Page 13 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

What are they saying?” I ask in a tight voice.

“Everything. How she was found two nights ago around 10 p.m. with that creepy ass doll. The usual MO except this time, he left her body. Usually, he takes some kind of trophy.”

“Nothing new though?” I ask.

“Nope. Still a dead end on leads.”

“Really?”

He nods. “This killer’s good. Like they’re always ten steps ahead of us. No matter what. My theory is that we’re not looking in the right places. He could be some guy that lives out of state. Maybe he returned to relive his fantasy and couldn’t take the victim with him this time.”

“I doubt it. Doesn’t match the profile,” I mutter, returning back to my computer screen. Does he not know about the Hellfire Riders being there, or do they think that isn’t a good lead?

“What profile? Every detective has their own theory.”

I wonder if talking about the bikers at all would be worthwhile. No, Logan would shut down the idea unless it came from him. Hadn’t the others seen them that night, waiting outside the victim’s apartment building or was it just Laina and I?

I shift awkwardly in my seat.

Logan sighs, rocking back and forth on his heels. I hope he takes the cue to leave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he bends down near my ear. The bitter stench of his coffee breath wafts up my nose.

“Anyways, Reynold’s wants to see you,” he whispers.

“He does?” I ask, hoping the spike in my nerves doesn’t reveal itself. I’m sure he wants to know what the hell I was doing at the crime scene that night.

“He said to let you know as soon as you came in, so I waited. Though, I didn’t think you’d be so late,” he stifles a laugh.

“I don’t consider five minutes to be so late,” I mutter, slamming my laptop close.

I rehearse how I plan to play dumb if he asks me what I was doing. I’ll suggest I thought he needed help with a case that large. I am their best photographer.But I didn’t take any pictures, Laina did.My stomach tightens as I knock on the office door.

“Come in.”

I inhale a deep breath and enter his office. Detective Reynold’s is standing near the tall window of his office, staring out over Eureka, California. He doesn’t look at my direction, instead, he continues to face the window.

“Shut the door behind you, Isabella.”

I hesitate for a moment. I want nothing more to run right out of here, out of the station and straight into my car. Icy drafts trickle down my spine when the door clicks shut behind me. This could be it. He could know everything.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

“Sit,” he offers, gesturing to the leather chair in front of his mahogany desk. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” He turns and gives me a genuine smile. The sunlight catches in his glasses, and I can’t read his eyes because of the glare. He walks over to his desk and stands across from me.

“That’s good to hear. It’s been a bust forty-eight hours for everyone.” He slides a coffee cup over to me. “I figure you’d be running late, so I had Sandy make an extra in case you hadn’t had any yet.” I take the warm styrofoam cup in hand, staring down at my own reflection.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I wish I could tell you that you are not in trouble.”

Shit. My stomach tightens more.

“Sir-“

He holds up a hand, cutting me off immediately. I choke on my words, sinking back into the leather chair. I’m like a teenager being reprimanded by a parent for sneaking out past their curfew. No matter how hard I work, how much I advance in my career, and even though I’m twenty-three years old, Reynolds makes me feel like a child.”

“Four years ago, your dad decided to put you under my wing. He thought it would be good for the both of us,” he reminisces about my dearly departed father. “You’ve proven to be a wonderful forensic photographer, but-“he sighs, taking a seat across from me. “But you completely broke code.”

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