Dominance and Deception (23 page)

"The night before he told me it was over, he seemed...different, somehow. Like something was wrong."

"Perhaps he was concerned about your reaction to the news he was planning to break?” Bill suggested. “Purely from a devil's advocate standpoint, I mean."

"I know,” I said, shrugging. “But it doesn't add up."

Trying not to give too much unnecessary information, I told him how Pierce had taken me to bed as soon as we'd arrived at my apartment that night, dissuading me from even having a cup of coffee first, and how he'd been as considerate a lover as ever.

"It was like he was memorising me, because he knew he had to let me go.” Giving Bill no chance to comment, I threw up a hand. “I know, I know. Maybe I'm just seeing what I want to see because I want him back so badly."

"It's good that you have a balanced point of view."

I continued, detailing my observations of the previous night's conversation with Pierce—the papers he'd hidden from me, his initial gentleness as he'd coaxed me to speak and the way he'd turned on me once I'd finished.

Bill made a few deft cuts with his scalpel, his brow furrowed, and excised the next organ from the chest. Holding it to the light for me to see, he said, “The human heart has long been thought to hold a person's capacity to love. Sadly, that's just a romantic notion. As you and I well know as scientists, the ability to love comes not from the beat of the heart"—he set the organ gently into the scales hanging at the side of the autopsy table “—but from the electrical impulses and chemicals within the brain."

I nodded, noting down the reading on the scales before speaking.

"I'm not a psychologist, Bill."

With a dry smile, Bill retrieved the heart from the scales and set it down on the edge of the autopsy table, beginning to dissect it with careful precision.

"Then you're fortunate I have a little experience in that area."

He asked me to write down that the heart showed signs of the early stages of heart disease before getting back on track.

"I've been wondering myself what would cause Zach to treat you the way he did. I don't need to tell you it's uncharacteristic, and he shuts me out completely when I ask him if he wants to discuss things. He seems tired and irritable, as if there's a great weight resting on his shoulders."

"I haven't spent any time around him. When I try to talk to him he just pushes me away."

"The way he's behaving is enough to make me think something might be going on, on a more dangerous level than just romance,” Bill answered carefully.

"But why would he take it out on me?” I stared at my hands as I voiced the question that had been driving me crazy.

Bill pulled off his gloves and stepped around the autopsy table to stand in front of me.

"Besides being extremely driven, Zach is fiercely protective of those he loves. If someone connected to him was under threat, I wouldn't put it past him to go to drastic ends to ensure their safety."

A quiver of fear crept down my spine, and I stared at him, my mind in chaos.

"You think someone with a grudge against Pierce threatened me?"

Bill's hands on my shoulders grounded me.

"It's a possibility. Don't get your hopes up, Faye."

Hopes...?

It took me a second to process what this hypothetical scenario really meant, but when realisation dawned on me, my heart jumped. If Pierce had ended things with me to keep me safe, it meant he still cared about me, still loved me...

"Oh, my God,” I said softly, terror and elation warring within me. “Why wouldn't he tell me?"

Bill shook his head. “Only Zach can answer that, I'm afraid."

I slid off the autopsy table and enfolded him in a tight hug, and my white lab coat ended up smeared with blood from the autopsy. There were plenty of clean ones back at the lab, though.

"Thanks, Bill."

"What will you do now?” he asked, returning the embrace as best he could without worsening the condition of the lab coat.

I hadn't thought that far ahead. My impulse was to seek Pierce out and drag the details from him, but working alongside criminal investigators had made me smarter than that.

"Since Pierce hasn't put me under armed guard, I gotta figure I'm safe while we're not together. And I don't know how close he is to finding whoever's responsible, so I can't do anything until..."

I sighed. “I guess I'll just go back to work, then go home, order a pizza, watch a movie and go to bed."

Bill relaxed, and I realised he'd been prepared to argue me out of a bad decision if it had come to it. “I think that would be a good plan."

"I want to see him, Bill,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around myself in my disappointment. “I want to help him through this... But I can't."

