In The Night by Ava Strong

Author:Ava Strong [Strong, Ava]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2024-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Elle's gaze was unyielding as she pivoted in her seat, the car's dim interior light casting a pall over the figure slumped on the other side. Guy Keaves, his wrists shackled and clad in the black leather of his gimp suit, squirmed under her scrutiny, the outfit squeaking with his every move. His face, exposed and slick with perspiration, wore the unmistakable hue of shame.

She turned in the front passenger seat, glancing at Tom as he maneuvered through the city streets, carrying them back to the HQ. The local PD had shown up and were currently interviewing Mr. Keaves' female… companion.

But Elle wasn’t worried about the escort business—she was on the track of a serial killer, and all she could wonder was if she’d managed to find her culprit.

"Mr. Keaves," Elle began, her voice steady despite the absurdity sitting in the back seat.

He didn’t quite meet her gaze, his eyes shifting back and forth.

She studied him for a moment longer, then decided a direct approach was the best.

He was already embarrassed. Already uncomfortable. Perhaps he’d be willing to speak with her if only to brush past discomfort as swiftly as possible. "Do you recognize the names Jasmine Rogers or Hannah Martin?"

She watched the muscles in his jaw clench, a ripple of movement under pallid skin, as he shook his head to each name. There was no flicker of recognition in his eyes—just a deepening embarrassment and an exhaustion that seemed to pull at his very frame.

"Think carefully," she pressed on, her hair falling across her brow. Her eyes narrowed, and she ran a hand across the ridge of her smooth jawline, subconsciously stroking her face in thought. "It's imperative you tell us everything you know."

Guy's response was the same—a mute, definitive shake of his head. Elle's mind raced behind her stoic façade; she had always relied on the solidity of facts, codes, and patterns.

Elle's gaze hardened, her mind reconstructing the gruesome tapestry of the last crime scene. Above, a woman's lifeless body had dangled from the rafters, a grim marionette suspended in silence. Her arm—a canvas of pain—etched with geometric shapes that seemed to mock the order and logic Elle held dear. The patterns were familiar, yet maddeningly cryptic, a puzzle devised by a deranged mind.

"Mr. Keaves," Elle said, her voice cutting through the hum of the car engine, "let's talk about what we just saw. The woman at your place—was she a prostitute?"

At her words, Guy's head drooped, his pride crumbling under the weight of his leather-bound predicament. A muffled sound escaped his lips, barely audible over the creak of his suit as he shifted uncomfortably on the seat. His eyes, once darting nervously, now found refuge in the floor mat's nondescript pattern.

"Answer the question, Mr. Keaves," Elle insisted, unfazed by the man's discomfort. She had seen too much to be unsettled by the peculiarities of human behavior. Truth was her pursuit, and it was unyielding.

"Y-yes," Guy mumbled, his voice laced with humiliation. "Yes, she was."

Tom's hands gripped

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