Page 32 of Pack Coffey

"Yes, but you can't see them, Dylan," I reply quietly.

He leans forward on his elbows, making the chains rattle. "You want my help, sis? Show me what's in those folders."

"I can't do that," I say again.

His eyes narrow slightly. "You're looking for a man, obviously. The way that he's leaving the women. Probably having sex with them after their dead, because he didn't want to see the rejection on their faces if he fucked them while they were alive."

I don't like the crass way he's speaking, because we've never talked about his kind of stuff before. But I'm not a prude. I can handle it. More than that, though, I don't like the way he's talking about the victims like they were just something to be used and thrown away.

"If I had to guess, I'd say he's young. Probably our age, working some mundane, going nowhere job. This is his thrill. A way to keep himself feeling alive."

I want to ask if we're still talking about the murderer we're hunting or himself, but I don't. Instead, I tell him the truth, "All of the girls look like me."

This captures his attention. Where he'd dropped his eyes to the folders again, they slowly drag back up to my face. "Let me see."

His pupils are blown, and I know that my fear of him is starting to perfume out with my scent. I shake my head slowly.

One second, we're across from each other having a conversation, and the next he's got the table flipped sideways not caring that the chains are yanking at his hands as he reaches for me. Just as fast, I'm yanked behind a heavily muscled body and three guards rush into the room to get ahold of Dylan.

My brother is screaming profanities at them and at Saint, telling them all that he's going to kill them and their families. The nurse's aide pokes a shot into his shoulder and pushes the plunger down.

Dylan glares at Saint's badge strapped to his hip before moving his death stare to me. "You're working for them. They're nothing but pig slop."

He spits at Saint, missing his boots by a few inches, rattling on, "I should've known. You're just like Mom. You helped put me here, didn't you? You're a horrible sister, Darci. I don't ever want to see you again."

"Don't come back," he mutters before slumping in the guards’ arms. They drag him out, head hung low and feet trailing behind them.

"You guys, okay?" one of the guards is asking Saint who nods before turning his back to him.

He grabs the sides of my face and turns it up to his. "Didhe hurt you? Are you okay?"

I shake my head, answering both questions in one. We might've gotten some help narrowing down the statistics on the killer, but then again, maybe he was blowing smoke up our ass just to get what he wanted. All of it for nothing, and what did it cost?

Tears spill over as Saint pulls me to his chest and wraps me in his tight bear hug.

Chapter Eleven

HENRY

We're sitting around the living room, having a pack meeting while we listen to the wild story that he's telling us of the trip he and Darci took yesterday. It's a miracle that Banks hasn't beat the crap out of him for putting her in harm's way. I'm not exactly sure that the possibility is off the table either since his knuckles are white as his fingers clenched between the others are tight as hell. Probably helps that Keaton is next to him with Bear tucked between his legs as he rubs his ears. Lawrence is sitting across from me with his elbows on his knees, head hung low enough that his hair hides his face.

Something has been bothering me since he started this conversation. "What's his name?"

Saint glances over at Banks, probably thinking our other alpha might take matters into his own hands, but I highly doubt it. After the details of yesterday, it's clear to see how much Darci still cares for her brother.

"Dylan Levine," Saint finally answers.

"Holy shit," I say, leaning back stunned. "I don't know why I didn't put two and two together, but Darci was right. She had emailed me before. Back when her brother was first going to court and we wrote an article about him. She asked if I could site my sources for where I found my information."

Saint chuckles, "Of course she did."

"I never replied, because for one, we don't just hand that out to people. And for two, I wasn't sure if she was a zealous fan, or just trying to find a way to get his lawyers to find reasonable doubt," I admit. "Three, I was swamped with stuff going on. I barely had time to sleep back then, because I was having to run all over the city."

"You don't have to feel guilty about that," Saint offers. "You know that she's an understanding person."

I nod, "Yeah, I know. She reminded me of it in my office a couple weeks ago, but I guess didn't want to bring up her brother or make me feel bad."

He nods. "She seemed like she was ashamed to talk about him. I think it has a lot to do with her mom still making her do these weird ass psych evaluations to make sure that she isn't going to turn into a serial killer like Dylan. It's fucked up, if you ask me."

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