The Last Shadow (Shadows and Strings #3)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Frankie

Damien has been gone most of the morning and I have a feeling he’s planning something special. Again. I’ve got to hand it to him. The guy knows how to sweep a girl off her feet. A remote cabin in the woods isn’t exactly my idea of a cozy couple’s retreat, but being alone with him, away from the noise and chaos of the city, has a certain appeal.

The further we are from civilization, the more the fog in my mind starts to lift. I can finally take a deep breath and think clearly for the first time in what feels like ages.

It’s the reason I dug out my laptop to go over the case materials with fresh eyes. Often, it’s the fastest way to find something we missed during the heat of the investigation and right now, with a few days’ distance from the facts of The Butcher’s crimes, my eyes are damn fresh.

I start at the beginning with Hope House. The key to why these men were killed is buried there. Whatever this vendetta is, the answers, as well as clues to the remaining victims, are hiding in that place. I’ve had theories brewing for a while, but without solid evidence to back them up. So I spend the day searching through records, following leads that were too faint to see before.

I go over the police blotters from the years the victims lived at Hope House. Then I expand the search, going back five years before and five years after they left, and what I find leaves me cold.

The police were regular visitors at Hope House for years—no surprise for a place full of traumatized orphans. Fights broke out constantly among the kids. Most didn’t warrant anything other than a report that an officer had stopped by and given them a talking-to. But something jumps out at me now, a detail I should’ve caught long ago.

Hawkins.

Just Hawkins. No first name. No initials. That’s probably why I missed it initially. Hawkins is a common enough name, and I didn’t make the connection. I wasn’t looking for him, I trusted Jay. So, when I skimmed these blotters early on, I just saw the name and moved on. It never occurred to me it could be Jay.

But now, scanning report after report, his presence is unmistakable. Jason Hawkins. He was there, and I failed to notice.

How the hell did I miss this? I lean back in my chair, staring at his name until it blurs. The oversight seems impossible now. If he visited the house hundreds of times during his years in uniform, he must have some idea what might’ve sparked this killing spree. He has to.

“Son of a bitch,” I whisper to myself. Jay’s been lying to me about the entire case. But why?

I need caffeine for this. In the kitchen, I grab a mug and pour coffee, letting the aroma fill the room. It doesn’t settle the knot in my stomach, but the warmth helps me focus.

Back at my laptop, I zero in on the years when all the victims were at Hope House together, including Damien and Olivia. Four summers where their lives overlapped. Three of the other potential victims were there during those same summers. As I examine the reports more closely, a pattern emerges.

At first, the boys fought often, but nothing worse than a few black eyes or busted lips. Then something shifted. The fights became more frequent, more brutal—broken teeth, split skin. Yet Jay never arrested anyone. He never even called Child Services. Not once.

The question pounds in my head. Why wouldn’t he report any of this when it was clear the situation was deteriorating?

Money. It always comes back to money. People kill, lie, and cover things up because of it. Back then, Jay was going through divorce number two—two alimony payments bleeding him dry. Maybe that’s why he looked the other way.

But who was paying him?

I pull up financial records, corporation filings, anything that might lead to answers. And what I uncover leaves me with a sick feeling in my gut. This wasn’t just Jay ignoring a few fights. This was corruption—ongoing, blatant, and it stinks. “What the fuck, Jay?” I whisper, shaking my head.

The trail leads back to the corporation that owned Hope House, but there’s no information about them anywhere. It’s like the company never existed.

The cabin’s silence weighs on me as I stare into my now-cold coffee. My partner. His name was all over those reports, and I didn’t even notice it. I didn’t even think twice. Why would I?

Needing a fresh cup, I head to the kitchen. My hands shake as I pour the coffee, and I set the pot down harder than I mean to.

I need to get into his finances, figure out who was paying him. And my father’s reports. The thought makes me sick to my stomach, but I know I have to do it. I also need to track down the other officers who wrote reports from Hope House. They might know something, might hold the answers, but I can’t reach them from here.

No one is going to volunteer the truth. Trust feels like a luxury I can no longer afford.

I sigh, taking the mug back to my laptop. There’s more to find. I take another sip and settle in for a long day.

“Hello, kitten.” Damien’s deep voice startles me. I didn’t even hear him come in and for the first time since we met, the sound of his voice and the sight of him don’t immediately fill me with warmth. I love him, but right now my emotions are too raw to process anything other than betrayal. His gaze lands on my face, studying it carefully before his brows pinch into a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I sigh, shutting down the urge to unload everything.

