2. Monday’s Should Be Outlawed

2 MONDAY’S SHOULD BE OUTLAWED

Keaton

“Still no luck, huh?”

My partner and all-around pain-in-my-ass, Noah Anderson, questioned when I strolled into the small satellite FBI office Monday morning. I ignored him, tossing my keys on my desk and hanging my leather briefcase on the back of my chair before making my way across the room with only one goal in mind. Coffee. I needed a vat of the stuff in order to have this conversation.

It had been over a week since I’d literally stumbled upon Henley Graves on the sidewalk and, for some unknown reason, I couldn’t get her out of my head. There was also the fact her driver’s license was still in my possession. If I were being honest with myself, it was merely the excuse I was using to track her down.

Something about her piqued my interest, which should have sent up all sorts of red flags. Instead, I’d damn near turned into a stalker.

As I took my first sip of liquid gold, the remainder of our motley crew began to trickle through the front doors .

At first glance, Nelson Travers reminded me of one of those guys who lived in their parents’ basement, playing video games with his online buddies for hours at a time. The man was a fucking genius with computers though; one of the best hackers I’d ever met.

“Did you find her?” Sammy, Nelson’s wife, asked quietly as I sidestepped to give her access to the pot.

The couple had joined our team a little over a year ago and gave new meaning to the phrase opposites attract. Nelson, while not a bad-looking guy, wore bow ties and sweater vests, while Sammy dressed like she’d just stepped onto the runway at a fashion show in Milan.

“Not yet,” I responded, leaning my ass against the counter.

“Mondays should be outlawed,” Koen Banks, the youngest of our group at twenty-five, announced with a grunt, his black Ray-Ban sunglasses still perched on his face despite the cloudy sky outside.

“If you didn’t party all weekend long, you wouldn’t be hungover ’til Tuesday.” Lanie elbowed him in the ribs as she passed him on the way to their shared desk.

“Harsh, Lanes. Factual, but harsh.” He dipped his head in her direction.

For the longest time, we figured the back-and-forth between the two of them was a ruse to hide the fact they’d gotten together in the biblical sense. We’d even gone so far as to take bets on which one would slip up first. The more they fought, though, it became quite apparent they were more like brother and sister than lovers.

“Just say the word and Nelson would be more than happy to help,” she offered.

“Thanks. I might take you up on it if I can’t find anything in the next couple of days. The girl is like vapor.” Sammy raised her eyebrow. “Yeah. The irony is not lost on me.”

Eleven years ago, I was gifted with a fresh start, a new beginning not many people were afforded. Which was why my team and the director of the FBI were among the few on a very short list who knew my true identity and only because I trusted them with my life.

Being the son of a serial killer would have been a death sentence for my career—pun intended. No one would have given a shit I’d been the one who found all the evidence used to convict him. In the back of their feeble minds, they’d always wonder if the apple fell far enough from the tree. At least that’s what I told myself.

“All right, people, we’ve got a live one.” Special Agent Duncan Palmer rounded the corner from the back offices with Waverly at his side. I’d been blindsided with an introduction to him a short time before stepping foot onto the grounds of Quantico. Apparently, Jasper and Waverly felt my surly attitude needed a bit of an adjustment.

“Go ahead, kid. Show me what you’ve got.”

“Excuse me?”

Soon after we’d finished the lunch Heather prepared, the behemoth of a guy, who’d shown up with Waverly, told me to take a walk with him. Since I was curious as to why in the hell he was in my home—well, Jasper and Heather’s home—to begin with, I reluctantly agreed.

The second we stepped into the expansive backyard, Duncan spun around in front of me, arms spread out at his side.

“Take a swing.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Good to know she—” he nodded toward the house “—went to bat for a pussy. ”

I swung out with my right fist, catching air as he sidestepped easily.

“Lesson number one.” He got in my face, moving faster than a man his size should be able to. “Emotions have no place on the battlefield.”

“Jesus Christ! This is my backyard, not some battlefield.”

My legs left the ground as he swept them out from under me. I landed flat on my back with an “ooph” and before I had a chance to move, he’d straddled my chest with his thick thighs.

“Look around you, kid. Life is one battle after another. For far too long, you’ve been waging a war inside that head of yours. What you have to decide is whether you’re going to let him win or are you going to man the fuck up?”

