Page 107 of Fate's Crossing

“Where are we going, boss?” he asked after they’d set off toward the car.

“We’ve got too many suspects and too little time, so we’re going to do this by process of elimination. I want all of them—Colin Rowe, Bryan Fowler, Kyle Garrett—in custody, sitting right beside Logan Hayes. I want to have eyes on every single one of them until we figure out who the hell is slicing up innocent women. And who had the gall to take mine.”

“Great.” Frank clipped his seat belt on. “Who’s first?”

Nico thought about it. “West can take Garrett, that will cause the least problems. Fowler could be anywhere. Best we can hope for is a BOLO hit. Which just leaves Mr. Rowe. We’ll start at his taxidermy shop. West and Zoe can cover his house.”

Frank made a hissing sound by inhaling through his clenched teeth. “All of that without a warrant?”

Nico put the car in gear. “We’ll call a judge on the way.”

Chapter twenty-eight

Lexie’s concept of time warped and twisted. Shattered fragments of awareness needled her consciousness—a never-ending nightmare.

The chronic nausea had passed, yet her world kept spinning. White light blinded her. Stars danced behind her lids. The air she breathed smelled of damp—mildew, dirt, and manure. Her hands were half-numb, the hard pressure of the duct tape on her wrists burned. But there was something else too, beneath her fingertips. She couldn’t be sure, but the small, round bumps on the underside of the armrests could have been tacks, the kind one might expect on an old vinyl chair. For no apparent reason, other than survival instinct telling her to, Lexie began picking at one, loosening it, digging it out. It gave her something to focus on, and as more and more perception of where she was and what was happening came to her, it gave her hope too.

After a long time, she opened her eyes, blinking into the first clear vision she’d had since waking up in this horrible place. The stranger holding her prisoner stood directly in front of her. Lexie’s breathing suspended. Her stomach clenched. Because it was no stranger at all.

“No . . .”

This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

Before she could fathom a single thing to say, Lexie caught sight of something else, just outside the beam of light from the hanging bulb above. Lying crumpled in the corner of what appeared to be an old cellar or basement of some kind, was Kyle. His eyes—dead and unseeing—sat open. The knife wedged in his chest, evidence of a brutal end, was planted in the middle of an enormous, dark stain that had once been the fresh blood of the man she used to love.

Lexie couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Her vision blurred through erupting tears and without warning, a wail of fear and grief and anger tore its way out of her throat. She screamed and screamed and didn’t stop, even as the familiar face in front of her bared it’s teeth and said, “You brought this on yourself.”

“No, nothing here either,” Frank grumbled into his cell phone. “It’s a dead end. We’ll look around a bit more, then meet you back at the station.” He gave Nico a sad grin. “No news. They checked Lexie’s house; it’s empty.”

Nico barely had it in him to acknowledge the statement. He turned in a slow circle, taking in the ransacked drawers, scattered papers, and general chaos that was the result of a painstakingly thorough search of Colin Rowe’s taxidermy shop. On the outside, Colin was nothing more sinister than a man with a creepy-ass profession. His business turned a small profit and the books appeared legit. Nothing suggested he spent his spare time butchering innocent young women. Nico felt his mouth set in a hard line. Were they even scrutinizing the right guy? He’d hoped they would find something—anything—that might give them a clue where to look next. They hadn’t. And the more time went by, the more his hands shook, and his control began to slip.

You sick fuck. I swear, if you’ve hurt her . . .

Finding his way back out onto the sidewalk, Nico plonked down on the edge of the gutter. He rested his arms on bent knees. Every cell in his body raged with thoughts of what Lexie was enduring—or had endured—at the hands of a monster. And he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Frank came to sit beside him. He was quiet for a few moments before saying, “It’s not over yet, kid.”

Nico hung his head. “It might be. For her.”

Before Frank could reply, Nico’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t recognize the number.

“Nico? It’s Annie.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“You tell me,” she said. “I just got off the phone with Wade. Lexie’s missing?”

Nico checked his watch, feeling another link in his chain of patience break loose. “That was over an hour ago. He was supposed to call you immediately.”

“He did,” she snapped. “But I’ve been having some problems of my own tonight, namely a husband who’s disappeared off the face of the earth, so I’m sorry if returning a phone call from my boss wasn’t at the top of my priority list!”

“Paul is gone too?”

“Oh, relax,” she said dourly. “We had a fight yesterday and he’s obviously still sulking. Forget it. Tell me what’s going on.”

Nico rubbed the back of his neck. “What did Wade tell you?”

“He said Lexie was attacked at the bar tonight, that her car is gone, and”—he heard her draw in a shaky breath—“he said there was a lot of a blood.”

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