Page 119 of The Butterfly Killer

Lucas didn’t look at him again. His eyes were glued to Patrice who stepped close to the car door. “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll contact you when I want it done.”

Marcus snarled. “What do you want done?”

Again, Lucas didn’t answer. He leaned over. Marcus flinched, moving back so he wasn’t so close to touching the man.

Lucas popped the door open. Patrice took that as permission and swung the door open all the way, not strong enough to rip it off the hinges but hard enough to show he wanted to.

“Are you okay?” Patrice had his hands on Marcus in a split second, pulling him from the car and helping him on his feet because for some reason they started to not work. The weight of the kind of position he was in causing his limbs to short-circuit.

Patrice looked at Lucas again. He seemed to want to say something, but he clenched his jaw. Lucas sprawled back on the seats, grinning.

Patrice slammed the door closed. He pulled Marcus away from the car as it drove off.

30

Marcus gapedat the open door leading into an office. He took another look at the nameplate out in the hall.

Detective Marcus Palmer

Fuckingdetective.

He took a step back. And immediately bumped into someone. He whirled around, an apology almost slipping from his mouth, but the second he saw who it was, it died in the back of his throat. It turned into something sour that made him grimace.

Detective Blevins looked as if he’d smelled what Marcus tasted. “I can’t believe they let you back.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He knew what Blevins was hinting at. The rumors of a mole in the precinct had been circling for the past few months, even before Marcus returned. Patrice had filled him in about what had happened when he’d been…kidnapped. Someone was working for Cortez and had leaked information about the Butterfly Case.

Blevins rolled his eyes. He stood with his arms crossed, eyes flickering to the end of the hall before they settled back ontoMarcus. Blevins looked down on him like he was a cockroach crawling over his food.

“It means exactly what it means.” Blevins took a step forward and Marcus would have took a step back before all the shit he went through. He held his ground and that pissed Blevins off even more. His jaw clenched. He looked like he was about to chip a tooth.

“Look here,Palmer. I don’t know what dicks you sucked to get promoted, but I’m not going to fall for the bullshit you put in your report. The Feds and Chief might believe you, but make no mistake, I’m going to find out exactly what happened.”

Blevins eyes narrowed. He stared Marcus down, waiting for Marcus to crack. When it didn’t happen, he tsked and backed away. He turned quickly on his heels and marched down the hall back to where his office was.

Marcus let out a sigh he’d been holding. While he didn’t let Blevins see how much his words rattled him, it wasn’t like he wasn’t affected.

He rolled his shoulders, shaking off the nerves that had almost gotten him to crack under Blevins harsh gaze. The man used to just frustrate him, but now he felt as though he needed to watch out for Blevins. There was no telling if the man was just suspicious or he was waiting to stab Marcus in the back. Either way, he needed to make sure Blevins stayed the hell away from him and kept his nose out of what happened while Marcus was “away”.

He turned back to look inside the office that was now his. Though his name was on it, it was an uncanny feeling to think of it as his.

The feeling didn’t get any better when he stepped inside. The air in the room felt heavy. He took steady breaths though he felt like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

His first thought was that he didn’t deserve any of this. The walls were blank—too bright white, they made him sick to his stomach. The walls swirled, falling as if they were going to suck him into the vortex they’d become. The large desk in the middle of the room, the fluffy desk chair, and the stupid nameplate that once again announced who he was now: Detective Marcus Palmer.

He tasted copper in his mouth. In the short time—or had a matter of long minutes passed?—he’d been standing there, he’d bitten hard enough on his tongue to cause himself to bleed.

The pain was nothing to the numbness that frightened him. He didn’t think he could be afraid of anything after what he’d done. He thought all of this would be over when he came home. But this place didn’t feel like home.

The trashed apartment which had only gotten worse in his absence had never felt comforting. He barely spent time there.This,the precinct, was his home. This was his safe space.

It wasn’t no more. He’d tainted it. He’d ruined what this place had meant to him. And it was only his fault. He was the only one to blame for it.

He almost jumped a mile high when someone rapped their knuckles to the still open door.

He turned on his heels, heart racing, and only settled when he saw it was just Patrice.

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