Page 45 of Drowning in Darkness

Hunter swears a storm.

“Do you need anything?” my sister checks.

“I’ve got it handled for now.” One of my computer screens registers a call from the AD to a judge. “Got to go.”

I end the call with no niceties. My sister doesn’t need them, and my attention is all for the moves this idiot is making while believing he isn’t being watched or monitored. For an AD, he’s shit at doing things under the radar. The bureau probably realized too late into his career how poor an agent he is, and instead of dealing with his idiocy, they promoted up and out of the way of victim’s lives. Or maybe he rubbed noses with the right people.

I turn up the volume, even though it’s recording.

“I sent you the address,” the AD explains, causing me to frown.

Who are you, Judge Tom Harris? My fingers fly over the keyboard, breaking into his weak encrypted messages with ease. Sure enough, the AD is sharing the pink house’s location with this judge in Florida, which is prime hunting grounds for Christopher. I don’t like this.

“We lost good men the last time. What’s different?” Judge Harris demands.

We? I cross-reference the deep search of the judge’s name with Christopher Burnside’s. Sure enough, they appear at multiple events together.

“The girl has one injured agent with her. When they reach the house, there won’t be a team to help them. I sent them elsewhere.”

Fucker.

“And the agent?”

My blood turns cold, and a heavy emptiness descends, the terrifying one that allows me to work through several ways to kill a man with no feeling. I’ve had to hone this skill to survive. I don’t get a thrill from drawing someone’s last breath, as it was never mine to take, and anyone who believes otherwise needs to be on the funeral pyre.

“Do as you please. Just make her disappear.”

I scan through the mugshots of the top men in the sick organization I head up to check I haven’t overlooked the judge’s membership, even though I could list the members by heart and know his name is not among them.

“Done. He’ll be pleased,” the judge says with a hint of glee.

My eyes narrow as I dive into Christopher’s enormous file. There are forty men in the top layer of the organization who have access to the many cult settlements located across various states. They play leading roles through controlling the women and girls who are born and brought up to believe this is the way of the world, or by recruiting other powerful people to bolster our wealth and create a layer of protection by entangling those who have a lot to lose in the sick acts that would land them in jail.

Christopher is both. He dips his toes into cult life, delighting in how we’ve created a warped reality for those born into it where they don’t question him, but also through ensnaring girls and women from the general population. He is someone who has gathered more men than any other, and it looks like this judge and the AD are his newest recruit hopefuls.

This is why it takes time to dismantle something that has tentacles in every pie. But right now, my priority is one woman. A woman he can’t have no matter what.

Because she’s mine.

Moving out of the office and into the vast open-plan lodge I’ve made my home, I call Camryn’s secure line, ready to deliver news that I think she knows is coming but is going to rock her faith in a system she’s spent her whole adult life fighting for.

“Yo, Dave, my man,” Stephanie answers.

My eyebrows lift as I grab a soda from the fridge and take a seat on the oversized U-shaped sofa which surrounds a large log burner. “Hey, is Camryn with you?”

“Yep.”

“Can I speak to her?”

“Nope.”

Why is she acting like a brat? And worse, why does it make my blood heat? No, blood needs to remain north, so all my brain cells can stay on task.

“And why is that?”

“She’s getting nuggets.”

“Is that a metaphor?”