We stood there for a moment, dripping, assessing each other’s damage.
“I’ll get my fucking medical kit,” Blake grumbled, walking toward the house.
I followed, still trying to process what just happened.
Faith Morrison had just bossed around two men who could bench-press her without breaking a sweat.
And somehow, that made me want her even more.
We were almost to the front door when a van pulled up, the door opened, and a woman came rushing out, a dude holding a camera scrambling behind her.
“Channel 7 News! Dr. Morrison, Mr. Pierce, can you comment on the breaking development in this story?” The reporter’s eyes gleamed with that particular hunger that meant she had something big.
Blake and I exchanged a look.What development?I gave a slight headshake.No clue.
Guilt spread through my sternum. Maybe if I’d been focused on Faith’s case instead of throwing punches on her lawn, I’d actually know what this woman was talking about.
The reporter turned her phone toward us, reading from what looked like a social media feed going insane in real time.
“Someone claiming to be close to the investigation posted graphic images an hour ago.”
My blood went cold. Blake’s face drained of color.
The reporter continued, “The thread has over forty thousand comments, many containing Faith Morrison’s personal information and death threats. The moderators can’t keep up with deleting them, and now the hashtags #AvengeDaniel and #MakeHerPay are trending nationally. Were you aware your client has become the target of a virtual lynch mob? That your client’s safety has been compromised?”
41
FAITH
“Have you found it yet?” I called out, trying to keep the edge from my voice.
“I have.” Ryker’s tone was grim as death. “Fucking Wolfe. I’d bet any money he’s the one who leaked it.”
“What is it?” Harper asked, though from the way everyone’s faces had gone ashen, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“Gruesome crime scene photos.” Ryker’s jaw worked like he was chewing glass.
The words almost made my knees buckle. Crime scene photos. Online. With my name attached to the carnage. For everyone to see.
“The only purpose of leaking them online is to incite anger and rage,” Ryker continued.
Fantastic. Because my life wasn’t already a dumpster fire of epic proportions.
“But if there are threats against Faith, will the Chicago Police Department investigate them?” Harper’s voice held that desperate optimism of someone who didn’t believe the system worked, but hoped, in this case, she’d be wrong. “Maybe even send someone to protect Faith?”
Ryker’s mouth compressed into a hard line. “Not if the judgehas pull with Chicago PD. Which he does.” He scrubbed his face with both hands, and I noticed the fresh split across his knuckles for the first time.
Had he seen the photos before now? He must have, right? He’d probably been at the actual scene, walking through the aftermath while I’d sat in that hospital room. But seeing them now, spread across the internet like some twisted art gallery, surrounded by my address and threats and rage …
I studied his face, looking for disgust. For that subtle shift in his expression that told me he was realizing he couldn’t, in fact, stomach this after all. Because how could anyone look at those images and then look at me the same way again? How could anyone see that level of violence and not wonder what kind of person could cause it, even accidentally or in self-defense?
“She can’t stay here,” Ryker said. “We need to move her somewhere safe.”
“I think that’s unnecessary,” I managed. “I don’t want to leave my house. This is where I’m safe and comfortable.” Where I can hide from people who might grow to hate me.
Ryker stepped closer, his eyes blazing with that protective intensity that made my stomach do stupid, fluttery things. “In addition to these photos, your address has been leaked. You can’t stay here, Faith. It’s only a matter of time before some nutjob shows up with a baseball bat or worse, ready to confront you the first time you step outside.”
There. That intensity in his eyes. Was it protection, or was it something else? Was he looking at me like someone who needed saving or like someone he couldn’t quite recognize anymore?
