“You dream of the vulnerable and abandoned as they experience their last moments. It is your God-given ability to see them. To make them feel seen. To allow them to feel your companionship in the minutes, hours, days, or weeks before they die. You are a seer. A predictor of death.”
“You are…thirty-six years old, 140 pounds, 5’8”…” The man behind the laptop finally stopped announcing the information off Kellen’s ID like he couldn’t read silently. “Yeah, this is all correct in the system.” He looked up at the dark-featured figure seated across the table from him. “Redder said you—” A momentary pause, and a glance at the stack of forms on the table between them. “She said you’re really good at this kind of thing. Reading people. Playing a part and blending in.”
Kellen said nothing. Playing a part. And he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the exact phrase Lila Redder had used.
A small, awkward cough escaped the officer’s throat. He glanced at his computer again. “Actually, your PI experience is really impressive. Almost a little scary.” He stared at Kellen for an unwarrantedly long moment. “Jeez, you do not remotely look thirty-six, and simultaneously have way too much experience to only be thirty-six.” He glanced very briefly over his shoulder toward the door. “I think you out-experience the detective on this case.” An uncertain look passed at Kellen. Then, abruptly, “Anyway, I also saw that you lived in Winchester for nine years a little while back. Did you ever work with us? I checked, but I couldn’t find a record of you. Saw you worked with other jurisdictions, though.”
Of course there wasn’t a record. Because the one time Kellen had needed, needed more desperately than the air he breathed, to be allowed into a case the Winchester PD was working, he had been told he was too close to it.
Swallowing down the involuntary burn that developed in his throat, Kellen put on a faint smile. “I never contracted with the Winchester Police Department, no.”
“Ah, okay.” There was a small pause. The officer shifted forward in his chair a little, and he cast a small glance over his shoulder toward the door. “So…” His voice immediately lowered. “Redder recommended you. And actually because your last name is Eastland—”
The door behind him swung open, and the officer abruptly fell silent and straightened in his chair. Like a reflex, his hands flew back into position on his laptop keyboard. A small, awkward smile touched his face as the newcomer took the chair beside him. His hand moved to the table, and he wordlessly passed back Kellen’s ID.
Black, tall, sharply handsome features, a wedding band on his left hand and a bulletproof vest with a badge number but no name pinned to the front. Kellen surveyed the newcomer with a single, swift glance. This was the detective, then.
“You understand the risks involved in a job like this, and that your safety is your first priority?” He had a folder in front of him. But he looked Kellen in the eyes and made no move to open the folder.
“I understand.”
The man nodded. “Detective Marcus De’Angelo,” he introduced himself. He held out his hand, eyes still fixing Kellen. Unwavering. The man had a firm shake. He gripped Kellen’s hand like he was testing it. “Kellen. Kellen Eastland. Am I saying that right?”
“You are.”
“You can call me Marcus or De’Angelo, whichever feels more comfortable to you.” The file folder still did not open. Marcus’s hands folded on top of it. “Have you had a chance to look over the FOAs?” His dark eyes moved briefly in the direction of a thick stack of pages resting untouched on Kellen’s side of the table.
“I’m familiar with 192 and 88,” Kellen replied simply.
Marcus nodded silently. There was a pause. “You understand the extraction protocol?”
“Yes.”
“You understand that at any time, at our sole discretion, we may remove you from this op for any reason—including but not limited to a threat to your personal safety, any level of compromise to your identity, commitment of a true crime, or failure to follow through on the outlined directives? Also that you have the freedom to request your own removal at any time should you feel your personal safety is threatened—not withstanding a timely decision from the Winchester Police Department.”
“I understand.”
“We protect our own here,” Marcus said gravely. “We don’t play when it comes to safety.” He seemed to be done, but the file folder still did not open. Marcus raised a hand to his chin and stroked through his neatly trimmed beard. “I heard you lived here in Winchester for a while, did you ever hear of XI, also known as Exey or Eleven?”
“Drug cartel,” Kellen replied.
“Did you ever work any cases related to them?”
“No.” Not officially. But after the disappearance, every criminal organization within a fifty-mile radius had gathered time on Kellen’s pinboard.
Marcus nodded. “Good. And you’ve lived out-of-state for the last eight years, so that’s good, too.”
“You’re trying to bust a drug gang?” Kellen asked after a moment. His shoulders touched the backrest of the chair he sat in, then slowly sank against it.
“XI is known for more than just drugs these days,” Marcus said. His hands twitched, folded atop the shut file. “They also carry a reputation for weapons trafficking, human trafficking, and various cybercrimes. Like you said, they are borderline cartel.”
Human trafficking. Now, they knew this. Now, nearly ten years later. Ten years after they had sworn to Kellen that there was no active human trafficking group in all of Winchester, Arkansas. That Kellen’s theories were ungrounded, unreal, paranoid.
Marcus leaned forward across the table suddenly, arms folding against the hard surface. “XI has gained disturbing traction here in Winchester, exponentially so across the last half decade. The Winchester PD takes out a good dozen XI members every month. But they’re mostly kids—disposable to the gang. They don’t have any information to trade even if they wanted to. The leaders are the people we’ve been after for years. We have profiles on two people we believe to be in positions of power, but every time we think we get close, our leads dissipate like smoke.”
