Free With Visions of Red (Broken Bonds#2) by Trisha Wolfe Page B

has been muted. A long silence stretches out between us as I stand here, watching him take in what I’ve already discovered. The moment recognition hits, Julian’s eyes are on me.
    “I should’ve looked into her better,” he says, steepling his fingers over his mouth. “Dammit. Did you know she was an agent with the ACPD?”
    I nod once.
    “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? No, you know what? I get it.” He laughs mirthlessly. “But, Colt—I have fucking lawyers, doctors, police officials, and even their fucking captain on the members’ list. You should’ve said something. Did you ever think she might’ve been sent here undercover? To investigate us—”
    “She wasn’t.” I take a seat in the cushioned chair before the desk. Look him in the eyes. “She’s not. Though maybe you should’ve been more careful. Blackmailing the higher-ups in the department wasn’t the smartest thing, Julian. Especially for someone who has so much to hide. That’s just tempting them to dig into your past.”
    His slitted gaze cuts through me. “Our past.”
    Pressing back against the chair, I lift my chin. “Well, there you go. Your fucking greed put us both on the line.”
    “I didn’t bring them here today, though. You did.” He digs out an image from the documents and tosses it on the front of the desk facing me. I look down. The gruesome shot of a mutilated woman strung up by rope stares back at me. “Look familiar?”
    And the sickness is back, worming its way through my brain and clutching my lungs. My silence is answer enough for my brother.
    He sits back in his chair, mirroring my position. “Was there ever any news about catching that serial killer downstate?”
    “No.” I look away from the morbid image and at the mounted monitors. “The killings just stopped.”
    “After Marni,” he says, and my gaze swings to him. “They just suddenly stopped after Marni. And then now, nearly two years later, in this city, one of the crime scenes looks suspiciously like the Roanoke serial killings. Actually, this scene here”—he drops his hand down on the photo with a loud smack —“looks too damn close to Marni’s crime scene, don’t you think?”
    My jaw locks tight. “I didn’t mutilate Marni,” I say through clenched teeth, the physical pain of stringing those specific words together constricting my chest.
    His blue gaze stays locked on me. “Do you think that one detail is going to matter to them? To your profiler?” He studies me closely as he props his elbows on the desk. “Colt, the detectives downstate didn’t go near you. You know why? Because I was the boyfriend. Suspect number one on their list. They probed and accused me, drilled me, until my lawyer presented them with an alibi. By then, you were already gone. And I never mentioned your name.”
    Anger stirs my blood. “You want a thank you?”
    “Dammit. Listen to me!” He stands, knocking his chair back. The screech of the legs scraping the hardwood floor grabs my senses, grinding against my mounting nerves. “You’re not cutting out of town this time. The detectives already have your name on file after today—”
    “One detective. Carson.”
    Julian’s face contorts, hard lines twisting his smooth features. Without a word, he storms over to the corner of the office and throws back the rug. Removing a section of the flooring, he pulls out a small gray lockbox.
    “You keep that shit here?” I say, getting to my feet. “He could’ve had a warrant.”
    “Doesn’t matter. He’ll be back.” He riffles through the box until he finds what he’s seeking. Then with a measured breath, he tweaks out an image and holds it up. “This Detective Carson?”
    A throb starts at my temples, radiating to the back of my head. I blink hard, turning away from Julian. “Yeah. That’s the one.”
    He mutters a curse. “That’s the asshole who questioned me relentlessly.” Moving closer to me, he says, “What are the chances he just showed up