Page 58 of Only for Him
“Detective? Are you alright?” Arata’s voice snaps me out of my reverie, and I realize that I’m biting my lips.
Jesus, Christ, Giselle, get it together.
“Sorry, just a little frazzled this morning.” I give him a professional smile. “Had a long night.”
“Not the only one.” The edges of his eyes crinkle, and the blush on his face fades just a little, but still remains visible. “As for the crime scene, I’ve dusted seven full sets of prints. Three on the entry, two on the bar, and one partial on the body itself. Of the seven, I matched one to the councilman, and then five to records of deceased underage females from prior cold cases.”
I nod grimly, and I see a parade of Serenas walking through my mind.
At leasttheirfamilies will have some opportunity for closure.
At leastthey’llhave some answers about who did this to their daughters.
“But that final one had no matches.” Arata pauses, scrolling with his thumb, “Until I dusted the earrings.”
Of course.
Not for nothing else, it proves that my shadow isn’t lying to me. This is exactly how he planned it. Every detail down to the last piece. One breadcrumb at a time.
The hair on the back of my neck rises at the thought.
I wonder what else he’s planned. Did he give back my earrings with the expectation that I would turn them in to Arata?
“I know it’s not protocol, but I’d like to see them for myself,” I say. “Can you…?”
I gesture towards the evidence locker.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Detective, but you know I can’t do that.” He shifts on his feet, and practically trips on his words. “It was already wildly out of protocol that you delivered them to me days after the techs bagged up all the evidence from the Tupolev murder scene. In a Ziploc bag, no less. If a lawyer were to make a case about improperly documented evidence, I’m sure they’d be able to?—”
I hold my hand up to stop him mid-ramble.
“I know. But those earrings have sentimental value for me. And I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to see them again.” My gaze softens and my eyes blur just a little. “Please? As a personal favor?”
I should feel guilty about manipulating Arata like that. But guilt’s easy to ignore these days. It’s not hard.
All I have to do is think of last night. Think about the scent of him still clinging to my skin, the iron in his voice, the taste of the gun in my mouth. And the warmth of his thigh between my legs.
This is just another part of my hunt forhim.
That’s all.
Nothing else.
It can’t be anything else.
Maybe it’s the blush in my cheeks, or maybe I’m just good at telling half-truths. Either way, Arata glances around, walks over to the door of the evidence lockers, and swipes his keycard.
“You need me to come with you?” His hand lingers on the door, hoping I’ll say yes.
“No thanks. I’ll be quick.”
“Okay. I’ve put everything in the box labeled FB14-00301. Just knock when you’re done.” He nods, disappointed, and shuts the door behind me as I walk in.
The evidence lockeris colder than the rest of the building. It’s the same kind of institutional cold that penetrates deep into your bones and wraps itself around your throat. Row after row of murder weapons, fluid specimesn, and mementos from both victim and perpetrators.
A museum of suffering and pain.
I’m grateful for it today. At least the cold can help chase away the heat from thoughts that haven’t stopped swirling around my head.
