Page 37 of Blood and Sand

“I do, but I’ll be back before you know it. I love you.”

A faint smile crossed her lips. “I love you too, Rey.”

When her gentle snores filtered into my ears, I was more at peace than I’d been in years. The woman I loved was a survivor. Years ago, one drink changed the course of her life, putting her on the path to greatness. Now, it was my turn to support everything she wanted and to be the husband she needed me to be. Things would be different now. I’d do everything in my power to make things easier for her until the day I died.

Epilogue

“Dr.LaCroix,Mr.Steelewould like to see you in the conference room immediately,” my assistant, Renee, said. I looked up from the mountain of paperwork I’d been sifting through since I arrived this morning.

“Did he say why?” I asked.

After the Infinity Killer, or Harold Greely, as I knew him, was killed, the Bureau had demanded I take at least six weeks off before returning to work, not including the week and a half I’d spent in the hospital. Now, two months after the end of my official vacation, I’d returned to a load of cases that needed to be separated so I could tackle the highest-priority files first.

“No, ma’am. He didn’t say.”

“Thank you.”

I closed the file, exited my office behind her, and made my way to the conference room. Like any other time he was expecting me, I walked in without knocking. When I entered the room, all the men rose. I was shocked to see Rey beside Mr. Steele at the head of the conference table. My brows drew together, and he winked. He hadn’t said anything to me this morning about needing the FBI’s help with a case.

“Dr. LaCroix, I’m glad you could join us on such short notice, but your husband insisted that you be brought in on this case the Atlanta PD is asking the FBI’s help with.”

After everything, Rey had insisted that we no longer be apart. Wherever I was, that was where he wanted to be. So, we’d had a lengthy conversation about where we wanted our relationship to go. He’d wanted to get remarried. I had wanted the same thing, but we still had the same issue. I wasn’t giving up my job. If he wanted to be with me, he’d have to move to Atlanta. I had expected a fight. Louisiana was Rey’s home. He absolutely loved his job, but to my surprise, he’d had no problem putting in a transfer this time.

After the shooting, Internal Affairs cleared him of any wrongdoing in Harold Greely’s death. He’d received the highest honor given to a law enforcement officer by the Governor of Louisiana for his work to bring justice to Greely’s victims.

Now, he was a detective in the Atlanta PD. I wondered what case was so important that he needed to bring in the FBI, specifically me. It had to be bad.

I took the seat beside Rey and next to Mr. Steele. “I’m happy to help if I can.”

All the men returned to their seats.

“Detective LaCroix, you have the floor.”

Rey rose from his seat and made his way to the front of the conference table. I admired him as his muscles shifted under his gray polo and khakis. Today, his shoulder-length hair was pulled into a loose bun on the back of his head, his gun was latched at his hip, and his badge hung from a chain around his neck.

Assembled on one side of the table was Mr. Steele, myself, Agent Hoffman—who still looked like he would rather eat shit than be in the same room with me—Agent Johnathan Grant, and Aaron. While I was missing, Aaron and Rey had worked together to find me and Delaney, but anytime I was around him, it was still awkward as hell. For me, at least.

The longing for what we shared still lingered in his eyes, but I think he understood I had moved on. Nothing would ever happen between us again. Rey and I were together, and he had come to terms with the fact that Aaron would always be around as long as I worked for the FBI.

“We received an anonymous tip of a body in an abandoned house. Once we got there, we found a female, late teens to early twenties, chained to the wall in one of the rooms.”

“Okay, but what do you need the FBI’s help with?” Agent Grant asked. “Bodies are a common occurrence in Atlanta.”

“That may be true, but above the head of the woman was a symbol drawn in the blood,” Rey said. “I’ve seen the symbol before, and I’m going to assume before testing is done on the blood that it’s the victim’s.”

He slid a picture across the table, and Agent Grant looked at it before passing it around the table. When it reached me, I looked at it and raised my brows in surprise.

“Rey, is this what I think it is?”

“I hate to say it, but it is.”

“Okay, someone needs to start explaining,” Mr. Steele said, looking between Rey and me.

“About five years ago, my department in the parish got an anonymous tip of a body in an abandoned boathouse located in one of the bayous,” Rey said. “Sixteen-year-old Christine Wallace had been chained to the wall with a symbol written in blood above her head. The symbol was the alchemist’s symbol for arsenic. That symbol.” He pointed to the photograph. “It was later determined the killer used Christine’s blood to draw the symbol. I uncovered over seventy murders across the country that can be attributed to this one killer.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Mr. Steele said, running his hand through his hair.

“I wish I was,” Rey said. “At least three in Louisiana, and now this one in Atlanta. The more I dig, I don’t think this will be the only one I find here or across the state.”

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