He squeezed my shoulder, and I was grateful for the sympathy. “Have faith in him, Faye. He'll keep you safe."

"But who's watching
his
back?” I asked, and the silence hung between us, heavy and ominous.

The case Pierce's team had been working on wrapped up forensically at around four pm, and taking advantage of time in lieu, I left the precinct soon afterwards. Usually I'd have put in a little more overtime, set up some cold case tests to run, but today my mind was spinning with conflicted emotions, and I couldn't concentrate.

On the way out, I headed up to the squad room, stepping into the open-plan space for the first time in weeks. My eyes automatically flitted to Pierce's desk, which was vacant. He was probably up in the commissioner's office, turning in the report on the latest arrest. That suited me fine.

Layton, Beaumont and Santoro all watched me approach with brows raised, surprised to see me there. “You okay?” Layton asked as I drew near.

"Mm-hmm...clocking off early. I'm kinda wiped out. Could you make sure Zach gets this report?” I held up a manila folder before placing it on top of his keyboard.

"Sure,” Santoro agreed.

They were all watching me as if I was about to break down at any moment, and I tried to relax. “Catch you in the morning."

Tension filled me as I stepped out of the building, my skin prickling as I remembered my life might be in danger. Reminding myself I'd been safe for the past month, I made it to my car with only a couple of nervous glances around, and slid inside with a sigh of relief.

I was halfway home when something inside me snapped, and I ignored my turnoff in favour of the one that would take me to Pierce's place. He'd be wrapped up in post-case paperwork for at least another hour, and I needed to find out what he'd been looking at last night, what he wouldn't let me see.

Using the key he hadn't taken back from me when we broke up, I let myself in and took the stairs to his study two at a time, my eyes sweeping the room for the paperwork I sought.

It was nowhere to be found, though I thoroughly searched the drawers of the desk. Acting on a hunch, I headed across the hall to a room I'd hoped to avoid—Pierce's bedroom.

As I stepped inside, memories clamoured for attention at the forefront of my brain. Pierce pulling me to the bed the first time I'd stayed the night there. Pierce pinning my wrists above my head with a predatory smile, telling me to keep my moans quiet or I'd wake the neighbours. Pierce ordering me to my knees beside the bed, blindfolding me, then leaving me to wonder as he devised new torments to make me scream with pleasure and pain.

Shaking my head sharply, I forced myself to focus on the notebook and papers on the nightstand. I used to spend many a night stretched out beside him, half-dozing while Pierce studied an open case file and noted his theories in his notepad. It looked as though he hadn't shaken the habit of taking his work to bed with him.

I sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for the papers with trepidation.

There were several photographs, and I stared at them, nausea churning in my stomach. They were organised in what seemed to be chronological order, and I examined each in turn.

The first photograph was of me and Pierce waiting in line at the coffee shop around the corner from the precinct. We had been laughing together at a shared joke, but I didn't remember when it had been taken. An ominous set of crosshairs was positioned over my head, and the note below read,
You will suffer as I have suffered. End your relationship with Faye Tate by noon on Saturday, March 15th 2011, or I will kill her. I am watching and listening—if you tell anyone about this, including Tate, she will die.

I'd imagined something like this, but actually seeing it... Shuddering, I turned my attention to the second picture. It showed me leaving the precinct's front entrance with Beaumont, Layton, Santoro and Pierce grouped around me. The photographer must have been in one of the buildings across the street, looking down from a high window, because, despite the fact that Santoro and Layton were both walking in front of me, the ‘sniper’ had a clear shot at my head.

Underneath, the message stated simply,
You're not the only one who can use a gun, Detective Pierce. The clock is ticking.

I almost dropped the third photograph in shock. It had been taken through one of the windows in my lab. In it, I was resting my head on my desk, half-asleep, while Pierce leaned over me, his lips brushing mine.