Kellen’s eyes lowered to the table. The smooth surface glared back at him with a dull reflection of the ceiling light. This was beginning to sound stupid. Drug gangs always replaced themselves. If the bottom feeders of the gang didn’t have any information, the gang was next to impenetrable. Even physically joining the gang wouldn’t be enough to crack any information out of it.
Paper crinkled, and Marcus finally parted open the file folder. He took a single page from the top and laid it on the table between them. “An individual who claims to have access to ringleader information has approached us for a deal.”
Kellen’s eyes lowered to the paper. And suddenly, time seemed to freeze. Slow, thudding, he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears as he stared down at the printed ink.
“This individual has agreed to cooperate as a CI until the terms of the agreement are filled,” Marcus went on. “He has communicated a need for face-to-face contact with his handler. No phones, wires, or other devices can be used due to a high risk of detection. In other words, he needs an undercover handler. A go-between from him to the force.”
It was a drawing. Either actual sketch art or the AI equivalent. Gray graphite on white paper. Full lips, a delicately sculpted jawline, straight dark hair reaching down past the cheekbones. And half the face was concealed in a blindfold.
“We have multiple reasons to consider this a high-risk op,” Marcus was continuing.
“This is all you have?” The stare Kellen lifted to the detective was close to deathly. “A sketch? Do you have a photo? What is this thing covering most of his face?”
“No devices,” Marcus replied. “He was very clear about that, and we did determine that his concerns are valid. The agent who made initial contact with him worked with a sketch artist to create that—as close as possible to how he looked at meet-up, outfit included.”
The dreams aren’t real. Kellen’s vision blurred on the drawing. And whatever was lying in front of him right now was just coincidence.
“First and foremost, Eastland, you need to know you could be walking into a trap. We don’t know of a reason that someone would go through all this trouble to set up a trap that would presumably only take down one officer. But more importantly, we don’t see sufficient motive for this individual to cooperate with us.”
Kellen’s eyes flashed up from the drawing. “You said there was a deal.”
“Immunity.” Marcus’s lip twitched. “Relocation and a new identity for one person. That’s all he asked for.”
Kellen’s shoulders lifted faintly. “So he wants out with no consequences from the law.”
“Yeah, but we didn’t know he existed. There never was a threat of consequences from the law.” Silence.
Kellen’s eyes lifted a second time. Marcus was staring at him like the detective might bore holes with his gaze. Kellen returned the look with a blank glance. “The gang probably has some kind of repercussion for leaving.”
“Yeah.” The word came out half a scoff in Marcus’s throat. He took his arms off the table and leaned back suddenly. “I’m sure they do. But nothin’ like this kid would get if they caught him snitching to the cops. The risk-reward doesn’t balance. If the kid wanted to take a risk to get out, he would get out on his own. Hop a damn train if he had to. No gang likes a dropout. But a snitch gets hell. A snitch gets hunted down, tortured, and his family wiped out.”
Kellen’s arms drew slowly across his chest. There was a surveillance camera screwed to the wall in the corner near the ceiling. He watched the dull red light for a second or two. “So, what is his motive?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.” Marcus’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “We don’t know. It’s fishy as hell.”
Silence.
“The first meet would be in a public place and relatively secure,” Marcus went on. “I would send a guy in to spot you from a distance. But you understand that after that, if you agree to stay on, we can’t control when or where this kid decides he wants to meet. Obviously, it will be up to you to establish a relationship and boundaries. And of course, you can tap out at any time if you feel your safety is threatened.”
Another page shifted out of the file folder, and Marcus positioned it on the table beside the first. “More physical descrip’.”
Asian, 5’4”, 120 pounds. Kellen’s eyes flashed twice over the list of physical characteristics. He was small.
“His name is Alexei,” Marcus added. “At least, that’s the name he gave.”
There was a coffee station around the corner from the interview room. With a cup of cold water in his hand, waiting for his copies of the paperwork, Kellen watched as three different officers made their stops at the station.
“Damn it, the caramel is out,” one of the officers murmured under his breath before walking away.
A meeting let out down the hallway, and Kellen stepped closer to the wall as a group of uniforms spewed out. Evening shift, Kellen decided with a glance at a wall clock. The paralyzing thought immediately followed that if Lila was still working the evening shift, and was working at the same station she made the recommendation for, there was significant danger that he might run into her.
Kellen moved into the corner made by a tall shelf case and listened as the voices in the hallway died out. The bell hanging over the front entrance finally stopped ringing. And just when Kellen was about to conclude that the evening shift had left for patrol, he heard a very familiar voice.
“Howy, can you get that last chair?”
It chilled him down to the bone. Shivering weakness stole across his skin, gripped his gut like it would tear right through. That voice. She was still in the meeting room, and there was someone with her.
“I don’t get why we have to move these out of the way, and then move them all back every single time,” a male voice answered.
