Chapter Fourteen
Jackson
After the showdown at the clinic, Brooklyn never did come over like I had asked her to.
I wish she would have. If nothing more than so we could have talked, maybe even worked things out but I’m not into making women do things that they don’t want to.
Not unless it’s a part of my job, then if they’ve done something illegal, that’s a whole other story.
I guess if I wanted to be an ass, I could threated bringing Brooklyn up on prostitution charges, and see if she would talk to me then, but that’s not really how I want to do things.
And honestly, she probably still wouldn't talk to me, even if I did take such drastic measures.
With all the things she’s accused me of, I can’t help but feel that there’s more to it than what she lead me to believe.
There has to be.
She just doesn't seem like someone who would willingly sell themselves.
At least, the Brooklyn that I used to know didn't seem that way.
If she would just give me the chance, I would do everything within me to help her get out of that life, just like I helped her friend, Chastity.
After seeing them together, I can't help but wonder what the story is there.
My mind has gone down the rabbit hole with all kinds of different scenarios.
But in the end, it all comes back to I want to help her.
And not help myself into her panties, like she accused me of wanting to do.
It’s been a few weeks since the whole clinic debacle-and thankfully, all my tests came back negative-but I haven’t seen anything out of Brooklyn
It’s like she’s just up and disappeared once again.
And for reasons that I don’t want to think too much on or examine too closely, I care about and am concerned about her, regardless of what she may think.
Sure, I may try to put on just wanting to help her but deep down, a part of me knows that it’s more than that.
But it's not what she thinks.
I think I could genuinely like her if given the chance.
I know that I used to.
The search for Cecily’s murderer is growing colder with each day that passes.
We’ve had tons of leads, but they’ve all been false or turned out to be dead ends.
I desperately want to catch the person who did this.
Not just so that Cecily doesn’t become another name that’s added to a long list of unsolved murders, but also because she deserves better.
Every single person on that damn list does.
But also, because I have this feeling that I can’t shake, this illogical fear that has left me unable to think about anything other than the fact that there is a very real possibility, even in a city that has of over 110,000 people in it, that *Brooklyn* could be next.
“We’ve got another body,” Morris says, shoving his cell into the front pocket of his slacks as he makes his way out of his office, towards the center of the room, where he can gain our full attention. “Sounds like it’s might be the same guy,” he says, nodding towards the board where Cecily’s picture is hanging up along with a piece of paper with an empty picture box for the person responsible for her murder.
“Where?” I ask as I frab my gun and badge from the top drawer of my desk and get to my feet, ready to go as soon as he gives the word.
“Found at the edge of a creek down on Potter’s Farm.”
“And they’re sure it’s the same guy this time?” Nash asks as he stops next to me.
Morris nods, “First on scene said it looks like it’s probably our guy. Of course, we won’t know anything for sure until the M.E. does his part.”
We all nod and then follow Morris as he makes his way out of the room. “I want this one done the same as the last.” Then, turning halfway down the steps to face us, he says, “I don’t have to tell you all to keep this quiet until we know more.”
“Well, yeah. But if he’s targeting sex workers, shouldn’t we at least warn them?” I ask, my earlier fear growing with each moment that passes.
“Not until we know more.” He glances at each of us, making eye contact before continuing. “We don’t know that sex workers are his target and don’t want to cause unnecessary panic.”
I nod in understanding, but as he turns and I continue following him out of the building, it feels like a lead weight has taken up residence inside my gut.
Nash and I roll up on scene, the place a flurry of activity, everyone already busy doing their jobs.
Amriel and her partner, Enzo are already talking to Mr. Potter.
I notice that Creed and Nick already have evidence bags in hands and are canvassing the area as Nash and I make our way down to where Morris is squatting down near the creek bank, presumably to examine the body.
Hearing us come up behind him, he pulls the tarp back up over her body just as I ask “What do we have?”
He looks out in the distance, his gaze on the water of the creek as with a sigh, he says, “Another female victim. She appears to be in her late teens to hearly twenties. Just like Cecily, she has brown hair and eyes, and looks to be maybe 5’3”-5’4”. She’s been stripped of everything except for her shoes.”
“Black stilettos?” I ask, even though a part of me hopes beyond hope that he tells me no.
Instead, he nods, then pulls the top of the tarp back, so that Nash and I can see her for ourselves.
Just like Cecily, duct tape covers her mouth. Her hair and makeup are perfectly done and I can only assume that her nails have been polished as well.
“Her hands bound behind her back and her ankles bound?” Nash asks.
“I’m afraid so,” Morris responds regretfully.
“Son of a bitch,” I curse under my breath, then louder say, “We may have a serial killer on our hands, Boss.”
Standing up and without looking at either Nash or myself, MOrris brushes past us, muttering, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
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