Page 70 of No Rules

“I know what you mean, miss,” Bob cuts me off. “He’s probably one of the best guys I’ve ever worked with. Helpful. He covered for me several times when I had to go home early to pick up my son. He was serious about his job, friendly, polite, respectful.”

Exactly what his neighbors said, according to the newspapers.

The more he paints a glowing picture of Mikael, the more doubt begins to creep in. Is it possible that I was blinded by my hatred for my parents’ killer and let it cloud my judgment, thinking straight away that Mikael was the culprit without even asking the right questions? What if he really is innocent? I need to think objectively, to see beyond my personal history, at least for the time of the investigation.

One last question comes to mind.

“Regarding his marriage, do you know if he and his wife had any problems?”

“You know, we didn’t tell each other our lives. But I remember…one time, yeah…he and his wife had a fight in the morning. During the day, she harassed him. She would call him every two minutes and yell at him hysterically.”

I slowly turn my face to Tucker’s. His thoughts seem to match mine as he nods slightly. Then his gaze settles on my half-open mouth. I don’t move an inch, as if hypnotized. His masculine smell invades me.

“My break is over,” Bob says, “I wish you a good day.”

“Have a good day too,” I whisper as he hangs up.

Tucker continues to stare at me and I stare back, disturbed by his proximity.

“Are you finished?” the waitress asks, interrupting us.

I jump up and scramble back, a guilty look on my face as if we’ve been caught in the act. But it is not the case.

Who am I trying to convince, anyway?

Tucker is well aware of my confusion, and he seems to like it.

***

A few hours later, I arrive in front of my apartment building. I stretch as I get out of my car and get my bag just before I slam the door. It is nighttime now. The moon starts to trace its way in the starry sky, positioning itself as the master of the night.

It’s 11:30 p.m. and I’ve spent most of my evening studying in the library about apraxia, a movement disorder, because I have a paper to do on it for one of my classes. As my eyes slid across the pages and I couldn’t focus, I decided to go home and am eager to take a hot shower.

I take the stairs and quickly reach my floor, the hallway darkened. It’s been two days since the light bulb burned out partially, leaving the place in a partial darkness. And you know what? The fucking building manager doesn’t give a shit.

I walk to my door and unlock it with difficulty with my free hand. I don’t know what’s going on, but the little hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stand up.

There is a presence behind me.

I take a deep breath and throw my elbow back, then start to scream as one hand stops my blow and another rests firmly on my mouth. A male torso presses against my back as I struggle in vain.

My eyes fall on another guy standing in front of me, a cloth bag in his hands. I barely have time to catch a glimpse of the wolf mask he’s wearing before he slips the bag over my face.

So these are guys from the Pack?

“What’s going on?!” I yell again, totally disoriented.

The guy behind me holds me a little more tightly, his arm tightening around my waist. Then my feet leave the ground. I am lifted up. A perfectly recognizable male voice comes out of the mouth pressing against my ear.

“Ready for another trial?” Tucker whispers to me.

23. Third Trial

Iris

I hear the other guy trotting behind us as Tucker strides across the hallway as if I weigh nothing. I don’t say a word, trying to figure out what’s going on. I can’t see anything around me, but when I hear the sound of a car door, I realize that we are in the parking lot. Finally, I connect with reality. I pull on my wrists, which are held together by who knows what shit.

“Untie me,” I order.

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