my best to keep my gaze on her face and not let it wander, especially after what I saw last night.

“Morning,” she mumbles huskily.

I return the greeting with a curt nod. “Morning, Izel.”

I hand Izel her phone, and it’s clear she’s not expecting it. Her eyes dart from the phone to me, and she swallows hard.

“We tracked it,” I say casually, “about twenty minutes away from your room. Any reason it would be there?”

She stammers a bit, and her voice trembles before she manages to get a hold of herself. “Oh, that’s...I was with Liam last night, and I might’ve dropped it there.” She mumbles a low “sorry” under her breath.

“Dropped your phone? How the fuck do you drop your phone and not realize it?”

“I don’t know, it just...must’ve slipped off. I didn’t realize it.”

Before we can dig deeper into her explanation, Luna walks in. She eyes Izel in an uncomfortable way.

Luna tells me that the homicide detective, Lucas Brown, will be here to keep an eye on Izel while I’m gone. She hands me Lucas’s background check report, and I’m about to take a look when Izel cuts in.

“No way, I am not letting a stranger share a space with me.”

With a sharp exhale, I gather my composure. Izel is putting up one hell of a fight, but it’s for her own good.

“It’s for your safety. We can’t afford to take any risks with this case.”

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

It’s a losing battle, and I can see that. I nod at Luna, signaling that we’re at an impasse for now. She backs off, understanding the situation, and leaves the room.

Izel’s not done, though. She looks out the window and spots the two cops stationed outside.

“What the hell are these cops doing here?”

“I told you, it’s for your safety. We need to make sure you’re protected,” I sigh.

“This is just overkill. I’m not some helpless victim.”

“It’s not about you being helpless. It’s about ensuring that we get to the bottom of this case without any more casualties,” Noah says.

She crosses her arms, clearly not convinced. “I still don’t like it.”

I exhale, deciding it’s best not to push her further. “You don’t have to,” I tell her as I head for the door.

I’m almost tempted to tell her to at least wear pants, given her barely-there shorts, but that wouldn’t exactly be the professional way to handle things. I shut the door behind me and head back to my office.

I’m halfway through my third cup of coffee when Oliver, the security guy who always looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, steps in, holding a manila envelope in his hand. His uniform’s wrinkled, and there’s a half-assed attempt at a smile on his face.

“Hey, Rick,” Oliver says, shuffling over to my desk. “Got something for you.”

I glance up, one eyebrow raised.

He hesitates, scratching the back of his neck like he’s forgotten what he came in for. “Uh, this came in the mail two days ago. Meant to bring it to you sooner, but, well, shit happens.”

“Two days, Oliver? You’re just now getting around to it?”

He shrugs, looking almost apologetic. “Yeah, sorry, man. Been swamped with all the other crap going on.”

I snatch the envelope from his hand, not even bothering to hide my annoyance. “Fine. Get back to whatever it is you do and let me handle this.”

I flip the envelope over, staring at the familiar, neat handwriting on the front. No return address, just my name scrawled in deep, almost aggressive strokes. I tear it open with more force than necessary, already knowing what I’m about to find.

There it is. The same fucking letter I’ve received four times in the last four months. The same sick little message from some psycho who gets off on playing with my head. The paper’s stained—no, not just stained—saturated with what looks like blood.

The handwriting is elegant, almost tender, and the words... Fuck, they’re trying to sound poetic, like this is some romantic gesture instead of a deranged mindfuck. The way it’s written, with all the care and detail, you’d think it was some sick version of a love letter. No, scratch that—it is a love letter. Just not the kind you’d want to receive.

It’s not the first time I’ve dealt with something like this, and it won’t be the last. Comes with the territory when you’ve got your face plastered all over the news as the guy who takes down the worst of the worst. People either want to kiss your ass or cut it off.

I grab the letter, fold it up, and shove it into my desk drawer with the others. Out of sight, out of mind. I’ve got bigger problems to deal with right now.

I’m deep into connecting the dots when Colton, another member of my team, walks in. He’s got a look on his face like he’s just struck gold, and it piques my interest.

“What do you got, Colton?” I ask, leaning forward in my chair.

