HALEN
The press conference is over, but the task force hasn’t yet resumed operation, as evident in the empty halls of the forensic department. The on-duty officers are posted at the opposite side of the building to handle the media, giving me a short window of time.
My footsteps echo against the cinderblock walls, sounding too loud in the stillness.
I realize what I’m about to do will answer that terrifying question: Knowing the truth about Kallum will not change how I feel.
I once accused Kallum of having no soul to sell. But the truth has always been that I’m the soulless one. When I lost my family—my parents, Jackson, our baby—my soul died with them.
The arrows on the wall guide me on a one-way course I initiated myself. Because once I do this, there’s no turning back.
Yet I don’t focus on what most other crime solvers focus on. DNA. Fibers. Fingerprints. Hard evidence that cannot be refuted in a court of law.
I find evidence in behavior.
And the behavior of the perpetrator who placed the carving knife in the ravine, in a location sacred to the Overman, says that Kallum is not the one who committed the Harbinger murder.
At least, not this one.
For once, I agree with Kallum. The antlers and the knife discovered together is the most conveniently recovered evidence I’ve ever witnessed. They might as well have been gift wrapped.
Hard, factual evidence can be misused. Can even be falsified. That is why we have to sometimes look beyond what we can touch and see as fact. We have to question the evidence itself.
What I know is that, at some point between when I placed the knife in my bag and my hotel room safe, the knife was removed. Someone had a purpose for it, and the only logical purpose is to frame either me or Kallum.
I’m giving in to his way of thinking, which is terrifying all on its own, but it’s also the only explanation. And since I have a near airtight alibi, framing Kallum to remove him from the case—from me—is the only other logical motive.
I can still feel the lingering burn of Kallum’s touch. Still taste him on my lips. I completely surrendered to him and, this time, I have no mind-altering ritual to cast blame. There’s a thread of uncertainty spun around my heart, tightening as the small voice of my conscience whispers that I’m acting on emotion and not reason.
Just as I made a conscious choice last night to delete that email, to remain in the dark about Kallum’s past, I’m tangled in his web, yearning for the venomous bite that will shut out the world and its pain.
The fight to deny how he makes me feel, the inexplicable connection we share, has been bled from my veins.
I’m no longer slipping over the edge—I’ve leapt straight into the abyss.
Having Kallum locked away for murder has been my obsession since he first trapped me in his clashing gaze. All I have to do to escape is look away when the evidence comes back and Kallum is arrested. All I have to do is not speak up, not give him an alibi…
And he’ll be removed from my life.
The most terrifying part is how hollow that revelation makes me feel.
Kallum can’t be put away like this, with false evidence, without proving he’s actually guilty. I’ll never be free of him if that happens.
I draw closer to the moment of no return as I round the corner with persistent steps toward the lab.
I’m about to break the law to protect Kallum Locke.
The goddamn devil owns my soul, after all.
“Maybe after this I’ll commit myself,” I mutter under my breath, and the realization hits me with resounding clarity.
The hospital.
After the attack by Landry, the only time I can recall my bag not being in my possession was when I was admitted to the emergency room. It had to be stored in the front office.
Conviction speeds my steps until I’m standing outside the main forensic lab entrance. Through the glass partition, I see the evidence racks, but my canvas bag isn’t visible.
My gaze lands on the cart in the middle of the room. Bagged and sitting directly on top as priority to be processed is the carving knife.
I look up at the security camera, the bubble eye pinning me where I stand.
The excruciating interrogation I will be subjected to will pale drastically to the previous ones. I’m putting a lot of trust in my recent memories, which will force me to reconcile the memories I’ve been avoiding very soon.
But once that knife is processed, it will be near impossible to convince Alister and officials that the evidence was planted.
Inside a flawed system, sometimes you have to break the rules.
I try the doorknob, not surprised to find it locked. “Shit.”
As I scope out the office area, I wonder how right Hernandez is about small towns and trust.
Snagging my phone from my back pocket, I light the camera flashlight and hunt through the first desk for an extra set of lab keys. Coming up empty, I close the drawer with a muttered curse. I wrangle my nerves and quickly search the other three desks, feeling the urgent press of limited time.
A crackle of static sounds from down the hallway, and I duck beneath a desk. A local officer talks into his shoulder radio as he passes through the forensic sector.
Standing, I glance directly across the hallway at the darkened office. The one Alister is using to head up the task force.
