Page 17 of The Alpha's Grave Secrets

Elara pauses, closing her eyes and scrunching her nose, “Yes, I do. Occasionally, but not often. Although the drugs really dulled my senses, so that could be off.”

“It sounds like you could have been held in a garage, not a basement. The cars and the dog could likely be heard in a basement, but who brings a lawnmower into their basement when they mow the lawn? That’s a fairly clunky thing to move.” Gun says, pouring himself another cup of coffee and draining it in one go.

“Thank you for all your help, Elara.” Man, it feels weird to constantly say her name again. “We better leave you to rest, but before we do, I’d like to ask you about a location we believe might be the unsubs hunting grounds. Have you ever been to the speakeasy-style bar, ‘Nothing Here’? And were you there around the time of your disappearance?”

“I was there. I was there a few days before I was taken. A week or so before. I used to go there occasionally, before… well, anyway, I got pretty drunk that night. It was my friend’s birthday, and I had to be sent home in a taxi. I taxied back the next morning to pick up my car, and life went on as normal until the day I disappeared.”

Elara fiddles with her napkin and chews on her bottom lip again. I can practically see her brain pumping, trying to recall everything. Eventually, she sighs, defeated by the lingering effects of the drugs or the trauma.

“Thank you, Elara,” Callie says, filling in my silence. “You’ve been incredibly helpful. Don’t hesitate to call if you remember anything else or need anything.”

Callie stands, and Gun follows suit. My eyes are fixated on Elara; her green eyes look back at me. I don’t recognize the woman she’s become. Sometimes, I do, flashes here and there, but the last time I saw that flash was in the hospital when she managed to tease me despite everything going on. She’s changed so much and, I guess, so have I.

My chest is tight as I offer a small tight-lipped smile and will myself to get up and follow the others out of the house. I can feel Ezra’s seething energy fixated on me, but I don’t even so much as glance in his direction.

Gulping in the fresh air, I fight back a panic attack. The team eyes me cautiously, ready to jump in at any moment, but does not intervene.

After I calm down, Callie asks, “Do you think that the unsub finds the victims at the bar and then stalks them for a while before abducting them?”

“Why do you think that?” Gun asks, stretching his arms over his head and mimicking Callie’s cat-like stretch from moments before.

“He seems like the type who might. Maybe he’s a taxi driver, bartender, or creepy patron. From what Elara has said, he seems to want to feel like he knows his victims. In his mind he’s likely creating some sort of sick fantasy in which the two are together.” Callie suggests.

“That opens up a lot of possibilities then. We have to go back to that bar and scope things out more organically.” I offer.

Callie’s words grow increasingly distant as we approach the car. My heart thumps so hard it threatens to crack a rib.

Under the windshield wiper sits a cream-colored envelope with SPIU typed across it, like from a typewriter. A chill creeps up my neck from the base of my spine.Damn.

Chapter 9

Kato

“Don’t touch it,” I say as Gun reaches for the envelope. “We need to treat this as evidence right away.” I eye it warily, a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Callie is back with a pair of gloves on, with gloves for Gun and me in one hand and an evidence bag in the other. “Put these on,” she says, eyes locked on the letter. Gun is looking around the block as though he might see who did this. No one is here.

“No scent again,” I say to Callie and Gun as I slide on my own gloves.

“I thought the same thing,” Gun says, grabbing his pair.

My hands tremble as I take the envelope and wedge my finger under the sealed flap.

“Wait,” Callie says. “What if it’s anthrax or something? Shouldn’t we call HQ and get someone else out here?”

“I don’t think it is,” I say, sliding my finger under the rest of the seal and pulling the flap open.

“It’s good to know you are willing to risk our lives on a hunch,” Gun teases, stepping forward to examine the letter as I unfold it.

There is no anthrax. No powder of any sort. Only a thick piece of stationery, the same cream color as the envelope, the message typed on a typewriter.

Hello,my bumbling friends at the SPIU,

It would appear that I severely overestimated your intelligence, wouldn’t it? I thought you’d be further along in your investigation right now, but again, here you are harassing poor Elara once again. Maybe I should put her out of her misery. She doesn’t look well, does she?

I took better care of her than her boyfriend is capable of. Maddening, isn’t it, Agent Blackwood? Your mate is in the hands of a self-aggrandized idiot. Although the two of you seem to have much more in common than I’d initially realized. Was her father like that, too? The cop that died on active duty?

Don’t worry about destroying my magnificent graveyard. I’ve long since forgiven you. It was inevitable anyway, so I’d already thought of starting another. Any new missing person’s report out there?

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