Shallow River

Probably for the best Amar caught me when he did. Once again, I’m feeling that familiar pull to help another one of Ryan’s victims. But this time, it feels personal, and I don’t even want to figure out why.

I’VE BEEN AT THE precinct for hours, poring over the case. My leg has been bouncing for the past hour, a clear indicator that I’m getting restless. My hands rip through my hair for the millionth time, beyond frustrated over this case. I’ll be bald by forty if I keep it up.

Every lead I get leads me to another connection that doesn’t add up. Solving puzzles is what I excel at. Dad always bought me those thousand-piece puzzles when I was a kid, marveling over how quickly I put them together. Brain teasers relaxed me. Connecting the dots come naturally. But nothing is fucking connecting in this case.

The Ghost Killer is sending me on a wild goose chase, leading me to all different kinds of dead ends. He’s deliberately fucking with me, stringing me along like a puppet and I’m the dumbass that keeps falling in the trap.

I need to see this case from a different perspective. Instead of following the clues he keeps laying out for me, I need to look for the ones he’s trying to cover up.

I drag my hands down to my neck, gently massaging as I go. Women have the right idea. I need to book an appointment at a spa ASAP. Couldn’t care less if it freaks people out that a six-foot-five man is chilling in a mud bath, I fucking need it.

I glance at the clock in the corner of my computer screen, noting the time is nearly after eleven at night.

Fuck. I need sleep, too. But I can already tell my brain won’t shut off. Not after digging into Greg’s life all day with one half of my brain, and certainly not when River is possessing the other half.

I want to help her. I should, but I shouldn’t.

She’s different than Alison. Tougher. Meaner. Stubborn as hell. And loyal as a dog. Alison wanted my help, whereas River definitely won’t. I mean, shit, during dinner she stared at me as if I hurt her somehow. She’s protecting Ryan when I can guarantee she has no idea what she’s even protecting him from. When someone hates their brother as much as Ryan hates me, anyone would assume he has a good reason for it. In reality, he doesn’t have a single reason other than the fact that he feels I stole our parents love and affection from him.

He’s a spoiled asshole that’s been throwing one long temper tantrum for most of his life. Still shocks me how two of the most loving and caring people I’ve ever met created a sociopathic monster.

My fingers are typing in River’s name before I can stop myself. After I met her, I got a little out of line and ran a background check on her. River McAllister, born and raised in shitty Shallow Hill. There’s not much else on her other than the fact that she bought a house in Shallow Hill a couple years ago. No fucking idea why she’d ever do

that.

I stopped my research there, feeling ten different kinds of creepy. And here I am again, looking into her life when I have no business doing so. But I can’t watch another innocent girl suffer at the hands of that prick. I don’t consider myself a good guy, but I’m not a monster either. I don’t abuse girls. I don’t rape girls. I don’t do anything to them they don’t want me to. Ask for consent, and I shall receive. It’s basic fucking morals.

After a few minutes of searching, I find that she’s attending the university. She has three classes a week, one of them at the southside of the campus. That area is tucked into a private little nook with little traffic. A perfect spot to strike a conversation with someone without many prying eyes around.

Fuck. I bang my fist against my desk, frustrated with my own damn self. Meddling with another of Ryan’s relationships can—and probably will—end in complete disaster. At the end of the day, I can’t force any girl to leave Ryan. I can’t force them to see the truth in Ryan. It’s something they need to face themselves. But fuck, if I’m going to stand by and watch a girl suffer through domestic violence without at least trying to help her.

Showing up at the university has got to be the worst, best idea I’ve ever had. Yet, I still lift my head and see what class it is.

Professor Trumbling’s Psychology 101 class.

Funny, she said she was good at reading people, but yet she’s gone blind to the devil directly in front of her.

I’VE RESORTED TO FUCKING stalking. I guess I could say stalking is in the job description too, but River isn’t a criminal—that I know of—and this isn’t a stake-out. There’s no justifying this. Fuck it, it’s for the greater good and all that if I can convince her stubborn ass to see the light. Or rather the darkness in Ryan.

It's just after two o’clock in the afternoon when she emerges from the building wearing black Chucks, and cuffed jeans that hug her ass in ways that should be fucking illegal. Not to mention her white shirt with little buttons at the chest—buttons that are completely undone, teasing wandering eyes of her ample cleavage that’s nearly gobbling up the gold chain hanging between her breasts.

Her long, black hair absorbs all light, the curls bouncing as she walks across the parking lot. River has a striking beauty unlike anything I’ve seen. Her golden eyes and tanned skin are ethereal, but it’s not just the features of her face but the manner in which she holds herself. She walks with her spine straight and her chin high. She speaks with her head slightly tilted down, looking up at you through angled brows and long lashes, making you feel likes she’s looking into you instead of at you.

She’s beautiful. And completely, utterly, abso-fucking-lutely tempting.

Goddamn it. I run a hand over my face, already frustrated with how this is going. I shake my head, ripping my hand through my hair and willing myself to get it together. Last thing I need is making her think I’m trying to make a move on her. I shouldn’t be looking at her like that—thinking of her in such a way. But the surge of jealousy coating my veins like oil is hard to ignore. A beautiful girl reduced to a goddamn punching bag by a psychotic piece of shit, what a goddamn shame.

She can’t see me yet. I’m hiding behind a pine tree, watching her ass swing as she walks towards her car, remembering her sweet cinnamon smell from when she met my parents. She walks like there's someone hot on her heels but is stubbornly refusing to run. Rushed and tense, but confident with her chin raised high with pride.

Her hometown is bred into every move she makes. It shows that she grew up in a volatile and dangerous environment, but with every step she beats down her past with a vengeance unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

She will not cower from her roots, yet she bends like a rosebush for my brother. Her thorns may bite, but ultimately, he will clip them off until she’s left with a weak backbone that will easily snap beneath his hands. Everything that once made her vibrant and beautiful will wilt and eventually, he’ll toss her aside when there’s nothing left of her.

I take a step in her direction, but I’m stopped short when a short girl with blonde hair bounds up to River, hooking her arm with River's and dragging her away from her car.

The girl says something to River, causing her to throw her head back with laughter. Something in my chest tightens and twists viciously. Something I really don’t want to put a fucking name to. I need to get my damn head on straight.

If I’m fucked in the head, there’s no way I’ll be able to my worm my way into her good graces and help her get the hell away from Ryan. Before he completely breaks her. Before he does something like kill her. There were days when I was sure Alison was dead. I’ll be damned if I let another innocent girl find herself in that position—where there’s even a possibility that she was murdered.