Page 21 of Twisted
Shivering, she couldn’t bring her eyes up to his, but she held her wrists to her chest, the cuffs still dangling from the left side. She felt like a whore again, same as the previous night. She’d let yet another man into her body—albeit one she’d actuallywantedthis time. She’d never chosen a man for herself before, but she knew if she’d been in a bar and this mysterious Jaeger had chanced a dance with her, she’d have taken him home quick as a hiccup.
Her sins still lingered; the pull of the trigger, the foaming at the mouth and macabrely curled fingers and hands, the burning of the trail that would lead right to her. She hated herself even more, now; for believing this man could make her feel absolved, for letting him inside her with barely a fight, for—
“You look at me right now, Maisie Jane, and you quit that overthinkin’ bullshit. Where’s your mind?”
Rubbing her lips together, she shook her head, keeping her eyes securely closed so she could pretend she wasn’t there, could pretend she hadn’t been thoroughly enjoying what he’d been doing to her.
“You don’t tell me, I keep goin’,” he growled, and she knew his threat was real, for it sent pleasurable tingles down into the pit of her stomach. She wanted more, wanted him to finish with a deep throbbing inside her, wanted to collapse in a euphoric heap on his broad chest, wanted to tell him all her darkest secrets so she didn’t have to bear them alone anymore.
“Maisie—”
Flicking her teary eyes open and up to his, she spoke with utter clarity.
“Then keep goin’.”
7
Detective Cooper
Present Day
“Toxicology reports are in, my liege,” Layla teased as she dropped a thick file on Shawn’s overflowing, cluttered desk. With an audible groan, he leaned back in his squeaky swivel chair, rubbing both hands along his exhausted face. This case—now a month old—was close to being finished, and everyone was glad for it.
Everyone, it seemed, except Shawn.
There was something there, pricking in the back of his mind, nagging him about the story, the evidence—and that was how flawless said evidence was. They had Lindsay on tape entering and exiting the Hale residence, they had swiped her hands and found traces of gunpowder, they’d even done ballistics and matched the bullet and casing to Carter’s own handgun. Then there was the matter of Maisie, of the story she’d tearfully told the detectives about the night her beautiful face would be marred forever.
Lindsay had done it in a fit of drunken rage, apparently, when her husband Randy had become too flirty with Mrs. Hale at a cocktail party.
The evidence was irrefutable at this point; Lindsay was facing life and then some for her actions, but call it intuition, call it divine inspiration, Shawn didn’t care. Something just wasn’t adding up. And so he’d had Randy’s body thoroughly investigated, the last tidbit they needed before they hit the courtroom in two months. Reaching for the file and ignoring the fifth call from his haggard wife, he steeled himself, praying his gut was wrong, praying that whatever had killed Randy had indeed been rat poison. They’d found the box in the Garfield’s shed, opened, of course, and it exactly matched the purchase on Lindsay’s credit card, down to the brand and SKU number.
But before Shawn could flip open the file and peruse the contents, he could smell Hays’ aftershave, and he knew to wait for his partner.
“Damn, ‘bout time,” the gruff man said as he rounded the corner and leaned precariously against the cubicle wall. Shawn smirked, tapping the thick file to his opposite hand.
“Place your bets?” he teased. Hays chuckled, crossing his arms.
“You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, blamin’ that poor little thing.”
“Not true,” Shawn answered, feeling a slight blush creeping up his cheeks. He wasn’t sure why he wanted it to be Maisie. Maybe so he could prove his worth as a detective. Maybe because there was something strange about her, how she’d stayed with a man who’d treated her so poorly. He immediately felt guilty for thinking that last part. In their investigation, it had come out that it was no secret Carter was an utter jackass to Maisie, and often in front of guests or other prominent figures in society. Blaming the victim of such abuses, though, was wrong, and he knew it. He also knew, though, that the verbal abuse was the tip of the iceberg. There had to be more to the story—more Maisie was keeping close to herself, either from embarrassment or to keep suspicion off her.
Shawn wished with all he had that he could just know for certain. If Carter, Randy, and Lindsay had done things to Maisie, part of him believed in the righteous justice that had been doled out. He couldn’t think that, though. If he allowed those thoughts in his mind, he may as well quit and give up his badge.
Steeling himself, he flipped open to the first page, eyes skimming the fine print quickly, his heart thumping harder and harder with each pass of his eyes over the letters.
Hays leaned in, grunting something about Shawn not sharing.
Both men stilled before their eyes met at precisely the same moment, jaws slack. They were back at square one, now, and it was apparent they both knew it. Shawn dropped his eyes once more to the file before he tossed it aside in quiet fury, pressing his long fingers to his lips and leaning back with another groan and squeak of his chair. His phone began to vibrate again, and he reached for it, answering without checking to see who it was.
“Gonna be gone for dinner again, hun. Tell the kids I’m sorry.”
The file lay open under the buzzing fluorescent lights as the department cleared out, the words jumping up and flashing at the two detectives like a neon sign in Vegas.
Cause of death: Venom, snake, copperhead & Tetrodotoxin
Jaeger
Present Day