Chapter 5

"Michales!" Chief yells through the office. "There's a woman out front who's looking to report an incident last night at the Rusty Anchor."

"Jesus Christ." I roll my eyes and sigh. "It's always that fucking shithole."

Pushing my chair back from my desk, I stand as I pull my gun from the top drawer of my desk. After I slip it into my holster, I round my desk to make my way to the front of the precinct.

"Michales," he huffs as he approaches. "It's a fucking rape allegation. Maybe find a bit of couth and sensitivity before you go fucking talk to her."

"Yes, Sir," I stammer, "Of course."

Without moving from my side, he eyes the office, and I'm all but certain he's looking for anyone else to send in my place. It's just me and Brown—a rookie who's only days out of the academy—leaving him no other option beside doing it himself.

"Don't make me regret this." He drops a slip of paper on my desk and turns on his heel to head back to his office.

I might be the office fuck up, but I'm apparently still good enough when no one else is around.

I lift the paper and read the name scribbled across it.

Mia Dillon

The paper crinkles between my fingers as I walk through the precinct and into the waiting room. Pushing open the door, I call out the name crumpled within my fist.

In response, a young woman stands from the row of orange plastic seats bolted to the floor. She's a thin—too fucking thin—beautiful brunette. While she's young, she looks like life has repeatedly kicked her while she was down.

As she approaches, I note the remnants of mascara that have trailed down her cheeks and her messy bun of still-wet hair. Both clear signs that she tried to clean herself up before coming to the station. Her clothes are still those of a woman who was out on the town last night—a tight denim mini skirt and a low-cut tank top that accentuates her cleavage.

"I'm Detective Michales," I extend a hand to her as she approaches. "Why don't we go to one of the interview rooms so we can talk in private."

She gingerly shakes my hand and nods. We walk in silence to the room at the end of the hall, where I offer her one of the cold metal chairs before taking one for myself.

I gather basic details of her alleged assailant before diving into her recollection of events. At least if she becomes a blubbering mess, I'll have height, weight, and hair color for my report.

"Start from the beginning, Mia." I place my notebook on the table between us and lightly tap my pen on it. "Every little detail you can remember. Even if it seems insignificant, it might be useful. Okay?"

Her throat bobs, and her recollection of the evening begins to spew from her in broken fragments that are going to be useless to me.

"So, you agreed to meet Sam after you closed up the bar?"

"Yes." She dips her chin, and a bitter look spreads across her face. "I didn't expect…I…I didn't ask for this."

"I didn't say you did, ma'am." My eyes drop to her practically exposed tits before returning to her face. "What happened when you went outside?"

"He was nice. Sweet. We kissed a bit." She pauses briefly, and I catch a hint of shame in her eyes. "Then he went down on me."

"He performed oral sex on you?" I question to clarify.

"Yes."

"Consensually?"

Closing her eyes, she nods as she replies, "Yes. At first. He wouldn't stop. After I came, he kept going and talking about how good I tasted."

A brief mental image of her splayed across the bed of her truck and being eaten as a meal causes my cock to twitch.

And what kind of woman complains about getting too much head? It's normally them complaining that a man won't go down on them.

"When he finally stopped, he pinned me to my truck and used a bottle…" Her words trail off as though she is too ashamed to continue.

"He used a bottle to what?" The words spill from me with an unprofessional enthusiasm. This isn't the normal run-of-the-mill date rape shit that happens around here.

This is one of them.

One of those rich assholes related to all those disappearing girls.

Her eyes drop to the table, and she picks at her well-worn cuticles before answering, "To fuck me and bottle my cum. This is all so fucking embarrassing."

"And then?"

"He took what he wanted"—she shifts in her seat and covers her arms across her body—"making me come, he fucked me."

I'm fucking certain it's one of them.

"Without your consent?"

"I was crying and screaming for him to stop, if that's what you're asking." Her tone suddenly grows a bit defensive.

I pause and pretend to scribble some notes on my notepad while I wait for her to calm back down.

"And how did you get away after?"

"Get away?" Her brows furrow with confusion. "He just left me there. I mean, after he invited me back to his place for more, he climbed into his expensive-looking car and left."

"Let me get this straight. He performed oral sex on you, with your consent, proceeded to bring you to completion several more times, and then he invited you to come home with him?" I take a deep breath and let out a sigh. "Are you sure you aren't having regret over the events that unfolded?"

"I knew this was a mistake." She abruptly stands from her seat. "No one ever fucking believes girls like me."

"I'm not saying I don't believe you, Mia. It's just unlike any reports I've taken in the past." Pulling a card from my pocket, I slide it across the table. "I'll look into this further, but you aren't giving me much you go on. Rich, good-looking guy, possibly named Sam, in an expensive car. And you don't know if you could pick him out of a line-up."

"Whatever." She swipes the card from the table and storms out of the room.

Sam…Samuel?

Quickly making my way back to my desk, I pull a stack of folders from the bottom drawer. The investigation that has made me the laughing fucking stock of the department. I drop it on my desk frustratedly and flip it open, glancing down at the names.

Camryn Waters

Madeline O'Rourk

Paisley Allen

Liv Alden

Elise Allen

Chloe Wilson

Girls, several of which bear a resemblance to Ms. Dillon, all having disappeared from this town in the past couple of years. Flipping the page, I scroll through my list of potential suspects—all rich assholes that moved to this quaint town around the time these women started going missing.

My finger trails the paper as I read through the names until I find it.

Samuel Millington

I fucking knew it…