Page 36 of Can You Take It?

Cassie Taylor, the college student who partied like there was no tomorrow, refusing to be bound by the rules of her conservative family.

These girls, though different in many ways, shared a common thread of rebellion. They rejected conformity, pushed boundaries, and challenged the status quo. It’s this rebellious nature that drew the Ghostface Striker’s attention.

The door swings open, and Noah strides in, followed by Luna, who’s nursing a steaming cup of coffee. She settles on the edge of my desk. Noah grabs a chair and spins it around, sitting down backward, his eyes already scanning the pictures.

“Find anything, Rick?” Noah asks

“Yeah,” I mutter, rubbing my jaw before pointing at the board. “These girls, they’re not random. Each one of them was a fucking grenade in their own way—pushing against the norm, flipping off society. They weren’t just victims; they were a threat to the world our unsub’s trying to control.”

Luna sips her coffee, her eyes narrowing as she focuses on one of the pictures—Evelyn Price. “So what, the bastard’s got a problem with women who don’t toe the line? Some kind of moral crusader?”

“Maybe,” I say, looking at the board. “But it’s more than that. This isn’t just about punishing them. This motherfucker is obsessed with domination, with putting them back in the box they fought to escape from. He’s not just killing them; he’s erasing them, making sure they’re remembered for nothing but how they died, not how they lived.”

Noah grunts, glancing between me and the board. “But the profile doesn’t match the sketch we got. The guy in the sketch looks... normal, clean-cut. Not the kind of guy who’d be obsessed with control like this.”

My phone buzzes for the fortieth time. I glance down at the screen. Ashley. Again. Fucking hell. I hit decline and shove the damn phone away.

“That’s the fucking problem,” I say, fingers drumming on the desk. My phone buzzes again, and I silence it without checking. Ashley’s calls can wait. “We’ve got a profile that doesn’t match the sketch, now either Izel’s lying through her teeth, or we’re missing something big.”

I look down at the sketch again.Martin. He’s around the same age as the sketch. What if Izel fed us a bogus description, but her mind was fixated on the age? It’s like a fucking mental tick—when you’re lying and not prepared, your brain latches onto something familiar. Something you can’t shake. It’d be fucking stupid not to consider that possibility.

“Look,” I continue, “if we go by the sketch, which demands priority, then we’re dealing with a fucking chameleon. Someone who blends in so well, you’d never suspect him. The kind of guy who could charm the pants off a nun and still walk away with her fucking rosary. He’s not just some creep lurking in the shadows; he’s the guy you’d invite over for dinner. That’s why he’s so dangerous.”

“But that doesn’t explain the breaking and entering. If he’s blending in, why the hell would he risk blowing his cover?” Noah grunts.

“Think about it. He’s not just breaking in to rob them or kill them outright. No, this bastard wants to fuck with their heads. He wants them to feel safe, like everything’s fine, before he flips the switch and shows them how wrong they were.”

Luna takes Evelyn Price’s picture off the board, holding it in front of her like she’s trying to read between the lines. “So, what are we saying? This guy’s a psychopath?”

“More like a goddamn sociopath with a God complex,” I say, the pieces starting to click into place. “He’s got everyone fooled,probably even himself. He’s meticulous, calculating, but the cracks are there if you know where to look. He sees these women living life on their terms, and it fucking drives him nuts. They’re everything he wishes he could be but knows he can’t.”

The door swings open again, and Emily strides in, her eyes already scanning the room. “Rick, there’s a girl named Ashley downstairs, and she’s losing her shit. She’s fighting with Carter to let her in.”

Noah arches a brow. “Who’s Ashley?”

“Let me guess, some clingy little leech? Your latest bad decision, Rick?” Luna sneers.

“Cut it out, Luna.”

“Oh, please. I’m just calling it like I see it. You’ve got a type, Rick, and—”

“Great, more drama. Meanwhile, Ashley’s about to claw Carter’s face off downstairs! Are we doing something about this, or should I just grab the popcorn?” Emily throws her hands up.

“Fucking great,” I hiss under my breath. I knew this was coming. I rub the bridge of my nose, warding off the headache that’s forming.

Luna doesn’t miss a beat, raising an eyebrow as she takes a sip of her coffee. “Nice choice in women, Reynolds. You really know how to pick ’em.”

Noah chuckles and I shoot him a glare.

“Settle down, Romeo,” Luna adds, putting the picture down. “That will keep your flings from turning into clingy nightmares.”

“Thanks for the advice, Dr. Phil,” I snap back, rubbing my temples. “Emily, tell Carter to keep her out, and make sure she doesn’t cause a scene. I’ll deal with her later.”

Emily nods and ducks out of the room, leaving Luna to smirk at me. “You should be more worried about Izel than Ashley. She’s the one who’s supposed to be under protection, remember?”

“I am worried, which is why you’re going to head over to my place and keep an eye on her,” I say.

Luna raises an eyebrow but grins. “You know, Rick, you’re really shitty at dishing out punishment. Watching over Izel is hardly a chore. Hell, it’s a break from all this profiling bullshit.”

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