Page 31 of Pack Coffey

The photo is the first thing listed with some of the personal belongings they found on the body. Her silent o that she makes with her mouth tells me that she's put together the same conclusion that I have. Giving her time to process, I wait until we're halfway to the station before asking if she's okay.

"They look like me, Saint," she all but whispers. "Or am I crazy?"

I shake my head, "No, babe. You're not crazy. I was on that same brainwave this morning. So, the question is, does the killer just have a preference, or are you his actual target? Do you have any enemies?"

She's looking straight ahead at the road when she finally answers after a few minutes. "I'm a loner. I keep to myself and until you walked into my life, didn't have any interaction with anyone other than the few public places I frequent."

I feel like she's not done, so I remain quiet, letting hergather her thoughts.

"I haven't been completely honest," she finally says. My stomach goes tight, and I prepare myself for the worst when she murmurs, "See, I have a brother. He's not a good person."

I immediately let out the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding as soon as she says the word ‘brother.’ I'm a detective. Any one of us worth anything would've done their research. Besides, after the first week or two, I couldn't shake the feeling that her last name kept ringing a bell.

"He's locked away for life in a mental institution for murdering four girls," she continues. Her shoulders slumping with every word like she's carrying the weight of her brother's sins on them.

I pull off to the side of the road, and her tear-filled eyes glance up at me. "That's not even the worst, Saint. My mom is a psychologist and thinks that I may have that same gene that made my brother a murderer. She makes me do monthly evaluations with her to make sure that I haven't crossed over to the dark side or something."

"It doesn't work like that, sweetheart," I tell her, my voice gravelly with emotion. "Your brother is his own person. Different brain. Urges and impulses completely his own. How many times have you read about this and covered a case on it? You know that just because of his decisions, that doesn't have anything to do with you."

I capture her chin between my fingers, turning her head so that she'll look at me. "You are not your brother. And he made his choices. Not you."

She nods, leaning over to press a kiss against my lips. I'd be a lying man if I said I didn't feel it straight to my stomach and dick. Just as quickly, she pulls away with a wild expression written across her face.

"Saint, I've got an idea," she starts. "But you're going tohave to trust me."

"Beyond question, babe," I tell her, knowing I'd follow her blindly to the ends of the Earth if she asked.

DARCI

For the second time in two days, I am passing through the checkpoints to get in to see Dylan. Though, this time is a lot quicker since Saint has his badge that he gets to wave around like a magic wand. I tried to get him to wait in the car, but he wasn't having it, and I'm honestly not surprised. I wouldn't want to be left behind, either, but I'm sure that would make his alpha side feel even worse.

We beat Dylan to the room, so I take the seat that I normally sit in, stacking the file folders of the case in front of me. Saint crosses his arms and stands toward the back of the room like I asked him to.

As soon as my brother walks in, I know we're playing a very dangerous game. His dark side has taken over today. He allows the big nurse aid guy to chain him to the table while he grins up at him like a maniac. Once the man has moved to the wall opposite Saint, my brother turns to me and takes the longest inhale.

"You brought your alpha with you this time," he accuses. "I thought we talked about this. But you smell different again. So, a pack then? With this alpha?"

His chains rattle as he brings his hands up to point at Saint. Focusing his attention there, Dylan asks, "What are your intentions with my sister, alpha?"

I don't hear Saint do so much as breathe as my brother speaks to him. "You going to make her part of your pack? Or use her up until there's nothing left and throw her to the wolves?"

I've heard him talk like this to other people, but never about me. It's hard to hear, even if he's just doing it to get a rise out of Saint.

When neither of us react, Dylan settles into his chair and turns his attention back to me. "Two days in a row, sis. This is a record. Is it my birthday?"

"No, Dylan," I say in the flat emotionless tone I always use with him. "I need your help."

There's a pause before he lets out a manic laugh, throwing his head back and displaying his true crazy. When he finally stops, he leans back in his chair and stares at me. "You're serious?"

"Yes," I tell him, risking everything as I open up to him. "There are murders happening in the town where I go to college."

This perks him up. He tries to hide it, but I see the way that his eyes light up. "And? It's not me. If I could've found a way out of this hellhole, I'd be out of here by now."

I shake my head. "We know it's not you. We're hoping you can help us catch them."

I explain the case to him, withholding some of the details that could be triggers for him. He doesn't ask any questions until the end. And the very first one sends chills up my spine.

"Are the photos in there?" he asks pointing at the folders underneath my hands.

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