Though I knew my first reaction should have been all-encompassing terror, I couldn't tear my eyes from the picture, and a small smile found its way onto my face. I'd been convinced it was a dream, but he had really been there, had really kissed me...

Below, the caption read,
Do you think she's safe indoors? Keep away from her, or she'll suffer the consequences.

Okay,
now
I was scared. My skin crawling, I flicked to the final picture. It was me, rushing from Pierce's house dressed in the outfit I'd been wearing last night when I'd gone to tell him how I felt. The crosshairs were centred on my forehead, and the caption was short and to the point.

Last warning, Detective.

Oh, God, I'd screwed things up. Whoever it was could have been watching me right then, waiting for me to step into his rifle sights... I grabbed Pierce's notebook and began to search through it, needing to know how much—if anything—he'd managed to figure out.

I came across a list of names, most of them crossed out with a reason why written beside each one. A few of the names were familiar to me from cases I'd worked for Pierce, but he'd discounted each of them, detailing their alibis and scratching them off the list. Garth and Laura Morgan's names were amongst them—go figure.

Only two names remained, and I didn't recognise either of them. Adam Danforth and Tyler Aldridge. According to Pierce's logic, one of those men was out to destroy our lives, and if I could just get to a computer with an internet connection—Pierce didn't bother with a home network—I might have been able to pinpoint which one.

Taking a deep breath, I began to make my way through the house, putting on bursts of speed as I passed windows, hoping I was just being paranoid. When I reached the front hall, I trod on something that rustled, and looked down to find a Polaroid photograph of myself, sitting on Pierce's bed, staring in terror down at the threats against my life. Underneath, scrawled in blue ink, were seven words.

I warned you. Acta est fabula, Detective.

That's Latin, right?
I vaguely remembered it as something to do with the end of a stage performance. The meaning was pretty clear. It was curtains for me—

Something hit me from behind and pain blossomed across the back of my head as I lost my balance. I was unconscious before I hit the floor.

Pierce

I left the commissioner's office and headed downstairs to the squad room, my thoughts running on the same loop they had been since yesterday evening.

Being yours... being owned by you... was the best thing that's ever happened to me. I miss it, Zach. I miss
you.
I miss sitting at your feet, and I miss the way you used to visit my lab, and I miss your hugs, and your collar around my neck. And all the things in between.

"Boss, Faye left a report on your desk.” Santoro's words were cautious.

They'd all been hesitant around me over the past few weeks, and I knew their sympathies lay with Faye when it came to the breakup of our relationship. I didn't blame them. I wasn't feeling too great about it myself.

Nodding acknowledgement, I sat at my desk, opening the manila file and scanning the first page. Faye's signature at the bottom tugged my mind back to last night, to the visit she'd paid me and the threat I'd received just two hours later, waiting for me on my doormat.
Last warning, Detective.

I'd tried to get her out of there, God knows I'd tried. The second I'd realised she was there, I'd meant to order her to leave, to drive her away by any means necessary. I hadn't been able to find bugs or other surveillance equipment around my house, but that didn't mean I could relax. Faye was way more adept with the technological side of things than I was, and I couldn't afford to assume I wasn't overlooking something.

I'd meant to order her out of my house, but over the last month I'd watched her from afar, watched her draw into herself. She'd almost lost her bubbly personality altogether. Her music wasn't as loud as it used to be, and her smile was slower to appear. She had no idea I was keeping an eye on her and, as far as I knew, she was convinced I didn't want her anymore.

Nothing could have been further from the truth, and that night I hadn't been able to make myself turn her away as soon as I saw her. It was a mistake I couldn't afford to make again.

Hearing her talk about her pain at our separation, I'd known I had to get Faye out of there before I pulled her into my arms and told her everything. The only way to be sure she'd run from me was to cut deeper than I already had, and the betrayal on her face... I couldn't get it out of my mind.

I needed to figure out a way to find the son of a bitch responsible, whether it was Aldridge, Danforth or someone else entirely, before I could slip up again.

Last warning, Detective.

One more mistake and Faye would be dead.