Before I can think better, I start in that direction. I circle my hand around the cool door handle and turn, a sense of relief flooding me as the latch bolt gives with a soft snick.
I enter the room, my steps immediately faltering as Alister looks up from his laptop screen. “Halen. What are you doing here?”
I hurriedly kill the flashlight and pocket my phone. “Sorry to bother you,” I say, tossing a glance at the closed blinds of the glass partition. “I need a word with you, sir. But… It’s late. I apologize. I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“No. Stay.” He rises from the leather chair, and my gaze drops to where he slips his keyring into his front pocket. “I think you should see this.”
Something in his vacant eyes sets off an internal alarm, and my stomach pitches. I grip the door handle. “I think it should wait—”
“This is important. Close the door, St. James.”
Apprehension rears at the authoritative command. I ease the door closed and take two steps into the office, curious over what else he’s kept from me on the case.
“Was something important discovered at the ravine?” I cross my arms, daring him to deny it.
His smile doesn’t reach his tapered eyes. “You just can’t help it, can you?”
My head notches back. “Excuse me?”
He rubs the back of his neck in an agitated motion. “The way you dig right under my skin.”
My chest prickles in warning. “Maybe I should get someone—”
“We’re the only ones here, Halen.” Alister angles the laptop my way. “It’s the perfect time for us to have a private discussion, as I’m sure you don’t want to explain this publicly.”
There, displayed on the screen, is footage from the interrogation room. I’m positioned on my back on the table. Kallum removes my jeans, then spreads my legs…
I look away.
“Oh, don’t pretend to be offended,” Alister says, and I hear the judgment in his voice. “You’re not the type of girl to be offended, Halen.”
He circles the desk, and I take a reflexive step back. “It really is late, Alister,” I say, making sure to use his name with just as much derision as he uses mine. “And this is inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate.” He chuckles mockingly, then wipes a hand down his mouth. “You planned what happened in the press meeting earlier,” he says, tone laced with heavy accusation.
I shake my head against the blare of my inner alarm, noting his gun harness draped over the back of the desk chair. “I did my best to deter the questions.”
“There seems to be a leak.” With another step closer, he crowds my personal space. “Someone is feeding information to the media. And I think it’s the someone who wanted to sabotage that conference.”
Hackles fully raised, I turn and make a dash toward the door. He seizes my arm and yanks me forcefully back. I catch myself against the desk, bracing the heels of my hands on the sharp edge.
Alister loosens the knot of his blue tie, his features cut hard by the shadows. As he draws closer, his expression creased in revulsion, I reach behind my back in search of a weapon.
“Don’t do that,” he warns. Movements fast, he locks his hands around my wrists and pins my forearms to my chest. “We’re just having a casual conversation. You like that, it seems. Being casual with colleagues.”
The fight within me stops instantly. He’s physically larger and stronger than me. I can’t fight him. I reserve my energy, taking slow, measured breaths to control my spiking heart rate.
“Don’t worry,” he says, breath hot against my cheek. “I deleted the footage from the department system. I have the only copy.”
Not a favor.
Blackmail.
It’s true that for most people in law enforcement, they go into the field because of their desire to help others, the need to do good. But then there are those who gravitate to the field because they crave power, control, dominance. Ironically, the very same characteristics as rapists.
Having a badge does not elevate you above human nature.
Right now, Alister is looking at me like I’m an insubordinate nuisance to be dominated.
He wants to show me how much stronger he is than me, to punish me for his failure.
Adrenaline pours into my bloodstream. The caverns of my heart ache in pulsing fury. Fight or flight ricochets through my body.
My muscles tense against his hold as he lewdly thrusts his erection into my belly.
“I know you like this.” He releases one of my wrists so he can track his hand down to my ass. My stomach roils. “The same way you like to cause ripples on the task force…at press conferences. You just love being a bad girl.”
I swallow down the thick bile coating my throat. “I suppose the word no means nothing to you.”
Eyes pitched dark, he smiles. “Not when you’re walking around my office with no panties.” Hostility edges his words. “You’re a fucking tease, Halen, and I’m itching to work off some steam from being made to look like a fucking fool during the meeting.”
His hand clamps hard around the nape of my neck, and my fight comes alive.
“You made yourself look like a fool.” I claw at his face, aiming for his eyes. My nails rake across his cheek.
