With Ties That Bind (The Broken Bonds 4)

My back tenses. With a glance Avery’s way, I frown. There’s still too many unanswered questions—but the answers won’t make a damn bit of difference at this point. Not when I need my partner working the angles that I can’t.

“Everything you need is in my office. Get caught up as quickly as you can. And, Bonds,” I say, my tone inflecting the seriousness of this request, “complete transparency. You do not make a move without me.”

“I’ll get Wexler to assemble a team. We’ll locate this other woman and any others, Quinn,” she says, and I know Sadie will do everything within her power for these women. “I’m on top of this. You just take care of Avery. I’ll call when I have a lead.”

I end the call, a weight of uncertainty dropping in my stomach. It’s not that I don’t trust Sadie to work the case, to find the answers. I’ve never doubted her when it comes to the job. This doubt is of a different beast—one that worries what she’ll do with those answers after the fact.

And trust is everything between partners.

I tuck my thoughts away, getting my head back in the current predicament. Grabbing my forensic kit, I approach Avery, feeling as if I’m about to perform an exorcism rather than a forensic examination. “If you’re not going in, then we have to collect evidence here.”

For my sake, she stops grinding against the couch. “I can do it myself.”

“You’re under the influence of a drug.” I kneel before her and open the kit. “You know how this works. Lawyers will have a field day tearing you down, getting any evidence thrown out.” I’m extra cautious now; making sure any and all trace is collected right. Maddox is notorious for getting his clients off on bullshit technicalities. “So you have to tell me, Avery. If there’s anywhere personal we need to examine—”

“There’s not.” She lifts her chin high, resolute.

I exhale my relief, a physical weight being removed from my chest.

Avery slips out of Sadie?

??s jacket and lays it on the back of the couch. “My hair,” she says, pointing to her head. “One of them may’ve scratched me. And my nails. Possible blood or epithelial cells.” At my wary expression, she adds, “I stuck one of them with a pen.”

Although it’s absolutely inappropriate, this brings a smile to my face.

“What?” She balks at my reaction. “I wasn’t going down without a fight. Not this time.”

“Not any time.” I pull on a pair of gloves and hold my hands out to her. She slides her palms against mine, and our eyes meet. A question lingers in hers. “You’ve never been anything but a fighter, Aves. I’m glad you got a piece of him. It will help.”

I’m as gentle as possible while I scrape her nails. Moving on to gathering any trace from her scalp, I use a strip of tape to lift evidence. She shivers as I comb my fingers through her hair.

A pretty blush rises to her cheeks. “My scalp is extra sensitive.”

These examinations aren’t easy for anyone. And considering Avery is nearly crawling out of her skin, I’m impressed—and admittedly, relieved—that she remains still during the grueling process.

When I begin to explore her body with the miniature UV light, she arches her back, her breathing intensifying. Exam over. “I think you can handle the rest.” I hand her the light, then pack up the Heme Stix.

“But I thought you said—”

“I know what I said.” And damn, I’ve already strayed so far outside the lines of my own rulebook, at this point, what difference does it make? But that festering guilt still eats at me—the compulsion to try to do this by the book.

I don’t even know who’s rules I’m following anymore.

Setting the lamp down, Avery lies back on the couch. The restraint it took to keep composed during the examination shows. She trembles from that exertion. “I think you covered it,” she says. “They were meticulous. We’ll be lucky to get anything.”

Taking a seat on the chair opposite her, I prop my elbows on my knees.

“You should let me doctor your knuckles,” she says.

“They’re fine.”

Her intimate stare unnerves me. “Did you do that during the fight?”

I shake my head. “No. Before.”

Through the haze of drugs, her eyes sharpen on me, but I’m relieved when she lets it drop at that. “Do you know them?” I ask, getting back on the topic of her. “Did you recognize them from anywhere?”

Her breathing is labored, her chest rising and falling heavily with each gasp for air. Sweat beads across her forehead, dampening her light hair. According to Avery, her desire to experience pleasure is so demanding it’s physically painful. Her agony is unbearable to watch.