Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Frankie

I rush into the precinct, weaving through uniformed officers holding cups of coffee and shooting the shit about their weekend plans. I keep my head down, careful not to spill the two grande cups of black coffee in my hands while steadfastly avoiding gazes and therefore—I hope—comments.

"If it isn't Cinderella," one officer calls out. "Where's your ball gown?"

"I put it back in your closet where I got it, Gomez." I flash a smile over my shoulder and pick up the pace, eager to get to the war room and away from the harmless teasing. Truth is the teasing doesn't bother me. I'm sure they all saw me on the red carpet last night.

And might also have to do with the fact that last night with Damien was unbelievable. Every night with him is better than the last, but after the awards show something was different.

I was different, and I could feel it wafting off Damien's broad shoulders. Maybe it was seeing me interact with his friends or equals, or maybe he's finally catching up to my feelings. Either way, the night was pure bliss.

And then this morning, the reason I'm late and armed with a big cup of Jay's favorite Java, I woke up to find Damien's beautiful face buried between my legs while he fingered my ass.

And then he ate my ass, which I would've said I didn't like and had no interest in, until his tongue touched that bundle of nerves and I begged him for more.

Even now, a flush creeps up my skin just thinking about it.

"I don't even wanna know what the fuck you're thinking about," Jay groans as he stands, relieving me of one of the coffee cups. "You're late."

"There was a long line at the coffee shop." It's an easy lie and like most lies, stupid.

"Bullshit." He's right, so I don't bother denying it. "We got company." He nods to the chair in the corner where Ezekiel is sitting and looking totally uncomfortable.

"Zeke?" I say and set down everything but the coffee. "Did you remember something?"

His blue gaze never leaves mine, which is the only sign of confidence he shows. He shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head before answering. "Sort of."

I wait him out because that's usually the best way to get as much information as possible.

"After you leveled that threat at me, it got me to thinking."

"It wasn't a threat," I clarify. "Just a warning."

"Whatever," he grunts, rolling his eyes at the semantics. "I wasn't fully truthful when you showed up at my house. I wasn't just into computers back then, but they were my favorite thing to do. Games and software cost money, so I'd take photos. I'd hop on my skateboard and head down to the pier or the parks around the city and take photos for tourists, making a few bucks here and there."

None of that sounded ominous or worth a trip to the police station but I keep that to myself. "You have photos of the victims?"

He shrugs. "Probably." Zeke opens the green backpack on his lap and pulls out a plastic accordion file. "These are the ones from my time at Hope House. I'm not sure if they can help you. I haven't looked at 'em in years, but after you left, I dug 'em out of my garage."

His words seem sincere, but there's something about his body language and his lack of eye contact that keeps me on edge. "Thanks, Zeke. I'm sure this is going to be helpful."

He stands, but Jay puts a hand on his shoulder. "You said?—"

"You're not in trouble," I rush to remind him. "But we're going to need your help to identify everyone. Can you do that for us, Zeke? We'd really like to make more progress before we get called to another crime scene."

He's unconvinced. "I don't wanna get involved."

"You're already involved," Jay tells him. "If you don't end up a victim, you might be one of the few people who can tell us who might be a suspect."

"What about the girls?" I ask as I start removing photos and placing them on the copier. "Since all the victims so far are male, maybe it's one of them?"

He shakes his head. "I didn't ever talk to the girls."

"Okay. How about you help us put a name to the faces and if you remember anything else, you can just call?"

"Yeah. Fine." His shoulders droop forward before he drops back down into the chair before sliding it across the room to the table where Jay is laying out the copies of each photo. "I'm not sure of most of their last names. We didn't really do last names, just how we ended up in Hope House."

I nod my understanding, knowing that if not for Jay I might have ended up in a similar place. "What's your story?"

He shrugs. "Junkie mom overdosed, and rich John didn't want a bastard kid, so I went into the system. Here I am now."

"Ah, fuck, kid." Jay's shaking his head about to bubble over with sympathy.

"It's fine. I'm fine." He points out our first three victims using only their first names.

"You know," I say as I lay three more photos in front of him. "Just because he didn't want to raise you back then doesn't mean you're not entitled to something for being his kid." I would love to see that asshole's expression when his past comes knocking on his door.

"Yeah, maybe. That's Jane. She was sweet but quiet, mostly kept her nose in a book." His smile is small, but it's enough to say he has fond memories of Jane. "And that's Layla and Tristan."

Tristan is another one of our dead bodies. "Any idea where Layla ended up?"

"Nah, but her last name was Gonzalez or Sanchez, something with two last names."

"Thanks, that's helpful, Zeke."

He blushes but doesn't respond. "That's Mike. Jane's brother." He points to a photo of a fresh-faced kid with hazel eyes that blaze golden in the California sun. Hazel eyes that seem oddly familiar.

Jay points at the image. "You sure that's Mike?" His gaze slides at me so quickly Zeke might have missed it, but I didn't.

He sees what I see.

"Yeah sure, I mean I didn't know him by any other name."

Jay sighs and leans back in his chair. "Thanks for coming down here, Zeke. I know you didn't have to and it's probably the last thing you want but we really need to find this killer."

"Yeah sure. You really think this guy might come after me?"

Jay's about to nod so I jump in. "Only if he or she thinks you know why these guys are all dead."

He looks away again and I know he knows something, but I can't force him to talk. "I'm ready to go."

Jay stands. "I'll walk you out." He gives me a pointed look that I ignore because there's something far more interesting that has my attention.

This photo. That dark hair and those eyes are dead giveaways. He's younger in this photo, but the flutter in my belly that only happens when Damien is around is telling me that this is him. Or a twin brother? Unlikely, but my mind is racing with possibilities to make what I'm seeing make sense.

It's not just his photo that I'm fascinated with, though, it's all of them. The victims on my board are nothing but dead bodies to me, but here in these photos they're alive and young, full of hope for the future. At least I hope they are. "What happened there?" I'm more positive than ever that something happened inside Hope House and that something is why these men are all dead.

Why now, though?

That's another missing piece of the puzzle and I stand, taking the photo of Mike with me to the board where I write "WHY" in block letters. If we know what happened, then we'll know why these guys were murdered and that'll lead us right to who is murdering them.

"Good," Jay grunts as soon as he enters the room and catches me staring at the photo of Mike. "You see it too."

I look up. "What are you talking about?" It's a terrible fucking lie and we both know it.

Jay rolls his eyes and he's like a dog with a bone. I know he's not going to let this go. He's too good of a cop and man to drop this. "Lover boy." He stabs at the photo with his finger. "I know you see it, Frankie. Don't bullshit a bullshitter, okay?"

I can't deny that it looks a lot like him, but I'm not ready to concede the point. "There's a passing resemblance, but this photo is twenty years old." I stare at the photo until my eyes begin to blur, certain there's an explanation that has nothing at all to do with Damien. "His name is Mike." Sounds lame even to my own ears.

"Mike, my ass." There's a look in his eyes I don't like.

But none of this makes sense. That can't be Damien. He's never mentioned anything about being in foster care after his parents died. "I don't know Damien's middle name. I don't even know if he has one." I know there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this coincidence.

"Maybe not now. Damien Wolfe is a very rich man, and he might want to make sure there's enough distance between him and his past." Jay shakes his head. "Be smart, Frankie. If this were someone else, you'd shake the shit out of them to at least get them to consider this is a possibility."

He snatches the photo from my hand and sticks a thumbtack right through the forehead.

There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. I know there is.

And I'm going to figure out what the fuck it is.