“I’m. Not. Him,” I growled, rolling my hips to try to knock him off-kilter. It didn’t work, of course, since he had four inches and about seventy pounds on me.

“Then prove it.” He stood effortlessly, offering me his hand. “Not to me or Waverly, and not to Jasper or Heather. Prove it to yourself. Now clear your head of all the bullshit swirling around in there and take another shot.”

I did, connecting with the underside of his jaw, nearly breaking my hand in the process. He swayed backward for a heartbeat, otherwise unaffected by my punch.

“Again,” he growled.

We danced around each other, exchanging blow after blow, until finally I landed a gut shot which took him to a knee. When I put out my hand to help him stand, though, he returned the favor with a shot between my legs.

“Lesson number two.” He chuckled when I dropped to my knees in pain, cradling my wounded balls in my hand. “I don’t fight fair.”

No one knew Duncan’s background beyond what we’d been told. He’d been on an operation when his cover was blown. Like myself, he’d been reborn as someone new; his past redacted.

“Let the games begin,” Koen smirked. “Mom and Dad are in the house.”

His comment may have been said jokingly, however, it painted an accurate picture of our team. Each of us came from different backgrounds, still we managed to function as one. “A cohesive unit with a side of dysfunctional family thrown in the mix to make life interesting,” was how Lanie described us. She was not wrong.

Sammy excused herself, taking her cup of coffee to the reception area near the front door, where she spent the majority of her day answering calls and keeping us organized. The rest of us, minus Nelson who was busy clicking away on his keyboard, gathered around the long wooden table on the left side of the room where we held most of our briefings.

As far as satellite offices went, ours was pretty standard. A bathroom with an attached locker area, a secure weapons slash tech room, a small interrogation room, a holding cell, and two private offices in the back for the highest ranking agents.

Huntington, West Virginia wasn’t normally a raging hub for nefarious activity, but considering the looks Duncan and Waverly were shooting back and forth to each other, I’d say all that was about to change.

“Over the past two months, three young women have disappeared on Interstate 77 between West Virginia and Ohio,” Duncan started. “All were traveling alone, their cars found abandoned at various truck stops when they didn’t show up at their destinations.”

“A lot of people go missing every day,” Noah interjected. “Why bring in the feds? Is there even a connection between the three girls?”

“He’s got a point, Duncan. What are we missing here?” Lanie asked.

A burning sensation started in my gut at the mention of where the vehicles had been discovered. It worsened the more he spoke.

“The body of Ashley Greer, victim number one, was found last night by a highway patrol officer. She was naked with obvious signs of torture.”

“Our perp left us a message of sorts,” Waverly spoke up, her eyes softening as they shifted to me. “Her left ring finger was cut off post-mortem…”

No. No. No!

“…and there was a note.”

“What did it say?”

“‘I know who you are, Special Agent Clarke. Catch me if you can.’”

A whoosh of air left my lungs like I’d been sucker punched in the solar plexus. Unable to contain the energy coursing through my body, I stood abruptly; the chair beneath me making a grating sound as it scraped across the floor. Raking my fingers through my hair, memories of the trial filtered through my mind. The truck stops. The same mutilated finger. All details of his case which had never been disclosed to the public.

Turning to the two people in the room, besides myself, who had the knowledge, I posed, “Copycat?”

“That’s my theory,” Duncan offered.

“Whoa. Someone want to fill in the rest of the peanut gallery here?” Koen circled a finger in the air, indicating my team. Nelson had even stopped typing to stare at my outburst .

Waverly started to open her mouth, but this wasn’t her story to tell. They knew the basics, but I’d never shared the whole truth. Leaning my back against the wall, I looked down at my feet, unable to meet the eyes of my teammates…my friends, while I unburdened my soul.

“Ring fingers were my father’s trophy. They found them all hidden inside a freezer in the garage when they executed the search warrant. During his psych evaluation, he told the shrink my mom was having an affair. He followed her one night to a truck stop a few miles from our house where she met with a man. On her way home an hour later, she stopped at a convenience store, which was where he confronted her.”

“Jesus fuck,” Noah spat.

“From his account,” I continued, “she vehemently denied his accusations, but his fucked-up brain snapped anyway. He strangled her right there in the parking lot next to her car. No cameras. No witnesses.”

