Page 100 of He Sees You

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"I remember."

We round the corner and there he is, red-faced and sweating, earbuds in, completely unaware.

He's wearing expensive gear that does nothing to hide his soft belly, his struggling form.

Nike everything, probably a thousand dollars' worth of athletic wear on a man who hasn't been athletic in twenty years.

This man samples trafficking victims before they're sold.

This man was going to frame Cain for murders he didn't commit while ignoring the ones he did.

This man thinks his badge makes him untouchable.

He's wrong.

Cain moves first, coming up behind Morrison with an inhuman-like quiet.

I watch him hunt, see the predator he truly is.

No hesitation, no doubt, just pure purpose.

The needle slides into Morrison's neck before he knows we're there.

Morrison jerks, hand going to his neck, spinning around.

His eyes widen when he sees us—recognition flooding his face.

"Lockwood," he gasps, already losing motor control. "You... you're under arrest..."

"No," I say, moving into his line of sight. "You're under judgment."

His legs give out.

He crashes to his knees, then forward onto his hands.

Fighting the drug but losing.

His breathing is panicked, ragged.

He tries to reach for his phone, but his fingers won't cooperate.

The paralytic is spreading through his system like winter through water, freezing everything it touches.

"You should see yourself," I tell him. "The great Detective Morrison, on his knees in the dirt. How many girls have you put in this position? How many have begged while you decided their fate?"

"Wallet," Cain says to me.

I pull Morrison's wallet from his pocket, remove his phone too.

Make it look like a robbery gone wrong if anyone questions the heart attack.

His phone is locked but still recording his run—6.2 miles, heart rate 162, pace dropping rapidly as the app registers he's stopped moving.

The wallet is thick with cash—more than a detective should carry.

There are credit cards, a badge, photos of kids who hate him.

And tucked behind his license, a small piece of paper with an address.