It was after she made him lunch, they did the minimal dishes and she suggested they relax in front of the TV. This filled him with dread and he didn’t hide it which made her laugh, wrap her arms around him, lean in deep, tip her head way back and promise in her sweet, soft, musical voice she wouldn’t lead him astray.

Therefore, he’d agreed.

So it was also after she found he had Netflix and convinced him to try the TV show Psych. She told him it wasn’t geeky but hilarious. He’d agreed mostly because she was in his house, wearing nothing but his tee and ruby red panties, he was in track pants and a long-sleeved thermal and he didn’t much give a f**k what they did just as long as she was close when they did it.

Which meant it was also after she found one of her favorite episodes, turned it on and they settled stretched out on the couch, Chace with his back to the back of couch, head in his hand, elbow in the couch, Faye tucked in front of him in the curve of his arm, head on a toss pillow.

And last, it was after he was relieved to find she was right about Psych. It wasn’t geeky. There were no spaceships, alternate universes or fantastical explanations for ridiculous plot devices. It was just damned funny and, to top that, clever.

So it was then, when the episode ended, she reached to the big square coffee table that sat surrounded by his sectional, hit the button to take them back to the Netflix menu, she turned on her back in front of him and gave him her crystal blue eyes.

“So?” she asked and he grinned down at her.

“You were right, baby, not geeky, just funny.”

She grinned back. “Isn’t Shawn the bomb?”

The guy was funny but that wasn’t the word Chace would use.

Still he said, “Yeah.”

She turned his way and got up on her elbow, head in her hand and suggested, “Maybe you need a fake psychic detective at the Carnal Police Department.”

Chace chuckled, carefully tangling his legs with hers, an intimacy like all of them that he’d cautiously initiated with her that she took without reaction except to allow it and settle in.

And as he did this, he replied through his chuckle, “He’s just hyper-observant with an understanding of detective work. That’s kinda my job so we already have one and that would be me except the fake psychic part.”

Her eyes slid to the side and she mumbled, “Oh, right.”

Which was so cute, he had to lean forward and touch his lips to hers.

So he did.

As he was doing it, his cell on the coffee table rang.

Faye twisted her neck to look over her shoulder at it but Chace tightened the arm already around her waist, leaned into her, let her go to reach and nab his phone then brought them both back.

He looked at the display and let out a sigh.

Then he looked at her and said, “Hopefully this won’t take long, honey, but I gotta take it.”

“Okay,” she murmured and he took the call he didn’t want to take.

When the phone was at his ear, he said, “Keaton.”

“Chace, hey. Sorry to disturb your Sunday.”

It was new Carnal detective and Chace’s co-poster boy hero in saving the CPD, Frank Dolinski. A good guy. A smart cop. A local since birth. A police brat who wanted exactly the same things in life that Chace had wanted before his life turned shit. To earn his badge. To go about his business respecting it. To stay true to his oath to protect and serve. To find an attractive wife that cooked well, gave great head, made him laugh frequently and could shoulder the burden of his coming home from a bad day.

During his tenure on the Force, unlike Chace, Frank stayed clean through the entirety of it. This didn’t mean he didn’t have to look the other way but he also didn’t hide the fact that he didn’t like it. This made him not Arnie’s favorite person. It also showed he was courageous. He’d approached IA some months after Chace did but he did what he could inside to try to turn boys back to the right side. But when Ty Walker was coming up for probation and it came clear that hell could easily break lose when he got it, Frank decided he had to do what many cops had a great deal of trouble doing.

Turn on his brothers.

Last night they’d had a discussion with the Cap who decided that Frank should stay as primary on the Newcomb case. The kill site being Harker’s Wood, the dump site the access road to Miracle Ranch, too many similarities to Misty’s murder, Cap felt Chace was too close to it. He also felt Frank needed the experience. Last, they all knew Frank would get nowhere. The investigation into Misty’s murder had been purposefully jacked but Chace conducted his own. There were few leads and the ones there were went nowhere.

But the men of the Department knew Chace was still looking so Chace handed over all he had to Frank and Cap told him to take Frank’s back.

Frank, Chace and the Cap had another conversation about Clinton Bonar’s warning and what this move against Newcomb meant. This meant Bonar would get a visit. It also meant other powerful men with motive would be approached too. All strictly protocol. All following standard investigative procedures.

So last, this meant things were going to heat up in Carnal and Frank, the Cap, Chace and a new, inexperienced Force were going to have to do what they could to make sure no one else got burned.

