The Last Shadow (Shadows and Strings #3)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Frankie

Amelia’s brow arches when I step inside her office with two coffee cups in my hand. She tosses her pen on the desk and leans back against her chair, and I hand her a cup. “Hey! What’s going on?”

I’m bursting to tell her my news. I’m feeling good today. Damn good. Last night was perfect, and both my body and my mind are flying high. “I’ve got news.”

“On the killer?” She takes a slow sip and then smiles. “No, that look on your face isn’t about the killer, is it?”

“Nope,” I say and reach for the cup with my left hand, letting her study me until her gaze lands on the giant diamond on my finger.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.” Her eyes are comically wide as she gets to her feet, takes my coffee and studies my ring. “Is that what I think it is?”

I nod, my smile so big my cheeks ache. “It is. Damien proposed last night at Spanish Fly.”

“Wow.” Amelia sighs, her eyes sparkling. “Judging by the glow you’re rocking I’d say there was also a good amount of sexy time.”

“So much sexy time,” I confirm and shake my head slowly with a huge grin on my face.

“Well,” she sighs, shaking her head. “So, I guess you said yes.”

My gaze narrows. “I did.”

Ames leans forward on her elbows. “I’m happy for you, Frankie, really and truly happy. A gorgeous billionaire who only has eyes for you wants to make it legal, that’s amazing. But it’s really soon. And you just went through a major trauma. It’s a lot for the average person.”

I lean back and fold my arms, glaring at her. “And I’m not the average person?”

“You’re kidding, right?” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “For most people, those things are enough to send them into five times a week therapy sessions, but on top of all of that, you’re hunting a serial killer who you think might be after your brand new fiancé.” Amelia sits back in her chair, mirroring my posture.

“Okay, yes, that’s a lot. I’ll give you that. But it feels right, and my gut tells me that saying yes is the right thing to do. I love him and we fit so well together despite our differences.”

Her smile comes slowly but it’s sincere. “Then I’m damn happy for you, even if that means one less smoking hot billionaire on the market for the rest of us.”

I smile. “Sorry?”

“Right.” She reaches for her coffee, taking a long sip.

“Wait a minute,” I sit up with a frown. “Who said I’m worried that Damien might get killed?” I didn’t tell anyone.

“You’re not worried?”

I shake my head. “Of course I am, but I don’t know how you know that.”

“It’s obvious. At least it was the minute you realized he stayed at Hope House.”

Shit. “Yes, I am worried about it.”

She nods. “You should be worried just because it’s natural, but I recommend that you find out why those guys were murdered if you want to know whether he’s truly at risk.” She shrugs. “He might be completely safe.”

“Yeah,” I huff and roll my eyes. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Smart ass.” We sip our coffee and talk. “Did Laurel Kinney give you anything useful?”

I shake my head. “She wasn’t at Hope House long enough, but she remembered Damien being quiet and weird, remembered Zeke taking pictures of everyone.” Everything is helpful in an investigation, even the things that aren’t. “But something feels off, Amelia. There haven’t been any murders in over two months, knock on wood, but there are still several names on the Hope House roster. We’ve talked to a few of the men we tracked down, but they didn’t give us anything.”

“Hmmm,” Amelia muses, her gaze far off like it is when she’s deep in thought. “Maybe that’s the answer. There are only a few things people are embarrassed about years later. Sex and crime are the two that come to mind most often.”

I glance at the clock, realizing I’ve been in Amelia’s office longer than I intended. “I should get going,” I say, tossing my now-empty cup into the trash can. “There’s work to do, and I still have to follow up on those leads.”

Amelia smiles and nods. “I can always count on you to keep your nose to the grindstone. Just remember to take care of yourself while you’re at it.”

I smile back, appreciating her concern, even if I don’t always show it. “Thanks, Ames. I’ll see you later.”

“Congrats on the engagement. You did good.”

I turn and say, “Thanks.” before heading to my office, admiring the diamond on my finger.

Amelia’s words stick with me for the rest of the day. Sex and crime are so fucking vague it could be anything. They could’ve been experimenting together as teenagers sometimes do, or maybe they robbed houses together, ran a pick pocketing ring downtown or any of a hundred other options. “How does it all fit together?”

I spend the afternoon going through criminal records, even the sealed ones of all the kids who lived there during the time our victims did when I finally get closer. “It’s something that went unreported. Of course!” I feel silly for not realizing it sooner, but that’s the obvious answer. The boys committed a crime together and someone is making sure they don’t blab about it.

The question is why?

“Why what?” Jay’s question pulls me out of my head, and I look up with a wary glance because there’s a weirdness between us that’s never been there before and I don’t like it, but I’m not ready to question it.

“Nothing,” I answer quickly. “I’m heading home for the night. I’ll see you in the morning.” I leave the precinct, ready to spend the evening with my fiancé, at least until Damien texts that he’s going to be late.

Again.

I cuddle up with some tea and a book and fall asleep on the couch.

