Prologue
“What did you do, Dad?”
Standing beside him in the living room, I watch the fire crackle in the fireplace, its bright flames dancing vividly. We never used the damn thing for most of the eighteen years I lived at home, and in the wake of summer it's too blisteringly hot to generally use in northern Florida.
This is out of place. Some part of me knows that but… I can’t seem to hold onto the fact. The scene looks familiar, but I feel less immersed in the moment and more distracted by the damn fire. I think there’s something burning in there that isn’t wood, but I can’t step close enough to see anything.
Dad glances up at me, offering an eerie smile. He’s been acting differently for days, and I blame the CGS case. “I thought we could celebrate. The team’s going out tonight, but I thought we could sit together as a family, Sterling. A real family. We can celebrate tomorrow. You, me and Mom.”
I frown. Mom's out right now with friends, the whole town celebrating the arrest of the Citrus Grove Slayer. It's all over the news, and after forty-eight grueling hours, Dad's taking his first real break from the station. Interrogating Constantine is a lot of work following the latest death, andJoelle Surwright could become his final victim if she doesn’t wake up in the ICU.
The town’s a mess. I saw Vinny Ajello pacing the hospital with his younger brother, the two of them whispering. I didn’t bother trying to go and speak to him, not with murder burning in his eyes. With Porscha gone, and Dad saying that no other family will respond to the calls, Joelle is all alone.
I don’t exactly blame Vinny for holding on, but I wonder what’s going on in his head.
Yesterday morning, I resigned from my internship. On a whim I applied and got accepted to the FBI and that's a sign that it's time to adjust my career path.
Worrying my bottom lip, I eye dad again. He seems content staring into the flames, and my lack of response to his statement doesn’t seem to bother him when I switch directions. “What's burning?”
Dad's eyes flash before he grins. “Nothing important, son. The case is going to wrap up and go to trial for Constantine. He’s ready to admit to everything instead of dragging it all out in a lengthy trial.”
“You're avoiding the question.”
He reaches out, gripping my shoulder tighter than expected. “Mind your business. This is a messy case. An official FBI matter. It doesn’t involve you, Sterling. We’re going to try and get the Death Penalty for this SOB. Then all his sins will die with him.”
I narrow my eyes. Sure, Constantine allegedly killed a lot of women but thus far there’s no true reason why. “So what are we celebrating, Dad? You've been out with your team for days, living up the win and working on weeding out Constantine’s truth from his lies. We're celebrating an arrest you've already honored how many times?”
Dad chuckles, finally easing his grip on my shoulder to pat my back. “Constantine will rot in prison for his crimes. We're celebrating because we can honor and bury the dead.”
Something nudges my arm, and I groan as the dream fades. It's definitely a dream, because I vividly remember that moment in time. Dad never did tell me what he burned, brushing it under the rug, and I never discovered anything in the ashes. He still plays it off like we were just celebrating, but I've always believed it was more than that. I just can’t imagine what he would want to burn.
Someone says my name but their voice sounds far away, soft, worried… but familiar. I drag a hand down my face as I struggle to open my eyes as something tugs on my arm.
“Jo?” As my vision clears, the bright lights from above blinding me, I see mousy brown hair above brown eyes, a rounder face, and a shorter stature. Fingers that press to my skin adorned with rings and a jingle near my ear, like bracelets or metal clinking together. As things come into focus, I realize my mistake.
This is Finley Soto, my technical analyst whoshouldbe back at Quantico. She’s wearing glasses, her usual style with exaggerated blue frames highlighting her eyes. She looks concerned, her brow knitted together as she stares at me.
Fuck.Not Jo.
Finley being here doesn't make much sense. This is supposed to be my team, it would be my decision to bring someone else down. She should be in her office running over whatever data we relay to her, not staring down at me with rounded eyes. She’s not a field agent.
The pounding in my head makes me forget about all of that. How long was I out?
“Soto?” I ask instead, and she gives me a watery smile. At least she's less profiler, more analyst. Maybe she won't completely pick apart what I just said in a delirium.
“Oh good, you're awake! The team will be so relieved.”
Despite the headache, her words help me focus. Sitting a little straighter I look around, acknowledging that this is no longer the cabin and we're sitting in a hospital room.
And I just called her Jo.That'sgoing to raise some questions.
Finley fidgets, and I glance at her again. My voice is thick and my throat hurts when I speak but I force the words out anyway. “What's going on?”
She twitches, then lunges forward and wraps her arms around me, making me grunt. “Constantine really hit you hard! We were all so worried.”
The details aren't coming into focus. I remember Jo and Vinny and Alastair…
Oh god, we had sex. Fantastic fucking sex, and then the bastard clocked me in the head.