Colton is known for his expertise in public relations within our team. He hands me a file. “Rick, we found something big. Liam, the guy Izel was with, he’s the brother of Angie Swayer, the first victim of Ghostface Striker.”

“Bring Liam in for questioning.”

The interrogation room is cold, and Liam sits there, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His eyes dart around as if he’s expecting someone to magically come to his rescue. I’m not here to save him, and he knows it.

I shed off my jacket, revealing the rolled-up sleeves of my shirt. I take a deep breath and walk into the room. On the other side of the one-way mirror, Luna and Colton are watching.

“Liam, care to tell me why you were with Izel last night?”

Liam stammers for a moment, clearly uneasy. “We were just talking.”

“Just talking? At the scene of a gruesome murder?”

It’s clear that Liam is not going to talk so I decide to employ the Reid Technique, a classic method used in interrogations. I start by asking open-ended questions, giving Liam the chance to explain himself, hoping he’ll dig himself into a hole.

“Why were you there, Liam?”

He fidgets in his chair, his eyes shifting from side to side, avoiding direct eye contact. It’s a classic sign of deception. I press on, narrowing my focus.

“Izel claims you were not with her before she had a run-in with the killer. Can you explain why she’d change her story?”

Of course, she hadn’t, but there’s no harm in letting him believe it. If he sees her as his savior, maybe he'll feel compelled enough to crack.

Liam swallows hard. “I don’t know why she’d say that. Maybe she was scared, and I was just trying to comfort her.”

I’m not buying it, and I let him know it. I switch to the theme development technique, creating a narrative that makes it more difficult for him to maintain his innocence.

“Izel’s roommate is dead, and she’s a person of interest in this case. You show up at the crime scene with her, and all you did was ‘comfort’ her? That’s not adding up, man.”

Liam’s starting to crack under the pressure, and his eyes dart around the room. It’s time to take things a step further.

I employ the maximization technique, making it clear that the consequences for lying are far worse than the truth. “If you were involved in any way with this murder and you’re not coming clean, you’re going to be in a world of trouble. I suggest you start telling me the truth.”

Liam’s face pales, and his fingers start tapping nervously on the table. The fear in his eyes is hard to miss. But he’s still not talking.

“Look man, I understand people can make mistakes. Maybe you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. If you cooperate, we can work on finding a way to minimize your involvement in this.”

It’s a risky move, but it often works. People want a way to save face, to believe they’re not as guilty as they might appear. Liam finally breaks, his voice quivering.

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you everything.”

Liam finally breaks his silence, “I tried forcing myself on her.”

“What the fuck? You’re telling me you sexually assaulted her?”

“I was in a terrible place after my sister’s death. I was drinking, and I just... I lost control. Izel kicked me in the balls and ran, and I chased after her to apologize.”

Izel had been the victim here, but she lied, saying it was consensual. My hands clench into fists as I try to process the enormity of it all.

Liam continues, his voice strained. “I was messed up, but Izel didn’t want this to blow up. She was protecting me, I guess.”

I stand up, and before I know it, my fist connects with Liam’s face. He topples from his chair, crashing to the ground, dazed and bleeding.

I stand over him, shocked at what I’ve just done. Knowing Luna and Colton, they’re probably exchanging uneasy glances behind the one-way glass. I’ve never lost control like this before, never let my emotions take over during an interrogation. But something about this case, about the secrets, has triggered a raw, protective instinct I can’t seem to control.

I throw another punch at him. It’s like a floodgate has been opened, and I can’t stop myself. I want to hurt Liam for what he did to Izel.

Liam writhes on the ground, his face contorted in pain, and I’m finally snapped back to reality. What the hell am I doing? I can’t just beat a suspect senseless. It’s not how justice works, and I’m jeopardizing everything.

I take a shaky breath, forcing myself to back away. My legs feel heavy as I walk out of the room. I slam the door behind me, attempting to block out the mess I just made, but my chest is still tight. As I step into the hallway, I see Luna and Colton standing outside the observation room.

They are staring at me in disbelief. It’s like I’ve become a different person, someone they’ve never seen before. I turn to them and say, “This didn’t happen.” I’m making a last-ditch effort to salvage the situation, but it might be too late.