Page 83 of Can You Take It?

“He’s Izel’s father,” I reply, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.

Why am I even suspecting Will? Maybe because I want to avoid working on the Striker case and instead focus on finding Will and making him pay for what he did to Izel. Or maybe because my instincts are screaming that he’s connected somehow.

Colton lets out a low whistle. “So, we’re suspecting that the killer, closely related to Izel, is her father?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “It would explain her sending those letters. Makes sense if she’s warning me without getting too close.” I look at Noah, waiting for his reaction.

He furrows his brows, shaking his head. “That makes no sense, Rick. She was with you in your home for days. If her father’s involved, why didn’t she just say something?”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “You remember what I said before, Noah? About suspecting that the person sending those letters might be someone who’s being threatened? She couldn’t say anything because she’s terrified. Izel mentioned her father tried to kill her before. Maybe this is his way of keeping her in line.”

“Or it’s Izel herself.”

“No, it’s not Izel,” I say firmly, looking at them both. “And it’s not because I care about her. Our unsub craves dominance. Izel… she’s not like that. She’s submissive by nature.”

Colton snorts, rolling his eyes. “More information than we needed, Rick.”

He might be joking, but I can tell he’s on the same page as me. We both know Izel doesn’t fit the profile. But Noah’s got that look on his face like he’s recalling something, piecing together a memory.

“We can’t just rule out the possibility that our unsub could be a woman. Dominance isn’t exclusive to men.”

He’s got a point, even if I don’t want to admit it. I’ve been sorting through it while keeping my personal feelings in check. But Noah’s right—our assumptions could be leading us down the wrong path. Izel might not fit the profile, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t be the one we’re after.

I try to push the thought away, but it lingers. Could Izel be involved? She has been at the center of every major killing spree. But suspecting her feels wrong.

It’s not just that I’m in love with her—though, yeah, that definitely makes me want to give her the benefit of the doubt. The real reason is that the victims are all girls, and while they fit the age range, Izel doesn’t have a solid motive to be behindall this. So, while Noah’s theory stings, it doesn’t fit neatly with what we know about Izel.

I glance at Colton and Noah. They’re waiting for me to say something, to offer some clarity in this murky situation. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. We’ll keep investigating, follow the evidence wherever it leads. For now, we need to focus on finding Luna and making sure she’s safe.”

Just then, my phone rings. It’s Wilson. “Where are you?”

“I’m on my way to Hollowbrook. Luna’s phone was last traced there.”

“Luna has been found?”

“Well, not exactly,” I admit. “She lied about being on a holiday. I think she’s been taken, and whoever has her is trying to cover their tracks.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line before Wilson speaks again. “I need you back at the bureau. We have to focus on the Striker case. This is a critical time, and we can’t afford any distractions.”

“Wilson, I understand the urgency, but Luna’s life is on the line. We can’t just abandon her.”

“You’re not abandoning her,” Wilson counters. “We have other teams who can follow up on her disappearance. Right now, your priority is the Striker case. It’s bigger than any one person, even Luna.”

“Wilson, I really think—”

“You’ve got your orders,” Wilson cuts me off sharply. The call ends with a decisive click.

I bang my hand on the steering wheel in frustration, the horn blaring briefly. Colton and Noah exchange worried glances as I make a sharp U-turn, heading back towards Virginia. Every second driving away from Hollowbrook feels like a betrayal of Luna.

“Sick bastard,” I mutter under my breath.

Wilson might be the boss, but his callous disregard for Luna’s safety grates on my nerves. I want to scream, to let out the pent-up rage coursing through my veins. But I know better. The hierarchy demands obedience, and my personal feelings come second to the bureau’s agenda.

The office door swings open, and I step inside. Files are scattered across my desk, and Noah, Colton, and Emily circle me like vultures sensing a fresh kill. I shrug off my jacket and loosen my tie. The Ghostface Striker case file sits ominously on my desk.

“Emily, any leads on Will?”

Emily looks up from her laptop. “Yeah, only about five thousand eight hundred and nineteen possibilities. ‘Will’ isn’t exactly a unique name.”

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