“We’re not the only ones who use this room, Howy.”
“Can’t AA find literally anywhere else to meet?”
Chairs folding. Metal scraping across the floor.
“Hey, Lila, I got a question for you.”
“Howy, can you fold it completely before stacking it? What?”
“That guy De’Angelo is taking on for the XI op…”
“If it’s De’Angelo’s op, ask him.”
“No, but for real, I thought he was gonna be your cousin or something. Isn’t Eastland your maiden name?”
Quiet. Just the clanking of metal chairs being stacked. She wasn’t answering.
“There’s no way you two are related. Unless he’s an adopted cousin. ‘Cause he’s like Asian or Mexican or something. And you’re—”
“We were married, Howy.”
Quiet. Quiet that lasted way too long. Kellen silently raised his cup to his lips.
“Oh, shit.” Howy’s reaction finally came. “Shit, that’s your ex-husband?”
And the conversation was over.
A girl with a ponytail appeared from around the corner Kellen was standing near and presented him with a zippered file folder. “Your copies are inside,” she announced in a peppy voice. “Detective De’Angelo will reach out later this evening with other details. Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“No, that’s fine, thanks.” Kellen opened the zipper and briefly checked through the papers inside. Then, with a small nod of thanks to the girl who was still standing awkwardly nearby, he started for the exit.
And just steps outside the meeting room, he ran straight into her.
Lila stopped short, a binder tucked under her arm. The male officer accompanying her took one look at Kellen and made an immediate detour to the restroom.
Blue eyes. Blond hair hanging in a single braid down her back. Her porcelain skin. Those sapphire eyes. “Kellen.” In a moment of weakness, she glanced away. Awkward. Small. It was the twitch of her shoulders. The way she lifted her hand and absently checked the left pocket of her pants.
“Lila.” He should’ve had more shame. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She had changed. Her posture, her voice, her eyes were the same. But she looked so much older, now. Still beautiful.
“I thought you were gone already.” She looked back. Fixed him with that piercing blue. “Actually, wasn’t sure if you were purposefully avoiding me.”
“I wasn’t,” he lied.
“Oh, you weren’t?” That little smile that meant she knew he was lying. But her face sobered. “Did you take the job?”
“Yes.”
“Of course, you did.” She glanced down at the binder under her arm and made a move as if to step around and pass him. But she didn’t. “Are you seeing anyone?” Her piercing stare suddenly began to pierce.
Like it had been wiped out with a towel, Kellen’s throat went dry. He gradually became conscious of the thudding of his own heartbeat in the side of his neck. Then bitterness. That taste like vomit rising in the pit of his chest, pooling just under his tongue. His lip quirked. “Are you still married?”
“Yes, I’m still married.” Her blank stare. “Do you want to meet my husband? He’s a great guy. You would’ve already met him if you’d accepted the wedding invitation I took all the trouble to send down to your little no-address house in the Everglades.”
“I didn’t think you actually wanted me to come.” Swollen. And gradually tightening. Suddenly, every fiber of Kellen’s being was remembering what it was like to fight with this woman.
“Oh, so you did get the invitation? You just ignored it.”
Kellen’s teeth snapped shut behind his lips. Grit, “I had no idea you wanted me to come to your damn wedding.”
“Oh, no, it was only one of the biggest moments of my life. And I totally sent you that hand-written invitation on satin-finish paper in sarcasm.”
“It’s also completely normal for people to invite their exes to their weddings,” Kellen hissed.
Their eyes locked.
“You were my best friend,” Lila breathed finally. “For eight and a half years of my life, you were my everything, Kellen. It’s just bad luck that our path led to hell, but you know what, I got through that hell because of you. I thought—” She glanced away suddenly. “God, I’m so stupid, you know? I thought it would be a chance for us to reconnect. I had this whole idea that I could convince you to move back to Arkansas. At least to get out of those god-forsaken Everglades.”
“You used to love it there.” Kellen’s voice died to a whisper. He swallowed and glanced away.
“Yeah, I liked it before I knew, Kellen. And then when I knew, it was all I could think about when I was there. I would have burned that little house to the ground if I had any inkling whatsoever that you might move there after we separated. What the hell. Who even does that to themselves.” She made another move as if she wanted to step around him and continue on her way.
But again, she did not. “Yes.” Her eyes lifted and met his again. “Yes, I wanted you at my damn wedding. And I still wish you would’ve been there. That it wouldn’t’ve been another eight years before we laid eyes on each other again. But look at us now. So much has happened, I wouldn’t even know where to start. Of course, it’s a damn job that finally gets you back in Winchester.” She shook her head.
“And what the hell would your new husband have thought of that?” Kellen whispered.
Her eyes shot back up so fast. Fierce, unwavering. “He knows you’re gay, Kellen.”
Frozen. The words didn’t even process for a full ten seconds. Kellen’s lips parted.
“God.” She almost looked on the verge of throwing up. “God, it’s been eight years, are you still in denial? God, I wish you would get help. I wish you would get professional help. For that and all the other things your childhood did to you.” She brushed past him without another word.