Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Which is why I didn’t see it on the news.
“Terrible business.” The old timer peers at the photo of Emily Rodriquez with her dog, leaning in so close his nose almost touches the corkboard. “Reminds me of the Blackbird murders.”
“The Blackbird murders?”
“Yeah, from a decade ago. Two murders where the killer left a dead bird at the scene. Just like this.”
“A blackbird?”
“Different types of birds, actually. The press never gets it right. The victims were both young women with dark hair and eyes. Looked a bit like her.” He nods to the victim’s photo, then glances up and does a double-take when he sees my face. “And a bit like you.”
“This all happened in New Rome?”
He nods, still staring at me. His back may be stooped and his eyes bleary, but I can tell there’s a sharp mind working behind them.
“Did they catch the killer?”
“Nope.” He shakes his grizzled head. “A friend of mine was on the case. Could never let it go. Worked it on and off for years before he retired. He passed a year ago; otherwise, he’d still be working on it.”
I have the sense of a key clicking in a lock, the same feeling I get when I uncover a clue. “I need to see that case file.” I straighten and start to head out.
“Won’t be here,” the detective calls. “It’ll be down in storage at City Hall. That’s where they keep the cold cases.”
“Thank you,” I say. I have an urgent feeling that I need to see the Blackbird case file immediately.
Beady black eyes open in death. The feathered body placed at the foot of the victim, wings spread—
This isn’t a memory. It’s a vision. The birds are a clue. The Blackbird murders are another piece of the puzzle.
I head down the hall, striding with purpose. This is part of the case that I crave the most—when a picture is forming, and I have a line of pursuit.
Before I leave, I remember I need to get my keycard replaced so I don’t have trouble getting back into the precinct. Bonds might want to cut off my access, but I’m still a member of the force. Plus, I should check in with the desk sergeant. Explain why I fled the Green Street scene and haven’t returned to work until now.
But when I go to greet him, he says, “Detective. I didn’t expect you back in so soon. You sent that email saying you were taking a couple personal days.”
“Oh, yeah,” I say slowly. Rex must have logged into my work account to send that email, covering for me while I was distraught. It would be considerate if it wasn’t so on the nose and overbearing. So perfectly Rex.
I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t miss the way he took care of me. Even when he invaded my privacy to do it.
The sergeant continues. “And then I saw your name change and it all made sense. Here.” He slides an envelope towards me. I pick it up, unsure of what it is. “By the way, congratulations.”
Congratulations? “What?”
“On your nuptials? At least, I assume that’s why your name changed.”
“My. . . what?”
“I assumed you got married, and that’s why you changed your last name.” The sergeant looks as confused as I feel. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”
“No, no. . . it’s fine.” Slowly I make sense of what he’s telling me. “You said my last name has changed?”
“In our system. That’s your new badge there.” He nods to the envelope he handed over.
I open it and shake out the new white badge. I can guess what the last name will be before I see it.
It reads, “Detective Inara Roy.” I have a surreal sense of deja vu and shake my head to clear it. It’s not a vision, just a feeling that I’ve entered some sort of alternate reality.
Roy. So that’s the reason the sergeant thinks I got hitched. Somehow, someone changed my name in the system.
“There’re a couple of forms for you to fill out, too,” the sergeant prattles on, oblivious to the fact that my brain is glitching. “Do you have your new ID?”
My shock is fading, drowned out by disbelief. I can’t believe this is happening. “There’s been a mistake. I haven’t changed my last name.”
The sergeant frowns at the computer. “Our system says otherwise.”
I stare at the badge. Inara Roy.
I don’t need a detective badge to solve this mystery. There’s only one man who has the power and influence to do something like this: Rex fucking Roy.
You belong to me.
Are all billionaires like dogs needing to pee on their territory and advertise their ownership in any way they can? Or just the one billionaire who’s obsessed with me?
Either way, I’m going to kill him.
“Your system is wrong,” I grind out.
The sergeant doesn’t seem to know what to say.