Mark Robbins, Naval Criminal Investigative Service.
“Oh shit,” I mutter under my breath.This is bad. This is so bad.My hands begin to tremble as I keep digging, and as I shift the next stack…
There’s my brother.
A photo of him, Calvin, and some other man—the one at the bar—standing outside of Calvin’s house. My eyes drop to the date.
Yesterday. It was fucking yesterday.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and just as I do, I hear a door squeak open. I grab some of the papers, including the photos, and shove them under my sweater. As I emerge from the office, Molly is right there, an eyebrow raised.
“What were you doing?”
“Checking out your mom’s library,” I gesture to the bookshelf, my voice barely recovering. “She seems like a reader.”
Molly makes a face. “She’s not. She just likes to appear that way.”
“Oh, figures,” I laugh it off. “Well, let’s get back to it.” I motion to the table, and then carefully cross my arms across my body to casually hold what I just stole against my chest.
People are closing in on my brother, and I need to get there first.
Which means confronting Calvin…
With hopefully some leverage I’ve just stumbled on.
Chapter 25
Bradford
I stare downat the files on my desk, struggling to keep ahold of my mind. Honestly, I should be picking through the files Chief Wilkerson finally sent over on Cade’s past, but instead, my brain is desperate to run back to fucking Dr. Williams—and the fact that my daughter is getting to see her right now. Without me.
Dammit. I need to fix this rumination problem. It’s for the best.
The mugshot photo of Cade Kellan clears in my vision, but I push the files and photo off to the corner of my desk. Then I drag over my notes on Turner. Should I be focused on Cade? Yes, but anything else other than Dr. Williams will do right now. And I haven’t been consistent with our sessions, but overall, Turner’s still improving.
“By some fucking miracle,” I mutter under my breath.
I was a little unsure at first when I took him on, given the fragility of his psyche and the way his triggers seemed to be all over the place. But given how shitty the last couple of months have been, Turner has proven to be a good guy—and I think he stands a shot of actually making it.
He’s been through a lot of fucked up shit, but while we were at the bar, he remained calm when I didn’t. That was impressive.I note it, and then run my fingers through my dark hair, jotting down my prediction.
By the end of the year, if he keeps up with his pro-social coping skills, he should be able to sustain his recovery on his own.
“Maybe he will get his girl back,” I reason, and then frown, letting my brain chase that. He’ll still need an outlet, some sort of adrenaline rush and then consistent grounding. Just like all the rest.
Except…isthat the truth? Or is that just what I tell myself as I mold these guys into what I want them to be?
Guilt flickers in my chest. I’m no fucking psychologist.
But then again, the world is so fucked up and most don’t know how to appreciate people that try to make it a better place—which is what I’m doing.I think.Regardless, there’s a gap the law doesn’t fill, and people still hurt the weak or naïve.
That’s where I step in. I use monsters to hunt monsters.
That’s all there is to it. No philosophical bullshit or taxpayer dollars required.
“But then there’s Cade,” I say his name aloud, and it’s fucking sour on my tongue. I lean back in the desk chair, and then eye the files again.Fuck.
My phone blares in the silence, just as I reach for them again. I fish it out of my pocket, expecting it to be Molly, calling to tell me more about mytough guyact.