A roar tears free of his throat before he hauls me forward. Hands banded around my neck, he twists me and shoves my chest down against the desk. I swipe at the contents, knocking the laptop and objects to the floor. I grasp for the Glock in the harness just out of reach. I kick out, my foot landing a solid strike to his stomach—but it’s not enough to fight him off.
Obscenities fall from Alister’s mouth as he reaches underneath for the clasp of my jeans and rips the snap open. His forearm braced across my back, he yanks at my jeans, and my heart lurches into my ears. All sound is muted against the roar of my blood. My vision wavers.
The paralyzing fear of being trapped grips me so fiercely, I break through the helpless desperation and lash out against the darkness closing in around me. The smell of crisp fall air raids my senses. The hazy glow of lampposts bleeds into the dark, and I feel hands tighten around my throat.
I scream only to have the sound muffled by a coarse palm sealed over my mouth.
The sensations come on strong. Beyond Alister’s attack, a montage of violence flickers across my vision. Unlike the ritual, there’s no comfort from Kallum to chase back the terrifying imagery. A memory is triggered from the depths of my subconscious, and it tears into my soul.
The flashback projects into the current moment as Alister restrains me against the desk, his cruel words slithering around me as he grabs at my clothes.
“This is how you want it, bitch.” The shrill sound of a zipper ripping threads my muscles, fear a living force inside my body. Then a sinister voice rises up from the trenches of my mind.
I’ll show you, bitch.
The two voices overlap, stretching the bounds of my sanity. Before my brain shatters, the weight of Alister’s body is suddenly gone. The racket of a struggle crashes against the ringing in my ears.
Legs trembling, I press my palms to the desk surface and drag in a full breath, then push onto my feet. When I turn to face my attacker, I’m met with the intensity of Kallum’s heated eyes.
It’s only a moment, one suspended second where he confirms I’m all right, then his lethal, sole focus is on the man held in his clenched grip. Kallum shoves Alister’s back against the wall, his fist following in pursuit as he drives inked knuckles into Alister’s face.
Delivered with relentless fury, the blows don’t stop. Kallum unleashes a torrent of strikes on Alister, losing himself in the violence. He is a demon made of wrath, his brutality administered with each enraged drop of his fist. The sickening wet sound of bloody punches infuses the room.
The devious gleam in Kallum’s striking eyes says he’s going to destroy Alister—and he’s going to revel in that destructive carnage.
Kallum throws the agent to the floor, sending a round of kicks to his rib cage, before he straddles his torso and drops his fists in relentless punishment.
And I know he’s going to kill him.
Desperation scrapes my insides. I try to enter the fray to prevent what’s about to happen, and arms bracket my waist. Agent Hernandez pulls me away from the scuffle as an officer rushes the scene.
“Kallum. Stop.”
Blood-stained fist held aloft, Kallum’s eyes find mine past the haze of fury long enough for me to reach him. Then a handcuff is latched around his wrist. Kallum is hauled to his feet and thrown against the wall, where the officer shackles his wrists.
I watch in detached shock as Alister staggers on his way to his feet, then spits a trail of blood to the floor. He turns enraged eyes on Kallum, sending his fist into Kallum’s stomach. Then he looks at Hernandez. “Put him in holding,” he commands the agent.
Face stained and swollen in patches of red, Alister locates me next. “I will have you removed from the case. I’ll make damn sure.”
I lift my chin in defiance, barely containing the rage within that wants to finish what Kallum started.
Alister pins me with a challenging glare that translates: my word against yours.
I shrug out of Hernandez’s hold. Then, bypassing Alister, I push close to Kallum. “I’ll call your lawyer. Don’t say anything in there.”
“I know my rights. Not my first time, sweetness,” he says. The smile he forces clashes against the brutality I still see simmering in his depths. “Do not trust anyone, Halen. No one. Go to the hotel and stay there. I’ll be out by morning.”
“I think you’re overly confident on that,” I say.
“We’ll see.”
Agent Hernandez escorts Kallum out of the room, first sending me a guarded look over his shoulder.
“Get her the fuck out of this office,” Alister orders the local cop before he grabs his gun harness and follows after Agent Hernandez.
A chill envelops me, adrenaline still rampaging my system. I shove my hair out of my face, my breath sawing my lungs. Amid the chaos, something was unlocked inside me. I saw more. I felt more.
And the only person who can answer my questions has just been apprehended for assaulting a federal agent.
