Chapter Twenty Seven

In a small concrete room nearly three thousand miles away, the man most widely known as Franklin West stared through a four-inch by thirteen-inch hole nine feet above his head and watched a bird fly in front of the sun. How odd that such a sight could infuse him with such joy. Up until recently, he had believed he could endure this sort of confinement. Now, he realized that all that awaited him was boredom.

He wasn't a fool. He knew that there was a chance things could end this way. He even knew that it might not be Bold or another hyper-intelligent federal agent who caught him but instead some greenhorn beat cops who happened to be at the right place at the right time. You didn't decide to make a career out of killing people and delude yourself into thinking you could get away with it your whole life.

But he didn't think that losing would hurt this bad. As nearly as he could remember, he was forty-three years old. That meant that he had at least half his life left to live unless he got cancer or heart disease. That was a long time to live, staring through a crack in the wall.

He took a deep breath and released it slowly. Bold's face flashed across his mind, and hate wormed its way to the surface of his apathy.

He would still get her. He still had his failsafe. One last shot in the dark, and this time, Faith would be blinded by the light and wouldn't see the shadows reaching to take her.

He would still break her, and when he left this hole for an even deeper hole and an even smaller window in an even more remote prison, he would carry with him the comfort of knowing that just like Jethro Trammell, the Donkey Killer he admired above all others, he had left Faith Bold with a scar she would carry for the rest of her life.

The horn sounded, and West stood and walked to the far wall. He placed his hands above his head and leaned forward, legs spread, waiting for the guards to search him and his cell before leading him to the walled enclosure where he would receive his hour of exercise.

He focused on the grief he would soon bring to his archenemy and smiled.

I will break you, Faith Bold.

***

Dr. David Friedman smiled as he looked at the text from Faith. He wondered how she would react if she knew that he sometimes read her texts a dozen times throughout the day and just smiled at them as he did now. She'd probably make some awkward wisecrack about how he was a dork who loved her too much and needed to find a hobby.

She didn't know how to see herself as someone worthy of the love he felt for her. But that was all right. That humility was one of the many things he loved about her. And as for her worth? He would remind her of that every day. She would know her worth even if she never believed it.

His smile widened as he recalled their meeting the night before. The first night after a case was always the best, in more ways than one. By the time Faith was finished with David, he was sore and exhausted and bruised, but he was grinning like a teenager. He was enough of a man to admit that one of the other things he loved about Faith was that she was hot as hell and knew exactly how to use all of her assets to great effect in bed.

His phone alarm went off, and he sighed and put his phone in his pocket. He loved all of his patients and tried very hard to love all of their owners, but Adelie was just such a pain. What was it this time? Blossom sneezed once?

Well, that was the job, and she was paying for the visits, so he might as well put on a smile and deal with it. His phone buzzed again just before he walked out of the door, and he pulled it out of his pocket and smiled when he saw it was from Faith.

He opened it, expecting another flirty message like the earlier one.

When he read the actual text, his smile vanished.

David, please come help. West has me. He says he'll kill me if you don't come. He already hurt Turk. I think he means it this time.

This couldn't be real. It couldn't be. It was a prank or some stupid joke. Someone had gotten Faith's phone at the Field Office and was playing a cruel trick on—

His phone buzzed again. An unknown number. When he opened the text, he cried out and nearly dropped his phone.

"Oh God," he whispered. "Oh God, no."

The text contained an image of Faith. She had been beaten unconscious. Her right eye was swollen, and the left side of her jaw was bruised. Blood had soaked one corner of the gag tied around her mouth.

The image was captioned Better hurry followed by an address.

The door opened, and his receptionist said, "Dr. Friedman? Miss Fontaine is…"

"Cancel my appointments," he said, rushing out of the room. "I'm taking the rest of the day."

He rushed from the office, ignoring the cries of surprise and concern. He considered calling the police, but what if West killed Faith when he heard the sirens.

He had to go. He had to save her. Maybe West just wanted to kill him instead, but that was okay.

Just not Faith. Please God, not Faith.

***

Ellie West put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher and started the load. Then she heaved a satisfied sigh and—

Prince. Ellie Prince. Not West. She was Eleanor Rosalie Prince, and Frank could go rot in prison for the rest of his life.

She heaved a far less satisfied sigh and headed upstairs to change. She was long past hating the parts of herself that would never get over her marriage to the world's most notorious serial killer, but it would be nice if she could at least stop thinking of herself by his name.

It's not that she had any love left for him. She could remember loving him, but the man she loved never existed, and it was easy for her to realize that. So why did she still have to blot out the word West on half of the signatures she wrote?

