Page 30 of The Darkest Gift

"And think about the media coverage," I add, gesturing towards the window as if the outside world and all its chaos were visible beyond the manicured grounds of my home. "Every new disappearance ratchets up the tension, doesn't it? The public's fear, the pressure on law enforcement... it's all fuel to the fire for someone who gets off on this kind of attention."

Reeves leans forward, his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. "Christ," he mutters. "If that's what we're dealing with, this could go on for a long time. These types, they don't stop until they're caught. And even then..."

I nod solemnly, though inside I'm fighting back a smile. "Even then, the notoriety might be exactly what they're after," I finish for him. "A chance to bask in the spotlight, to have their 'genius' recognized."

Reeves looks up at me, his eyes tired and frustrated. "So what do we do? How do we catch someone like that?"

I spread my hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I'm afraid I can't give you an easy answer, Detective. These cases are notoriously difficult to solve. The perpetrator clearly has a level of intelligence and foresight that makes traditional investigative methods challenging."

Reeves sighs wearily, and I can see the exhaustion weighing down on him. "I was afraid you'd say that. But any insights you can provide would be helpful, Dr. Blackwood. Your expertise is invaluable in cases like these."

I nod, a small smile playing at the corners of my mouth. "Of course, Detective. I'm always happy to assist law enforcement in any way I can. I'd like to review the files in more depth, see if anything new jumps out at me."

"That would be great," Reeves says, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "Thank you, Dr. Blackwood. Your help is truly appreciated."

I stand, smoothing down my pencil skirt. "It's my pleasure, Detective."

Reeves nods, gathering up his notes and the case files. "I'll have my office send over any new information we gather."

"Excellent," I say, moving towards the door of my study. "Let me walk you out."

"Your home really is remarkable, Dr. Blackwood," Reeves comments as we enter the foyer. "It's so peaceful here. Must be nice to have a quiet place to work and think."

I smile, the expression one of polite gratitude on the surface, but underneath, it's a grin of pure, wicked satisfaction. "Thank you, Detective. My husband and I do value our privacy. It allows us to... fully immerse ourselves in our work."

"Thank you again for your time, Dr. Blackwood," Reeves says, shaking my hand.

"It's my pleasure, Detective," I reply, my voice warm and professional. "I look forward to looking into this further. And please, don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything else."

As I watch Detective Reeves' car disappear down our winding driveway, a slow smile spreads across my face. The thrill of deception, of playing a dangerous game right under the nose of law enforcement, sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

I make my way back to my study, my heels clicking against the marble floors. The room still holds the lingering scent of Reeves' cheap aftershave, a stark contrast to the refined elegance of our home. I wrinkle my nose slightly as I settle back into my leather chair.

The perpetrator fascinates me, I must admit. Their meticulous planning, their ability to snatch these women without leaving a trace... it speaks to a level of intelligence and foresight that I can appreciate.

And part of me wonders if they're like Mason and me in some ways. Do they feel that same dark thrill when they take their victims? That rush of power, of control?

The mind trulyisa fascinating thing.

Chapter 17

Mason

Moonlight streams through the windows, casting everything in a soft, ethereal glow. I guide Elijah towards the en-suite bathroom, one hand on the small of his back. His skin is warm beneath my palm, a stark contrast to the chill in the air.

Iris is already asleep, her auburn hair fanned out across the pillow like flames frozen in time. Her chest rises and falls with slow, even breaths, her face peaceful in repose. It's a rare moment of stillness for my vibrant, dangerous wife.

Elijah moves with careful steps, his muscles stiff from being bound for so long. The soft padding of his bare feet on the marble floor is barely audible, a whisper of sound in the quiet night. His wrists and ankles are chafed from the restraints, angry red marks standing out against his golden skin.

I watch him closely as we enter the bathroom, noting the calculated look in his eyes. There's something brewing behind that frosty blue gaze, thoughts and plans forming and reforming. But he remains silent, those full lips pressed into a thin line.

Not that I mind the silence. Elijah is exquisite to look at, all lean muscle and sharp angles softened by the dim light. The marks we've left on his body only serve to enhance his beauty, like an oil painting touched up with vibrant splashes of color.

I gesture towards the toilet. "Go ahead," I say, my voice low to avoid disturbing Iris. "I'll give you some privacy."

Elijah quirks an eyebrow at that, a hint of his usual sass breaking through his stoic facade. "How considerate," he murmurs. "And here I thought you enjoyed watching."

A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. "Oh, I do," I purr, letting my gaze rake over his naked form appreciatively. "But even I have some boundaries."

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