“You don’t have to continue, Keaton,” Lanie spoke softly. “We can fill in the blanks.”

“I’m all right?—”

“You’re not.” Noah slammed his fists onto the table.

My gaze flew to his and held. We’d been partners for six years; seen things which would have even the most faithful questioning their belief in God. Yet, watching him cross the room to stand toe to toe in front of me, I saw a fierceness in his blue eyes I’d never witnessed before.

“I can only imagine what it’s been like for you these past eleven years. Holding all of this inside doesn’t do anyone, especially you, any good. Let it out, man.”

“Yeah,” Koen agreed, having joined us at some point. “Unleash the Kraken. ”

“Christ, you’re an idiot.” Lanie shoved him out of the way.

“We’ve got your back, Keaton,” Nelson added.

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I told them how my father began kidnapping women who reminded him of my mother from truck stops every three months. He held them in an old hunting cabin he owned deep in the woods. For days, he abused them in the most heinous ways, taking pictures and video for his future enjoyment before finally ending their lives in the same manner he did my mother.

“He took their left ring finger because according to him, ‘women are lying whores who don’t deserve to keep the finger associated with marriage.’”

“Now it appears we have a fan of Simon Renshaw,” Duncan stated.

I thought I’d buried the name, along with the man, nine years ago after he committed suicide inside his prison cell. Apparently, I was mistaken.

His motherfucking legacy continued to haunt me from the grave.

Henley

“I don’t see a reason to change your medication at this point,” Susan, the nurse practitioner at the Ritter Park free clinic, stated while clicking away on the keyboard of her mini laptop. “From what you’ve told me, you haven’t had a hypoglycemic incident this severe in some time. How often are you checking your blood sugar?”

My cheeks flamed, shame and an ounce of anger smacking against them like a slap to the face. Up until a few weeks ago, the answer to her question would have come easily. Three times a day. However, when my scholarship to Marshall was ripped away, I lost everything.

The one and only time I looked into getting health insurance, I nearly choked at the—so called—affordable cost. Since living out of my car once winter settled over Huntington didn’t seem like a viable option, I made an impossible choice. Saving up enough money to rent a cheap apartment overrode the need for medication.

“I haven’t been able to get the test strips in a while.”

She stopped typing, her kind eyes lifting to meet mine.

“What about the Lantus and glipizide? Have you been taking them regularly?”

Glipizide was a pill used to help the pancreas produce insulin, a hormone which lowered the amount of sugar in the blood, while Lantus was a daily injection and was a long acting insulin, since my body didn’t create enough.

“No,” I whispered.

I knew it was monumentally stupid, but I’d been rationing them both for the past month, only taking them every couple of days and not at their prescribed dosages. It was risky—potentially, even deadly—to self-medicate, but I figured a little here and there was better than nothing at all.

“I’m not here to judge, Henley.” She sat her computer to the side and folded her hands in her lap. “There’s a reason I chose this profession and it wasn’t for the paycheck I receive each week. I care, plain and simple. So, let’s you and me figure out how we’re going to successfully manage your diabetes.”

An hour later, I felt lighter, more in control than I had in a long time. Susan wanted to closely monitor my blood sugar levels over the next week or two before deciding whether or not to resume the Lantus. She excused herself from the exam room, only to return moments later holding a tote bag filled with a new glucometer, a box of test strips, and a ninety-day supply of glipizide—all of which had cost me nothing, except my pride. After thanking her profusely, I left the clinic and began the three-block walk to the diner for my afternoon shift.

Over Easy wasn’t just a job, a means to an end, it was my sanctuary. The owner, Shirley Rae, along with two other waitresses, Betsy and Mitzy, who’d worked there since the place opened twenty-five years ago, took me under their wing. They reminded me of the women from the show Mom and Nana used to watch, The Golden Girls , though I was pretty sure Mitzy would’ve given Blanche a run for her money. At fifty-seven years old, the woman was a shameless flirt.

Making friends was something which never came easily for me, but with these three women it was as effortless as breathing. Although, it may have had something to do with the fact they never gave me any other option. The day I was hired, they welcomed me with open arms and a shot of Betsy’s home-brewed, apple pie moonshine. When my world crumbled to the ground around me, they did the same, even though they didn’t know the details.

Opening the wood-framed glass door, I stepped through the archway into utter chaos.

