Page 56 of Lovely Violent Things

Right now, I have to make sure Kallum won’t be charged with two crimes come morning.

I pivot away from the restroom and go straight to the forensic lab. I try three keys before I gain access, then I search the racks for my canvas bag. “Come on… Where is it?”

Not finding it on any of the evidence racks, I give up the search and snatch the bagged knife from the cart and slip it beneath my shirt. I tuck the torn hem into my jeans as I head toward Alister’s office.

Dropping to my knees, I flip the laptop around and exhale a tense breath. Alister is still logged into the department network. I delete the interrogation room footage of Kallum and I together, then I bring up the security logs. My fingers shakily hover over the keys as an internal battle wages.

Removing the security footage will erase any evidence of Alister’s attack on me. It really will be my word against his.

I stare at my fingers, inspecting the epithelial cells beneath my nails from scratching his face. There might be enough for a DNA match—but will it be enough proof to go up against a federal agent?

“Dammit.” I shove the sick feeling down deep into the pit of my stomach and proceed to delete all traces of me from the building after the conference. Then I toss Alister’s keys to the floor on my way out.

With every step that takes me closer to the exit, my forearm braced around my waist to conceal the knife, I shed a layer of guilt. Whatever shame I might have harbored for violating my morals, Alister remedied the moment he tried to violate me.

The fresh night air is a shock to my system, making it feel as if everything that transpired inside the building happened a lifetime ago, to someone else.

The sight of Agent Hernandez standing beside the FBI SUV stalls my steps. “You need to stay with Kallum,” I say. “You’re in charge of watching him.”

He squares his thick shoulders. “I need to stay with you, Dr. St. James. I promised I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.” The dismal certainty etched into his expression says more than he’s voicing. He knows what went down in that office.

“Kallum made you promise?”

He shrugs. “I offered.”

I nod slowly. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

When he unlocks the SUV with the key fob, I open the passenger-side door and quickly shove the bagged weapon under the seat. I climb into the cab and reach for the seatbelt.

Hernandez slips in behind the steering wheel, casting a concerned glance my way. “Are you all—?”

“Nothing happened,” I force out to cut him off. “Kallum stopped it.”

A tense moment of silence weighs the air of the interior, but mercifully, the agent cranks the vehicle without pushing the subject.

“I don’t know about you,” I say, trying to suppress the lingering tremble in my voice, “but watching a likely serial killer beat an asshole fed nearly to death makes me crave chocolate and caffeine.”

I peek over to catch a faint smile cross his mouth. As Hernandez drives toward the diner, I pull out my phone and conduct a search for Charles Crosby, the lawyer who harassed me on the witness stand during Kallum’s trial.

Kallum said weembody the violence of the stars.

His words envelop me, evoking both comfort and fear. Kallum embodies the violence of a damn supernova—and Alister better pray I fail at getting him set free.

INTERLUDE

KALLUM

The loudclangof the holding cell door unlocking fires through my viscera. My muscles coil tight around my bones.

Then Special Agent Wren Alister enters the room.

Our eyes lock, and a slow, menacing smile spreads across my face.

12

OVERMAN

HALEN

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