CRIMINAL INTENTIONS: Season One, Episode Five: IT'S WITCHCRAFT by Cole McCade

Author:Cole McCade [McCade, Cole]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2018-11-09T16:00:00+00:00

[7: NOT LIKE YOU KILLED SOMEONE]

SEONG-JAE YOON HAD NO EARTHLY idea what he was doing.

Other than looking anywhere but at Malcolm, staring down at his phone and fiddling with the message window even if he had no new texts, and no desire to reread old ones. It gave him something to do, so he could stop feeling so strange and so unsteady.

He was not quite certain what had happened on that rooftop, tonight. Only that he and Malcolm had both spoken of personal things, forbidden things, and Malcolm seemed intent on expressing that he…he…

Had he meant to imply that he had actual feelings for Seong-Jae?

Fuck, Seong-Jae needed to lock down, compartmentalize, and get his mind back into the case.

Especially when Malcolm parked the Camaro outside a bar with WET STEEL in massive cursive letters in scrolling blue neon out front. Seong-Jae had expected a more lively club scene like The Padrille, but what they found was instead closer to a quiet dive bar that smelled of cigarette smoke and tired, faded dreams. Several men drank alone at the bar or at tables; others played pool beneath dusty cones of overhead lights, while still others avoided the illumination entirely to be just whispered smiles and the flash of teeth and hands as they leaned into each other and made promises in the dark.

Yes, Seong-Jae thought as he trailed Malcolm inside and to the bar. He could see it—the killer, flashing a smile at Logan Wilde down the length of the bar, edging him farther and farther away from the light with alluring whispers until he was fully ready to step into the dark.

“This would seem ideal hunting grounds for the type of psychological profile we seek,” he murmured—the first thing he had said since they left the rooftop; his voice felt rusty, and his mouth tasted of their secrets.

Malcolm glanced at him with a brief, approving nod, but said nothing to Seong-Jae as the bartender—a thick-set bear of a man with a heavy beard and a Green Bay Packers t-shirt—sauntered toward them. “What can I get you?”

“Information on one of your patrons,” Malcolm answered, and pulled his phone out to flash a photograph taken of Logan Wild’s ID at the crime scene. “BPD. You know this guy?”

“Him?” The bartender leaned in, squinting. “Seen him once or twice, not really a regular around here, but he’d drop in now and then. Usually hook up pretty fast and leave. Most guys here do.”

Seong-Jae leaned his elbows on the bar. “Did you see him last night?”

“Yeah,” the bartender said. His rag squealed against the glass, louder than the low murmur of music in the background, something that sounded like a bad remix of Nine Inch Nails. “He left with some kid.”

“Anyone you see around here often?” Malcolm asked.

“Not that I can trace. He might’ve looked a little familiar, but I don’t have a name or anything for you.” The bartender set down one glass and started on another. “I just remember his hair. Bright red.

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