“Thank God you’re here,” Shirley exclaimed as she rushed by carrying two pots of coffee. “The new girl was a no-show.”

The diner was filled to the brim with customers, including a few who sat on a bench off to the side waiting for a table to open up. There was a line four people deep at the cash register, where Mitzy was furiously stabbing at the keys on the old machine, ringing up their meals .

“Move your tush, Henley,” Betsy called out from across the room.

Taking my cue, I weaved through the tables, pushing through the swinging door which led to the kitchen area. Sal, Shirley’s husband and full-time cook, mumbled a greeting as he flipped burgers on the griddle, beads of sweat dotting his bald head.

“Afternoon, Sal,” I returned.

Grabbing my apron off one of the hooks lining the wall next to the office, I quickly replaced it with my purse and tote before trotting back out front to help sort through the melee.

The soft hum of eighties music playing through the speakers on the ceiling blended perfectly with the low rumble of conversations going on around me as I cleared the first table of dirty dishes. Once finished, I moved to the next, my body on autopilot after years of the same routine.

“How’d your appointment go?” Mitzy questioned, seating a couple at the booth I’d, moments before, finished cleaning.

“Really good.”

The day after my stint in the hospital, I showed up for work, looking a little worse for wear. They’d taken one peek at me, cornered my ass into a booth, and wouldn’t let me out until I spilled the beans. Of course, they’d known all about my diabetes for years, as it was nearly impossible to keep a secret from those three, but I’d led them to believe it was under control. To say they were pissed would have been an understatement. I couldn’t imagine what they’d do when they discovered my living arrangements. All hell would undoubtedly break loose, but that was a worry for another day.

“Have you eaten today? ”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What did you have?”

Tilting my head to the side, I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. Mitzy stood next to me with her hands fisted on her hips, one foot tapping impatiently against the tile floor while she waited for my answer.

“A granola bar?”

“Squirrel food.” She rolled her eyes. “When we slow down, you get something from the kitchen.”

Their overprotectiveness took a sharp left turn onto crazy street when they found out what a piss-poor job—their words, not mine—I was doing managing my disease. They switched from caring friends into full-on mama-bear mode in the blink of an eye. The constant nagging was something I could do without, then again, it came from the heart, so how could I possibly argue with that?

“Yes, ma’am,” I agreed.

Hefting the large plastic tub I’d filled with soiled plates and cups off the last empty table, I dropped it off in the back where Joel, our dishwasher, would get to it once he arrived. After washing my hands, I rejoined the girls and began taking orders from the new customers.

The rest of the day flew by and before I knew it, I was strolling down the crowded streets toward the parking lot where I'd left my car, praying to all things holy it hadn’t been towed. It was a gamble every day, a crapshoot of epic proportions; similar to how my life had become in recent times.

Funnily enough, waitressing had not been on my radar when I moved to Huntington. I wanted to become a social worker in order to help people, like my mom, who’d been let down by the system. Unfortunately, I was young and na?ve to the ways of the world; a world in which all of my hopes and dreams would be squashed by a mega-rich playboy with an overinflated ego.

Stupid, so stupid.

Rounding the final corner, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Old Blue—the nickname I’d given my car—right where I’d left her; in the corner of the lot. It probably would have been a better idea to park under a copse of trees to hide the obvious fact the rusted-out vehicle didn’t belong in the nicer complex. Except then, the shade would’ve blocked the sun’s rays from heating the interior and considering the needle was hovering close to empty, it saved me from spending money on gas to warm up the car each night.

The back driver’s side door let out a wretched squeak when I opened it and climbed inside. Old Blue had been Mom’s car; one of the few high-dollar purchases she’d made before she died. It seemed like a waste of money at the time, since we took the bus or light rail whenever we went out, but she’d been adamant it would come in handy. Turned out, she was right.

Huntington had a few homeless shelters I could’ve utilized rather than sleeping in my car, however the stories I’d heard about what happened in them after dark were far more horrific than going it alone out in the elements. The three times each week I hitched up my big-girl panties to use their facilities for a quick shower were the ultimate test of my bravery. Which—to say—wasn’t much since I waited until after the breakfast crowd had cleared out so it was mostly empty.

