Free Embracing Midnight by Devyn Quinn

Something else took its place, more important than a few old scars on a corpse.
    As much as she hated the idea, it was entirely possible she’d just slept with the man who’d carried out the vicious rape and execution. The location of the body was too near the previous three victims to be a coincidence. This one, like the others, wouldn’t be going into the papers. As an ongoing federal investigation, a press blackout would be declared.
    Callie turned away from the body. She needed a moment to think, gather her thoughts. Not an easy thing. Her mind was a jumble, personal knowledge warring with duty, doing the right thing versus doing the wrong thing. Without really considering the consequences, she’d put herself between a rock and a hard place. Sleeping with her had given Drake something she hadn’t remotely considered.
    An alibi.
    Science could only guesstimate when the girl had died. Eye witnesses might place Drake in the bar with the victim, but leaving a bar with a woman and killing her were two different things. His best bet toward a plea of innocence would be to have another person verify his whereabouts.
    Preferably someone he was intimate with at the time. The strategy was brilliant. A master stroke.
    She leveled an unflinching gaze at the image reflected in the window. Head tilted slightly, her pale face was taut with uncertainty. She didn’t want to look at herself more than she had to, but some inner compulsion drove her to stare down the face the glass presented.
    She swallowed a gasp. The woman in the glass looked guilty. If it’s true it’s him, she silently fretted, how do I confront this?
    Her heart beat wildly, pulse racing with anxiety. Oh, God, why didn’t she think things through before letting Drake into her apartment? Unfortunately, regret, like hindsight, was always more easily examined in retrospect.
    Callie closed her eyes, leaning forward to press her burning forehead into the glass. The cool surface was soothing, like a balm to her soul. She felt as if someone had led her to the top of a cliff and then, without warning, pushed her off. Somehow, she’d managed to catch the edge, but she was still left to dangle helplessly high above the ground.
    I fucked up.
    Roger’s voice broke into her thoughts, sharp and more than a bit annoyed. “Something wrong, Agent Whitten?”
    No answer.
    Snapping out of the trance she’d fallen into, Callie considered her options for a few seconds. Drawing in a deep fortifying breath, she made a decision.
    Time to confess.

7
     
    “A nd you’re sure of the time frame Drake was with you?” Roger Reinke asked.
    Callie nodded. “Yes,” she answered crisply. “After leaving the bar, I made contact with Norton to debrief, then proceeded along my normal route.”
    Roger scowled. “No side trips anywhere?”
    Ignoring his apparent dissatisfaction, Callie shook her head. “None. I’ve been careful to keep the same schedule and habits.”
    “And your contact with Drake has been…” He let the question trail off. An hour had passed since the agents pulled together a hasty meeting in the morgue’s conference room, but no one seemed satisfied with her answers.
    Callie sighed. The grilling was uncomfortable, but unavoidable. She’d already covered these details, twice. Her superiors had expected progress, were hungry for the break that had thus far eluded them. She understood she had to be precise, give agents all the information they needed to establish Drake’s patterns.
    Ignoring the edgy tone in Roger’s voice, she broke eye contact and reached for her cigarettes. Her fifth so far. The idea of quitting had long passed. Charlie Grayson asked to bum a smoke, his third. She quietly passed him one, mentally noting the morning’s freshly opened pack was nearing empty as the afternoon progressed.
    Wasting no time, Grayson lit up and took a long drag before returning the lighter. “Thanks. Now a cup of coffee would make my day.”
    She briefly nodded. “No