Page 104 of Can You Take It?

“Rick, you need to see something,” he says.

“I don’t need to see shit, Colton,” I snap. But he’s already pulling up files on his computer. I’m too wound up, too consumed by the idea that I might’ve missed something, to stop him.

Colton clicks on a folder labeled “Ava Montclair - 2004-DIS-3487” and pulls up a series of documents. My stomach churns as I see Ava’s name, then Izel’s, and then a bunch of details that shouldn’t be connected but suddenly are.

“Ava’s case was more complicated than we thought,” Colton says, scrolling through the files. “HPD sent over everything they had, including some psychological assessments. Ava abandoned Izel when she was just a child. Joined some cult, and then got killed within the cult.”

I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles turning white. “What does that have to do with Izel?”

Colton meets my gaze, his eyes filled with something I can’t quite place—pity, maybe. “There’s a theory here. The abandonment, the neglect… It could’ve had a severe psychological impact on Izel. We’re talking about deep-seated trauma, Rick. It’s possible that being left behind like that—by her own mother—could’ve triggered something dark.”

“No,” I growl, shaking my head. “No, you’re wrong.”

“Listen to me,” Colton insists. “Izel’s profile—it fits. We’ve seen cases where people snap because of something buried deep, something they’ve never dealt with. Ava’s death, the abandonment—it could’ve twisted her mind. She could’ve internalized the rejection and turned it into something violent.”

“No,” I whisper, almost to myself. “She’s not a killer. She can’t be.”

But even as I say it, doubt claws at me, and it feels like the ground is slipping from under my feet.

“She’s been at the center of every major killing spree,” Colton says softly. “We have to consider the possibility that she’s not just a victim in all of this.”

Before I can respond, Noah chimes in. “Rick, have you considered the possibility of Dependent Personality Disorder? DPD victims often have an overwhelming need to be taken care of, to the point where they become submissive and clingy, even to those who hurt them. But in some cases, it can manifest in more dangerous ways—like doing whatever it takes to eliminate those who seem to have the freedom and strength they lack.”

Colton pulls up files on his laptop. “Look at this, Rick,” he says, turning the screen towards me. “This is Izel’s history—or Isla’s, as she was known before she changed her name. Her grandfather was a tyrant. He tortured her, controlled every aspect of her life. She never had the freedom to do anything she wanted. Hell, he even broke off her engagement with Liam and shipped her off to London for further studies. It wasn’t about her education; it was about keeping her under his thumb.”

The information takes me back to the first time I profiled her. Izel’s fear, her submissiveness, her desperate need to please—it all starts to make sense. I remember how she used to flinch at my raised voice, how she’d freeze when I’d touch her, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’d agree to anything if she felt threatened, if she thought it would keep her safe.

Colton’s voice pulls me back to the present. “The victims, Rick—they were the ones who had a voice, who stood up for themselves, who were brave. That’s what she couldn’t be, and that’s why she’s targeting them. It’s like she’s erasing everything that she sees as a threat to her own survival.”

“No,” I say again, but the conviction in my voice is waning. I don’t want to believe it, but the pieces are falling into place, forming a picture I don’t want to see.

“Look at the facts. You’re a profiler. Profile her.”

But how can I? How can I be objective when every instinct I have is screaming that this can’t be true? Izel isn’t a monster. But the doubt is there, festering, and I can’t shake the fear that maybe, just maybe, I missed something. Maybe I was too close, too blind to see what she was hiding right in front of me.

Emily, standing silently by the side, finally speaks up. Her voice is cautious, as if she’s wary of how I might react. “Maybe this is why she’s after Luna.”

The thought blindsides me. The idea that Izel might be targeting her because Luna represents everything Izel was denied, everything she was forced to suppress, is too much to bear. Luna’s like a kid sister to me. The thought of Izel hurting her makes me sick to my stomach.

Emily tries to put a hand on my shoulder, but I jerk away. “Rick, we’ll figure this out.”

I shove my chair back, nearly toppling it. My hands are shaking as I try to process everything. Izel, the woman I thought I knew, the woman I fell for,isthe goddamn Ghostface Striker. I expected her to be a victim or an accomplice, but a killer... It feels like my world is crashing down around me, and I can’t breathe.

“Rick, focus. We need to find her before she hurts anyone else.”

“Hurts anyone else?” I repeat. “What if she’s already hurt someone else? What if she’s… What if she’s still hurting Luna?”

The love I have for Izel, the emotional connection that’s been building, is suddenly overshadowed by the reality of what she might be capable of. The thought makes me look down at my badge. It’s like a switch flips inside me. I need to keep my cool. Ineed to find her and lock her up. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much I feel like I’m dying inside.

“Emily,” I say. “Get on with finding the location of that warehouse. We need to know where she’s holding Luna. Look for any clues, any landmarks. And get a trace on her.”

Emily looks shocked for a moment, but then she snaps into action. “Got it,” she says, hurrying to get her system and start working.

Colton and Noah exchange glances but stay silent, knowing better than to question me right now.

Emily’s fingers fly over the keyboard. “I’m cross-referencing known locations with the data we’ve gathered on Izel’s movements and the video,” she explains. “It’ll take a minute, but I’ll find something.”

I nod, pushing the personal betrayal aside. I need to stay professional. I need to be the agent I trained to be. But fuck, it’s hard. Every image of Izel in my mind now feels tainted. Every touch, every kiss, now linked to a murderer’s hands.

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