Shadows began to dance across the dashboard as nighttime settled in around me. I wasn’t afraid of the dark, per se, it was the silence that accompanied it I found most terrifying. Some people loved to get away from the hustle and bustle, to have time to themselves. For me, the absence of sound lent too much time for my mind to shift into overdrive; conjuring up memories—both good and bad.

Curling onto my side, I willed my dreams to be filled with images of Mom and Nana. Instead, they were plagued, once again, by my worst nightmare.

It was a little past nine at night when I left the campus library after finishing up some research for a paper, which was due in two weeks for my Foundations of Social Policy class. The path I took to get back to my dorm room wasn’t as well-lit as some of the others, but it was the quickest. Besides, I’d traveled it so many times I could’ve made the trip with my eyes closed.

I was more than halfway home when the air around me shifted. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and goosebumps broke out along my arms. I’m not sure how I knew, but someone was watching me.

My footsteps quickened, falling in sync with my racing heart as I wrapped my hands around the straps of my backpack, prepared to use it as a weapon if needed. Taking a chance, I glanced over my shoulder, fully expecting to see someone closing in, except the sidewalk directly behind me was empty.

The second my head faced forward again; my feet stuttered to a stop as a figure stepped out from behind a group of trees which lined the dimly lit path; the relief I felt moments before short-lived.

“Nice night for a walk.”

I recognized his voice immediately.

“What are you doing out here, Chase?”

Chase McArthur was tall––just over six feet––with dirty-blond hair, blue eyes, and a leanly sculpted body he got from playing on the school’s basketball team. But he was also an asshole who didn’t know when to quit. He’d asked me out on a date more than a half a dozen times over the last six months, each attempt resulting in the same answer from me. No, thank you. I was too focused on my studies to even consider a social life, let alone go out with someone who stalked around campus like he was God’s gift to women with a different girl on his arm every week.

“Enjoying the scenery.” He nodded in my direction and smiled wide, displaying his overly white teeth.

It was getting late and I was too exhausted to play his games, but I also wasn’t stupid. Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out my phone and pretended to send a text when what I was actually doing was starting a video recording. Chase had never given me stranger-danger vibes before, however something about the way he was looking at me sent chills through my body. Putting the cell back, I straightened my shoulders and started forward, focusing my attention on the dorm building in the distance. With each step, those vibes turned into a gnawing sense of dread deep in my gut, which only worsened once I made it past him. My instincts were screaming at me to run, but before I could take flight, an arm wrapped around my torso, pulling me into a hard body while his hand slapped over my mouth.

Remembering what I could from every scary movie I’d watched, I fought like hell; scratching, kicking, anything I could think of to get loose. Unfortunately, he was bigger and stronger. He drug me off the path and slammed me up against a tree, the force momentarily knocking the air from my lungs.

“Do. Not. Scream.” Spittle flew from his lips with every punctuated word as he released the hold he had on my mouth.

Sucking in a deep breath, I prepared to ignore his asinine demand, only to find myself flung to the ground with Chase straddling my hips in a matter of seconds. He pinned both my arms above my head with one of his meaty palms, while the other grabbed my right breast in a bruising grip.

“No!” I yelled, struggling for all I was worth.

“You’ll take my cock and you’ll love it.” His hand left my breast to wrap around my throat. Leaning in close, I could smell the beer wafting on his breath when he slurred, “You have the same eyes, same face, same cock-teasing little body. I wonder if you’ll look the same on video begging for your life while I fuck your ass and choke you like the nasty little whore you are?”

There was no way I could allow him to violate me. I wouldn’t survive it. When he started to sit back, I made my move. Rearing up, I smashed my forehead into his face as hard as I could. It hurt like a son of a bitch, however the sickening crack of his nose breaking gave me a little satisfaction.

“You fucking bitch.” Blood dripped down his chin onto my shirt as he squeezed my neck harder before standing over me. “You’ll pay for this. Mark my words. You. Will. Pay.”

With a parting kick to my ribs, he took off into the night, leaving me there on the ground, shaking and crying.

Bang!

I jolted out of the dream as someone pounded on my window.

“You can’t sleep here,” a deep voice boomed. “Move it or I’ll have this piece of shit towed.”

Scrambling to the front seat, I cracked the driver’s side window enough to see outside. A beam of light pierced the darkness, blinding me briefly before I heard his quick inhale.

“It’s you.”