The officer in uniform lays a gentle hand on my shoulder, propelling me out of my thoughts. I flinch away. He’s the same cop I saw patrolling the hallway earlier. “Sorry,” he says. “Are you all right?”
Shaken, I glance over my disheveled clothes. The torn hem of my shirt. My unsnapped jeans. I fight down the noxious mix of shame and anger that rises up to strangle my voice.
“I think I need a second to…” I tug at the clasp of my pants. The zipper is broken.
Mouth rimmed tight, the officer nods. As he turns to offer me privacy, I quickly snap my jeans and drop down to palm the keys on the floor.
“If you need to make an incident report or something…” He trails off, tone unsure.
I slip Alister’s keys into my pocket. “No. Not right now,” I say. “But I do need a restroom. To collect myself.”
He looks relieved not to have to be the one to issue a report against a federal agent.
Once the officer has me escorted outside the restroom, I look down the hallway to see Kallum being taken to holding.
“Thank you.” I cross my arms over my midsection, pausing in front of the door.
Wariness draws the cop’s features tight. He glances around the empty department, as if questioning whether or not to leave me alone.
“I’ll be fine,” I reassure him.
He again inspects the condition of my clothes. His instincts tell him something more than a fight between a consultant and agent went down, and I’m that something, but there’s nothing he can do now.
I wait to see him push through the double doors before I exhale an aching breath.
I touch my stomach, feeling the tender bruising now that the adrenaline has started to ebb. Before this is over, I will have the final say with Agent Wren Alister.
Right now, I have to make sure Kallum won’t be charged with two crimes come morning.
I pivot away from the restroom and go straight to the forensic lab. I try three keys before I gain access, then I search the racks for my canvas bag. “Come on… Where is it?”
Not finding it on any of the evidence racks, I give up the search and snatch the bagged knife from the cart and slip it beneath my shirt. I tuck the torn hem into my jeans as I head toward Alister’s office.
Dropping to my knees, I flip the laptop around and exhale a tense breath. Alister is still logged into the department network. I delete the interrogation room footage of Kallum and I together, then I bring up the security logs. My fingers shakily hover over the keys as an internal battle wages.
Removing the security footage will erase any evidence of Alister’s attack on me. It really will be my word against his.
I stare at my fingers, inspecting the epithelial cells beneath my nails from scratching his face. There might be enough for a DNA match—but will it be enough proof to go up against a federal agent?
“Dammit.” I shove the sick feeling down deep into the pit of my stomach and proceed to delete all traces of me from the building after the conference. Then I toss Alister’s keys to the floor on my way out.
With every step that takes me closer to the exit, my forearm braced around my waist to conceal the knife, I shed a layer of guilt. Whatever shame I might have harbored for violating my morals, Alister remedied the moment he tried to violate me.
The fresh night air is a shock to my system, making it feel as if everything that transpired inside the building happened a lifetime ago, to someone else.
The sight of Agent Hernandez standing beside the FBI SUV stalls my steps. “You need to stay with Kallum,” I say. “You’re in charge of watching him.”
He squares his thick shoulders. “I need to stay with you, Dr. St. James. I promised I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.” The dismal certainty etched into his expression says more than he’s voicing. He knows what went down in that office.
“Kallum made you promise?”
He shrugs. “I offered.”
I nod slowly. “All right, then. Let’s go.”
When he unlocks the SUV with the key fob, I open the passenger-side door and quickly shove the bagged weapon under the seat. I climb into the cab and reach for the seatbelt.
Hernandez slips in behind the steering wheel, casting a concerned glance my way. “Are you all—?”
“Nothing happened,” I force out to cut him off. “Kallum stopped it.”
A tense moment of silence weighs the air of the interior, but mercifully, the agent cranks the vehicle without pushing the subject.
“I don’t know about you,” I say, trying to suppress the lingering tremble in my voice, “but watching a likely serial killer beat an asshole fed nearly to death makes me crave chocolate and caffeine.”
I peek over to catch a faint smile cross his mouth. As Hernandez drives toward the diner, I pull out my phone and conduct a search for Charles Crosby, the lawyer who harassed me on the witness stand during Kallum’s trial.
Kallum said we embody the violence of the stars.
His words envelop me, evoking both comfort and fear. Kallum embodies the violence of a damn supernova—and Alister better pray I fail at getting him set free.
