My heart stops.
It’s a still image from security footage.Timestamp: 02:47 a.m., the night of James’s break-in to Devlin’s house.A dark sedan parked on a residential street, illuminated by a neighbor’s motion-sensor light.The make and model are visible in enhanced zoom.The license plate is partially obscured by shadow, but the visible digits match perfectly.
That’smycar, parked on a street I’ve only been to once before, but not at night.That’s Michael Devlin’s street, at a time when I wasn’t there.The night I woke tangled in sheets that smelled like Sera, my head still foggy from nightmares of footprints on walls and ceilings.The night I stumbled into the hallway and saw irrefutable evidence that something inhuman lived in that house with her.
Except my car wasn’t there, or near there, since I’d parked almost a block away from Sera’s house in the cover of some trees so no one would see me.My car washere, on Devlin’s street,withoutme in it.
“This came to me anonymously,” Vincent says, his voice smooth.
“Of course it did,” I rasp out.
“I wish it hadn’t.”He leans forward slightly, elbows on the desk.“A neighbor says she saw someone heading toward Devlin’s house with your height and build, wearing a black leather jacket, and that tip did not come anonymously.”
Oh my fucking god.
I swallow thickly.
“You’re a great detective, Eddie,” the sheriff continues.“Good arrest record.Clean service history.But the evidence is…”
He trails off, letting the implication hang.
I look up.His expression is perfect—concern layered over duty, both laid atop something harder.
He believes this.Actually believes I’m dirty.
The realization is almost funny.
“I wasn’t there,” I say.“That wasn’t me.”
“The evidence says otherwise.”
“Evidence can be manufactured.You know this.”
“Can it?”Vincent leans back, fingers steepled.“The adhesive is specialized.Restricted access.You’re one of three people in this county who’ve ever requisitioned it.And the eyewitness, the footage…” He taps the photo.“That’s your vehicle, Eddie.Your license plate.How do you explain that?”
My mind races.My car wasn’t James’s mistake—this was someone adding evidence after he left.Layering it.Making it impossible to ignore.A horrible, planned “coincidence” that made me look guilty as fuck.
But my car… How did someone get my car to that street without me knowing?I keep my keys on me at all times, same with my gun and badge.That’s just paranoia bred from years of police work.Even when I sleep, they’re on the nightstand within arm’s reach.
Did someone hot-wire it, drive it there, then drive it back?If that’s the case, they must have been tailing James too and figured out what he was doing.Maybe they knew about the adhesive.Maybe they didn’t.
“I don’t know what you thought you were doing, Crowe.”Vincent’s voice pulls me back to the present.“Maybe you thought you were serving justice.Maybe someone convinced you the system wasn’t enough.”His eyes flicker, just for a second, with something that may be genuine curiosity.“But you just destroyed your career.And for what?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer because he doesn’t need one.
“Turn in your badge and gun.You’re suspended pending formal investigation.Internal Affairs has scheduled your interview for tomorrow morning at eight o’clock sharp.If this goes bad, and if you’re smart, you’ll resign before this goes public.Save yourself the humiliation of a trial.”
The words hit like body blows, but I don’t flinch.My hands move mechanically, unclipping my badge from my belt.The weight of it—a weight I’ve carried for eight years—suddenly feels immense.I set it on the desk with a soft metallic click.My service weapon follows.I eject the magazine, clear the chamber, set the gun down with the slide locked back, professional and by the book even now.
Especially now.
“I’m sorry it came to this,” he says, and the terrible thing is, part of him means it.
Part of him genuinely believes he’s rooting out corruption, cleaning house, doing the right thing.
That’s what makes him so dangerous.Monsters who know they’re monsters can be predicted.Monsters who think they’re heroes are chaos incarnate.
I stand.My legs are steady, but inside, I’m free-falling.“You’re making a mistake.An active serial killer is still on the loose.Plus, if it was me who went to Devlin’s, and it wasn’t, it’s pretty stupid to park on the same street as the crime, knowing there are cameras everywhere.”
