Page 44 of Sinister Secrets

He accepts it, then turns out the light and rolls over, keeping his back to me. I stare into the darkness where I know he lies for what feels like a very long time before setting my head on the pillow. Squeeze my eyes shut against the images coming at me—a real estate office with an unknown owner, a mysterious bank statement, Matt’s nasty smirk, Dr. Evangeline’s broken expression amid her destroyed office—wondering why it feels like I’m the one who’s done something wrong.

CHAPTER 24

We forgot to set our alarms. I woke abruptly, jostled on the bed as Jake bolted upright with a curse. Though I had lain awake for hours thinking about what I wanted to say to him this morning, there wasn’t time. We barely exchanged a handful of words as we rushed around in a mad dash, struggling to get the animals fed and watered and ourselves ready for work.

Chelsea was nowhere in sight. Nor did she respond to my texts. I would have been worried something bad had happened if it hadn’t been for all the dirty dishes she’d left behind—she’d obviously thrown herself a party late into the night. So late, that she must have been too tired to remember to lock up when she left, like she’d promised.

The anxiety I felt when I saw the unsecured door has stuck with me ever since. My life is not an unlocked door kind of life. It’s the deadbolt, swing bar, security chain, and barricade kind. Given that Chelsea herself just left a bad situation, you’d think she’d be more careful.

Though she’s since sent me an apology with a picture of Stephano wearing a crown she’d woven out of flowers, I haven’t responded. I’m cranky, groggy, and feel like I’ve been three steps behind all day. Only half my brain is focused on the investigation, because the other half is preoccupied with my frustrations—and worries. And, as if I didn’t have enough going on, I have to drive to Miami to give Director Lopez an update.

I smack the steering wheel as my phone starts ringing. Mumble a few choice words about the caller, expecting to see my new boss’s name appear on the infotainment screen. Instead, the contact’s name has me pulling off onto the side of the road as I jab anxiously to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Agent Knox, it’s Dr. Monroe.” Grabbing my purse, I rummage through it, producing a notebook and a pen as the medical examiner continues speaking. “I just received the preliminary toxicology report for Gordon Massey.”

“And?” I ask breathlessly, heart beating so fast and hard my lungs can barely inflate.

“It came back positive for Rohypnol.”

“He was roofied?”

The doctor clears his throat. “It’s impossible to say for sure how the drug was administered. I’m aware that some people take it willingly for the buzz, but at these levels I would conclude that he’d been incapacitated by the dosage, so yes, it’s likely.”

“Anything else?”

“Not yet, though that might change when we get the final tox report. But I did notice some abnormalities in the tissues when I was looking over the samples under the microscope.”

“Abnormalities?” I ask, hoping he’ll elaborate.

“Yes. Some crystallization.”

“Do you have any idea what could have caused it?”

“Several, but I want to run my findings by a few colleagues before I commit. Once we’ve reached a consensus, I’ll be back in touch. Until then, I’ll email what I have so far.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Pulling back onto the road, I continue the drive to Miami, different scenarios dancing like sugarplums in my head, my personal problems suddenly forgotten. Because if you were going to shoot someone, why would you roofie them first? It makes no sense.

Maybe Gordon had taken the drug himself. Or maybe he hadn’t, but it had yet to take effect when he was shot. Or maybe the person who drugged him and the one who shot him are two different assailants. As I pull into the parking lot outside the Miami field office, I still haven’t thought of a possibility that satisfies me.

Sighing, I slip out of my sensible flats and into a pair of heels before leaving the car. Smooth the below-the-knee fishtail skirt I’d almost forgotten to wear down self-consciously, hoping it’s “softened” my look enough to satisfy my new boss. Throw the totes I’m using to hold the bags of evidence I’ve collected over my shoulders and ignore the stares I draw as I make my way through security to the lab.

I take my time filling out the chain of custody forms, dreading what comes next. When I can’t put it off any longer, I continue down the hall to Director Lopez’s office, unable to help noticing that none of the other female agents are showing any leg. Resentment brews in the pit of my stomach as I knock on his door just as our appointment time arrives.

He stands as I enter the room. Frowns as he sees what I’m wearing, the crease between his brows remaining as he gestures for me to take a seat.

“Agent Knox. How’s the investigation going so far?”

I exhale a long sigh, praying for patience and self-control before telling him. About the mysterious upheaval at Gordon’s former real estate office. The bank statement I found in his personal effects belonging to someone with a different name but same initials. The toxicology results and anomaly in the tissue samples.

Though I debate also telling him about the yearbooks I’d found at Gordon’s apartment, the initials on the cooler left on his deck and their possible significance, and how my shrink’s office had been ransacked, the contents of my patient file stolen, I can’t manage to make myself do it. I add less pride to the list of qualities I need to work on as I keep those secrets to myself.

“That’s excellent work, Agent Knox. Submit the affidavit for the warrant to access the printers before you leave today. I’ll put it on my list to follow up on, make sure it goes through.”

“Thank you, sir.”