“So, where’s the crime scene?” I ask Jay as I slide into the passenger seat of his sedan.

Jay flashes me with a grin, but something about it feels wrong. Too forced. Too casual. “Two blocks from where Hope House used to be.”

My stomach churns. “Wow. That’s too obvious, even for this guy. Maybe especially for him.” None of this makes sense. “Is this the Butcher of Beverly Hills, or are we just next in the rotation?”

Jay arches one brow in my direction. “Since when are you using that stupid fucking name?”

“It’s better than calling him the unsub or the killer. This makes him sound like a killer in a cheesy horror movie.”

Jay lets out a snort laugh, but it feels hollow. The rain outside pounds harder, the windshield wipers barely keep up, squeaking with each pass. “They haven’t ID’d this guy. But they think he’s one of ours.”

Something’s off. Something about Jay feels wrong. Secrets hang in the air between us, and I don’t like it.

“So, what’s your theory? I know you’ve got one,” he asks, voice casual but with an edge I can’t place.

“What makes you think that?”

“Because yesterday I caught you staring into space and talking to yourself. Usually when that happens you come up with something useful.”

That hits me wrong. “Yesterday?” I blink. “That’s—” But the thought slips away as quickly as it came. “I think the boys got into something bigger—maybe a robbery or something with gangs. The question is, why now?”

Jay hums thoughtfully, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he weaves through the traffic, which has slowed to a crawl in the rain. “Why can’t anyone drive in the rain?” His hand slams the horn, and the sound is grating, too loud in the quiet of the car. “Every damn time.”

I glance out the window, the world blurring through the downpour. “What do you think of my theory?”

“It holds up,” Jay says flatly. “But we’ll only catch him if we figure out exactly what they did and why it’s coming back to bite them now.” He flips the turn signal, the clicking unnervingly loud. “You know what I’m wondering?”

“What?”

“What if the killer isn’t in the photo?”

“I assumed he was.”

“You assumed,” Jay repeats, his voice almost amused. “But there’s more names than faces. Ever think maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree?”

The car comes to a stop, and Jay steps out into the rain without another word. His door slams, the sound echoing through my head. I follow him out, but everything feels strange, unreal. The house we’re approaching—abandoned, two stories high—feels suffocating, its presence heavy, wrong.

“Where’s the body?” I call out, but my voice feels distant, like it’s being swallowed by the rain.

“Over here,” Jay says, walking toward the backyard. I try to move, but my steps slow. The wet grass clings to my boots, dragging me down. I glance down, and the boots are gone. In their place, I’m wearing the same black heels from the night Damien proposed.

“What the hell?” Panic rises in my chest.

“You coming?” Jay’s voice sounds far away, distorted.

“Yeah,” I mutter, forcing myself forward. “My foot got stuck.”

Jay reaches the crime scene first, standing over the tarp, waiting. “Sorry, kid,” he says, voice quiet now, but with something darker behind it.

“What are you sorry for?” I ask, finally catching up with him. My hands shake as I kneel and pull back the tarp.

And then I see him. The face—ashen, lifeless. His hazel eyes…gone. Nothing but hollow sockets staring back at me.

“Damien?” My voice is a strangled whisper. I yank the tarp back further, and there it is—his body slashed open, his guts spilling out in a grotesque display. My heart stops.

“Damien!” I scream, my voice breaking as I fall to my knees. I’m shaking, sobbing, the sound torn from my chest. He’s dead.

And then, Jay’s voice breaks through the noise, calm and cold. “Well…I guess now we know he’s not the killer.”

The words hit like ice in my veins. I whip my head around to face Jay, but he’s already walking away, his figure fading into the rain.

I turn back to the body and scream “Damien!”

“Francesca, wake up!” Damien’s voice pierces the fog of my nightmare.

I jolt awake, gasping for air, my heart racing. “Damien—no!”

His hazel eyes, warm and steady, hold my gaze. “I’m right here, Francesca. Look at me,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

Relief floods me as I reach for him, my fingers trembling as they brush against his skin. “Damien…” I whisper. “You’re alive.”

He frowns, his brow knitting together. “Of course, I am.”

A shaky breath escapes me, and the memory of his lifeless body, his hollow eyes, clutches at my chest. I cling to him, grounding myself in his warmth and his steady heartbeat. “It was horrible… Jay thought you might be the killer.”

A shadow flickers across Damien’s face. “Jay thinks I’m the killer?”

My throat tightens. “It felt so real. The blood…the guts…”

He reaches out, his thumb brushing softly along my cheek. “My precious pet, it was only a dream,” he says, pulling me into a hug.

I bury my face in the crook of his neck, letting his warmth and familiar scent ease the fear. “It just felt so real,” I whisper, my voice still trembling.

He holds me tighter, his fingers tracing gentle circles on my back. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Not in this world, not even in your dreams,” he says.

I close my eyes, feeling the tension slowly unravel as his heart beats steadily and strong beneath my cheek. For now, wrapped in his arms, the nightmare fades, leaving only the quiet comfort of his presence.