Page 3 of Love Me Darkly
“You know I trust you to lead your team,” she assured him. “It’s just that you’ve given up more than anyone for the sake of justice. I wanted you to know that it’s okay to let it go. And if you’re worried for the safety of your family, there’s always witness protection … just until we put this guy away.”
“My daughter won’t be safe until this UNSUB is dead or in prison. I’m seeing this through.”
“Fine,” she relented. “But I’m only giving you another six months to end this. If this UNSUB isn’t in custody by then, I’m bringing in a fresh set of eyes. Maybe a new perspective will help.”
Mateo’s jaw ticked from how hard he clenched his teeth. There was a clear warning in Carlisle’s tone that couldn’t be ignored. He was being put on notice. “Understood.”
Nodding, she reached for her glasses and put them back on. She turned her attention from him to her computer screen.
“Whatever you need, Garcia. Now, don’t you have a flight to pack for?”
He stood. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Walking from her office, he released the tension slowly from his shoulders. For the next few months, he would indeed be treading on dangerously thin ice. Mari’s murder had been a warning: back off, or I will destroy what you love most. Unfortunately, the UNSUB didn’t know enough about Mateo to understand what a mistake he’d made. That he took Mariana’s life was the single reason Mateo wouldn’t stop until he’d caught the bastard.
Mateo pushed open the door to the tiny, one-bedroom apartment where he lived alone. Removing his tie, he grimaced at the bleak scene confronting him. The plain black furniture along with matching glass tables had come with the place, and every inch of the white walls remained bare. He missed the yellow paint and mismatched picture frames from the home he’d shared with his family. He missed his wife’s sewing displayed through the living room—pillows, throw blankets, and doilies. Mateo missed his daughter’s toys left haphazardly in the corners of various rooms. He longed for the scents of laundry detergent, home-cooked meals, and fresh-mown grass.
The four-bedroom house still belonged to him, but sat empty and unused for the past year. Grief had made it impossible for him to live there alone, so he’d rented an apartment in the city closer to work. This case had become his life, and he now centered his every waking moment around this and his other assignments. With a fresh kill, this case would be pushed to the top of his pile for the time being. He was glad for it, even if it meant someone had to die to bring about some progress. Mateo had stopped feeling guilty over such thoughts a long time ago. Progress came with its share of unpleasantness.
Trailing into his bedroom, he pulled an empty duffel bag from the closet and tossed it onto the bed, which he’d neglected to make that morning. Glancing at one of the two framed photos he kept on his nightstand—the only concession to decorating he’d made—he smirked.
“I know, Mari,” he murmured to his wife’s smiling face. “Messy bed, messy day.”
Mari had insisted that one couldn’t start their day properly without making the bed. To leave it undone was tantamount to blasphemy in their house, and he’d often rolled his eyes at her nagging. What he wouldn’t give to have her here now, badgering him in that endearing mixture of English and Spanish that she fell into when she was annoyed.
Mateo made quick work of making the bed, smoothing and tucking the sheets before straightening the pillows and comforter. Then, he packed for the trip. He threw a few days’ worth of clothes into the duffel. It didn’t take him long to finish, putting a pre-packed bag of travel-size hygiene items on top along with his phone charger, before zipping it shut. Closing his laptop, he slipped it into its bag and set it beside the duffel.
Checking his personal cell phone, he found that he still had a little over two hours before his flight was scheduled to depart. As he lived near the airport, he didn’t anticipate a long drive. A quick catnap before the trip might do him some good.
Stretching out, he reached for the second of the framed photographs—this one of him and his daughter. A raw ache consumed him at the sight of it. Mari had taken the picture during a day at the park. The candid image always made him smile, this instance being no exception. He stood beneath a massive tree with swings and playground equipment in the background. Arms stretched up, he was reaching out to catch Angelica, who he’d thrown into the air a few seconds before the image was taken. Her dark hair flew around her face, and her eyes—which were big and brown like his—were closed against the bright sun. Her olive-brown skin seemed to glow from happiness. But it was her smile that always got to him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a happier child.
That had been before, of course. Now, on the few occasions he spoke with his daughter over the phone, she sounded sullen and barely responded. Angelica, being only six years old, didn’t comprehend the reasons she’d been sent away—only knowing that her father seemed not to want her around anymore after her mother’s death, which couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
But how could he make a six-year-old understand?
His throat burned, and the hand clutching the frame trembled with the force of everything he was holding back. The more time that passed, the more he began to feel as if he had lost her, too. One day, when he finally brought her home, she would resent him for leaving her behind while they were both still grieving Mari.
It’s for her safety. You couldn’t stand back and let him have her, too.
He told himself this over and over until he fell asleep, the framed photo held tight against his chest.
Mateo’s heart dropped as he approached the white, two-story Colonial-style house he lived in with his family. The painted red door hung open, crooked on its hinges, as if someone had kicked it in. Drawing his sidearm, he raised it, forcing himself to rely on years of training as opposed to rushing in half-cocked. His blood raced, creating a roaring sound in his ears and a hum in his extremities. The urge to go tearing through the house screaming Mari’s name was strong, but it could get him killed, so he tamped it down.
The phone call he had answered on his way home from the airport had sent him speeding to make it on time, running no less than a dozen red lights along the way.
“There is more at work than blood here, Agent,” the rasping voice of the UNSUB had whispered in his ear. “More than the breaths of life and death. But you know that already, don’t you? You think this will end with her? You haven’t even begun to see the shape of it yet, the sheer scope of it. But you will.”
The UNSUB ended the call before Mateo could respond, the click over the line like the battering of the final nail in a coffin. Mateo could do nothing but drive and call up Smith to order a SWAT team sent to his address. There wasn’t a second to be spared. If by some miracle Mari was still alive, Mateo needed to get to her.
The stillness that had settled over the place seized Mateo around the heart, gripping until he could feel every individual beat. He assessed what he could see of the downstairs before flicking his gaze back to the staircase.
Somehow, he just knew.
His wife wasn’t in any of the first-story rooms of the house, and the UNSUB had not allowed her to live.
He made his slow way up the staircase, craning his neck to ensure no one would surprise him from the landing. Once upstairs, he bypassed his daughter’s room and the guest room, his gaze fixated on the French doors of the one he shared with Mariana. One of the doors hung open, and he stepped toward it, gun trained on the opening. He glanced down to find swirls of something black on the ground. Without taking his gaze, or the gun, off the door, he knelt and reached down. His stomach roiled as he came back up with a fistful of hair.
There were locks of it everywhere, littering the carpet and leading straight to the bedroom door—along with even more blood. The buzzing ceased, as well as the humming in his veins. Now, he felt nothing, heard nothing, as he lumbered into the room.