“Francesca, talk to me.” Damien gets to his knees, so we’re eye to eye, and he holds my face in his hands. “Something is clearly wrong, kitten. Tell me what I can do.”

It’s the look on his face that sets me off. The calm, the concern, as if he hasn’t been hiding things from me. As if a few comforting words will make everything better.

“What can you do?” The words explode out of me. “You can start by telling me the truth, Damien, for once in your life!” My words shock him as much as they shock me.

He pulls back, confusion written all over his face. “I’m always truthful with you. Where is this coming from?”

A sharp laugh escapes. “Truthful?” I ask, my voice dripping with disbelief. “Is that what you call it, Damien?”

His eyes narrow, the confusion giving way to something darker, more intense. “You don’t get to throw accusations around without telling me what’s really going on!”

“You. Jay. You’re both lying to me and cloaking it in a bullshit need to keep me safe. I don’t need either of you to keep me safe. What I need is the truth, goddammit. I need answers.” My heartbeat flutters inside my chest like it’ll just take flight and carry me with it, but I can’t let it. Not yet. I need to hear him tell me the truth.

“Frankie,” he growls. “I’ll always keep you safe.”

“I appreciate that, but right now that’s not what I need.”

His jaw clenches. “What do you need?”

I sigh, licking my lips. “I need to know how long you and Jay have been hiding things from me.” The words hang in the air, and I brace myself for his answer.

“What? Hiding things?” He shakes his head. “Let’s be clear. Hawkins is not my friend, and we’re definitely not working together.”

“So, you’ve known each other longer than you let on?” I cross my arms, waiting for his response.

Damien’s eyes narrow, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “It’s not what you think. Jay was just another cop who came around Hope House. That doesn’t mean we were close or that we’re conspiring against you.”

“Then why hide it from me?”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” he snaps. “What’s important is what’s happening now, not something that happened fifteen, twenty years ago.”

“Bullshit!” I snap, frustration rising in my chest. “You wouldn’t hide something from me unless it mattered. What aren’t you telling me, Damien? I deserve to know.”

He exhales, his expression hardening. “It’s not that simple?—”

“No, stop.” I cut him off, my voice trembling now, a mix of anger and hurt spilling out. “I’m tired of the excuses. I don’t need you to protect me. I need you to be honest. You keep dodging the truth, and I’m standing here, feeling like I don’t even know you anymore. I can't do this if you're going to keep shutting me out.”

I search his face, desperate for some sign of the man I thought I knew. His eyes, usually so intense, now seem distant, and it hurts more than I want to admit.

“The truth is dangerous, Frankie,” he finally says, his voice quieter but still firm. “It’s not always what you want to hear.”

“I can handle it,” I insist. But even as I say it, doubt twists in my gut. Can I handle it?

Damien’s jaw tightens, his eyes clouded with something I can’t quite read. “I wish I could believe that,” he says softly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “But sometimes the truth can change everything.”

“What do you mean?” My heart pounds as I search his face for any sign of reassurance. Something, anything, that will make this better.

Damien rises to his feet, and runs a hand through his hair, looking away. “There are things from my past, Francesca, things I want to keep in the past. For your sake, not mine.”

“For my sake?” I push back from the chair, standing to face him fully. “Damien, if you think keeping me in the dark is protecting me, you’re dead wrong. I need to know. I deserve to know.”

His eyes lock onto mine again, filled with a mix of regret and hesitation. “You deserve the truth, yes……but once you have it, everything changes. There’s no going back.”

The cabin feels colder suddenly, my nerves buzzing with unease. “What are you so afraid of, Damien?” I ask.

He exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever he’s carrying. “I’m afraid of losing you,” he admits, his voice rough.

The words hit me hard, but they aren’t enough. Not this time. “You won’t lose me,” I say, but even I can hear the uncertainty in my voice. “Unless you keep lying to me. Then I’ll walk.”

His face hardens. “I’ve told you what matters. But there are things you don’t need to know.”

The air between us grows thick, each passing second making me feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff. “Why don’t you let me decide what I need to know?” I say, my hands trembling.

Damien stays silent, his eyes flicking away from mine as if he can’t face me.

“Damien,” I say, my voice quieter now. “What have you done?”