Think about Michael, she told herself. That's what Dr. Brown said. When you get stuck thinking about Frank, think about Michael and how much better your life is now.

She thought about Michael, his lopsided grin, his hardboiled exterior that so poorly hid the gooey marshmallow underneath. She thought about how loved she felt with him, how sexy it made her feel when she would catch him staring at her, how precious he made her believe she was when they would spend their nights cuddling on the couch watching tv.

She never realized how much those little things mattered. She used to think she was kind of a boring person. Who looks forward to watching tv every night?

Well, she had a big, strong, loving teddy bear of a man to watch tv with, and he belonged all to her and no one else. Faith might be the hot swimsuit model bombshell that Ellie never was, but she wasn't taking Michael to bed every night anymore, was she?

She sighed again as she pulled one of his t-shirts over her head. There she went again, making it about her insecurities. Dr. Brown told her that her jealousy had nothing to do with Faith and everything to do with feeling like she wasn't good enough.

Ellie didn't even care if that was true or not anymore. She just wanted it to end. She wanted to love her husband, stop thinking about her ex and stop thinking about her husband's ex. Why was that so stinking hard?

She pulled on a pair of pants and headed outside to get the mail. Michael was home at eight o'clock. She would check the mail, go upstairs to shower, dress in something slinky and make dinner. When Michael got home, she would give him "the look" and pretend to be irritated that he was going to let her dinner go to waste just to get into her oops-did-I-forget-to-wear-pants?

Dr. Brown said that was just avoiding the issue, but Dr. Brown could go soak her head. It made Ellie feel good to seduce Michael.

She checked the mail and found the usual collection of bills. The only letter that wasn't a bill was addressed to her. When she read the return address, she gasped.

Only one person would be writing her from prison.

Don't read it. Don't read it, don't read it, don't read it, burn it, don't read it.

But she opened the envelope. There was nothing else she could do, really.

A puff of dust shot from the envelope into her face. She cried out and coughed as the powder worked into her eyes and mouth and nose.

"What the hell? What the hell was… was…"

She heard the thump, but she was asleep before she realized the sound was her head hitting the floor.

***

Michael grinned at Faith and extended his middle finger. She laughed and stuck her tongue out at him. He resisted the urge to make a crass joke about her tongue and turned back to his paperwork.

"Next time, I'm making you do the paperwork," he muttered.

Behind him, Desrouleaux chuckled. "I swear, Prince, you'd think you two were still dating."

"I lost a bet," Michael explained. "Why the hell would the Eagles throw the fucking ball when Jarvis has two thousand rushing yards? For God's sake, what was Cleveland's defense going to do to stop him? Cry and make him feel bad?"

Desrouleaux laughed. "See, your mistake was expecting the Eagles' coaches to use their brains. You should have known better."

"Yeah, yeah. Well, I'm making her buy me the most expensive item on the menu at Chauncey's when she takes me out for my birthday next week."

"Chauncey's? Christ, are you still dating her?"

"Nope. She just owes me back rent for the year of crap I had to deal with back when we were dating."

Desrouleaux smiled impishly. "Back rent, huh?"

"Watch it," Michael warned playfully. "Only I get to make those jokes."

Desrouleaux lifted his hands. "I didn't say anything."

"Good. Now piss off, I have paperwork to do."

Desrouleaux laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, then headed off with Chavez. Those two also weren't dating, but Michael could tell from her expression that Chavez wished desperately that they were.

Look elsewhere, kid. The only intimacy Desrouleaux's interested in these days is with a tub of ice cream and reruns of The Wire.

His phone buzzed, and Michael smiled when he saw the name of the woman he actually was dating.

His grin widened. Hell no, I married that chick. She's my wife!

Life was good.

He opened the text, not quite letting himself hope it was a picture of her in that lacy dress she wore for Christmas last year.

It was a picture of her.

She wasn't wearing the dress.

She wasn't wearing much of anything except a terrified expression and a few ropes that bound her legs and arms to the table.

The caption said, She's real pretty when she's on her back, isn't she? I think I'll have some fun with her one last time.

Michael was out of his chair so fast that his knee took off the right side of his desk. He felt a sharp pain in his leg, but he'd deal with it later. A few people exclaimed in alarm as he ran out the door, but he'd deal with that later too.

His fear amplified the rage that boiled inside him. He should have done this a long time ago. He should have put a bullet in that asshole's head the moment Ellie told him what West did to her.

Well, he'd make up for lost time now.

Hold on, Ellie. I'm coming.