Page 101 of The Blood we Crave: Part Two

I’m a gentleman—I don’t enjoy crushing a lady’s hopes and dreams. Not right away, at least. I’ll let her enjoy her near win for a little longer.

“You look awfully good for a man on the run.” She matches my stance, the blunt cut of her blonde hair swaying as she moves.

“Charmed.” I give her a tight-lipped smile. “But be careful. I’m a taken man now, and she doesn’t share well.”

That was the exact reason I had Silas keep Lyra entertained while I met with the detective. She’s possessive, and although I am more than capable of protecting myself, it never goes well for people who try coming for me.

Alistair had made a joke the other day that I might have to invest in a leash for the killer queen, or else I’d spend the rest of my life getting rid of bodies.

I’d only smiled because I knew I’d bury bodies forever if that’s what she wanted. If that’s what she needed.

“Your little girlfriend isn’t going to be very happy when she sees me taking you in.”

“She’s confident in my return.”

Odette takes a deep breath, leaning forward onto the table, her arms resting there. Witty, catlike eyes stare into mine; she looks more like a femme fatale than a detective right now. I suspect if she had it her way, I’d have an entire clip unloaded in my chest.

I’d made them look quite silly chasing me around the past few months.

“You’re surrounded, Thatcher.” She takes her time with each word, as if I don’t understand the severity of my situation. “I met with you as a curiosity, to hear your side of it before they throw your ass on death row.”

I smirk, running my finger around the rim of the coffee cup. “Would you like to hear about why I requested to meet with you?”

There are a few seconds where I think she might jump across the table and strangle me. Our personalities are very different, her and I, but both of us are a little too confident for our own good.

“If it’s not about the murders, then I think we’re done here.”

“I have something for you.” My smirk spreads into a grin. “A farewell, a parting gift.”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “You really think you’re walking out of here, don’t you?”

“No,” I respond dryly, leaning forward and interlocking my fingers together on the table in front of me. “I know I will.”

“What’s stopping me from arresting you right now?”

I know she came here thinking she’d get her criminal, and she will—just not the one she predicted. I have no desire to go to prison, and if she just so happened to not believe the information I’m about to give her, Rook has plan B ready to go.

“Other than my innocence?” I chide. Well, it’s partial innocence, but that’s just semantics. She’s here for a copycat killer, and I’m here to give her one. “You’re not an idiot, Odette. And for some reason, I believe that you genuinely want to help.”

I reach into my left jacket pocket, retrieving Godfrey’s worn journal and the file Silas had put together. I slide both of them across the table in her direction, a peace offering filled with names written in blood.

She stares at them blankly, unmoving.

“In the journal, you will find everything you need regarding the identity of your killer. Victims’ names dating back several years—he only recently picked up on the mimicking hobby. The Imitator has been killing far before this.”

I’m impressed by how well she hides her reaction, keeping her face passive as she pulls the file into her hands, flipping absent-mindedly through the sheets, her jaw tight.

“What are these files, then?”

“I almost forgot the best part.” I tap the table with my pointer finger. “You’re about to be credited with taking down a decades-old sex trafficking ring with organized crime affiliation. Prepare to be on the news, maybe even write a book. You’re about to be very famous, Miss Marshall.”

We stare at each other, two people forced to become enemies, only because we both fell on opposite sides. Odette lives her life in black and white, right and wrong. It’s the walk all those on the right side of the law try to hold on to.

But the reality is it’s never that easy.

Nothing is ever that clear-cut.

“So you’re just handing these over willingly? Not going to take credit for this discovery yourself?” She lays the files back on the table, grinding her teeth to keep from saying what she wants to.

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