Chace did, however, have to go with Frank to Newcomb’s sister to inform her that her brother was dead. It was her who had called the Station Saturday morning to say he hadn’t come home the night before and she was looking after his kids so she expected him at nine. She waited as long as she could before all out panic ensued. She knew he was into bad business, something that couldn’t be missed because he was fired from CPD for his participation in Arnie’s corruption but had stayed out of jail due to his willingness to testify. CPD knew he was vulnerable. Thus began the search.

Chace had been the one to tell Tonia Payne’s parents their daughter was dead including, at their insistence, how she’d died and her death was uglier than most. He’d also informed Misty’s folks. Throughout his career, not regularly but too f**king often, he’d had bad news to give about car wrecks and arrests.

This was less fun than all of that shit and none of that had been pleasant. This was because Newcomb’s wife had taken off, whereabouts unknown which meant his kids, one of them gravely ill, had lost their last parent.

Newcomb was a moron, racist, wife-beating, ass**le pig. He played with fire for understandable reasons but should have been smart enough to know that when he got burned, the ones who would live with the scars were his kids.

He wasn’t that smart.

And now they were f**ked.

“How’s it going?” Chace asked a question he knew the answer to.

They had DNA on this guy from his se**n. But the samples were deliberately tampered with, the tampering explained away as a “mistake”. In fact, they were so tainted, they couldn’t even run them.

Reports were probably not in yet but it was doubtful they’d find se**n on or in Newcomb. Possible but doubtful.

They didn’t even have slugs. Misty was done by a gun stolen by one of Carnal’s own in an effort to frame him. From visuals on Newcomb, he was done close range with a high powered assault rifle. Overkill. But this meant the shots were through and through. It also was a likely reason why Newcomb didn’t fight or attempt to flee. A man carrying an assault rifle undoubtedly struck an imposing figure. If you tried to run, if that rifle had a scope, you’d still be f**ked. So this time, the killer collected the bullets and shell casings leaving them with next to nothing.

That was what they had. Next to nothing. No locals to either site reported seeing vehicles in the vicinity. No bullets, shell casings or DNA that could be found unless something came up on tests run at the lab. Nothing except footprints which, from preliminary investigation of both scenes, kill site and dump site, was all they got this time too.

“We know he wears construction boots,” Frank answered. “But since every third guy in this county wears motorcycle boots, cowboy boots or construction boots, that narrows our suspect pool down to about two thousand guys.”

Chace could hear the frustration in Frank’s voice and he understood it. He wanted to get this guy for four reasons. The guy was a murderer likely times two, at the very least, and he needed to be stopped. CPD had a nasty case file open and unsolved that fell on them during a time when it was infested. Frank wanted to make an important bust because it would look good. And he wanted this off Chace’s shoulders and he was one of the few men who knew it was weighing there. Not because Chace had shared. Because he worked side by side with Frank and Frank was observant.

“He’s not local, Frank,” Chace said quietly. “He’s a professional. He could be from anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Frank replied quietly then in a normal voice, “Old Man Harker’d pitch a fit, he knew this shit was goin’ down in his wood.”

Frank was not wrong about that. Old Man Harker died seven years ago, luckily before the major garbage started piling up at the CPD and they found a serial killer lived local. He’d given his wood to the city before that, he was that proud of it and he loved Carnal. Knowing blood had been spilled and mouths had been raped in a spot where Harker and many others in town thought a miracle had occurred, he’d lose his mind.

Luckily in this instance, he no longer had a mind to lose.

“This isn’t why I’m callin’,” Frank went on.

“Yeah?” Chace prompted.

“Like you asked when you called in yesterday, had the interns run the name Malachi. They report nothin’ comes up. No one is lookin’ for this kid. Or at least, if they are, they haven’t reported him missing.”

“Could be a fake name,” Chace muttered.

To which Frank asked incredulously, “Malachi?”

“The kid reads four, five books a week, Frank. So yeah, Malachi.”

At this, he felt Faye’s hand press into his chest and he dipped his chin to look at her to see he had her full attention.

Thus he muttered into the phone, “If you don’t have any more, Frank, appreciate the call but gotta go.”

To this, Frank asked searchingly, “Faye still there?”

Jon had opened his big f**king mouth.

Not a surprise but damned annoying.

“Gotta go,” Chace repeated.

“Right,” Frank murmured, a smile in his voice and Chace couldn’t see it but he bet it was knowing.

Jesus.

“Thanks for the call,” Chace told him.

“Not a problem. Enjoy the rest of your Sunday with Faye,” Frank replied.

He definitely would.

And yeah, Frank’s smile had been knowing.

“Later,” Chace gave his farewell.

“Later, buddy,” Frank gave his and Chace disconnected.

“Malachi? A professional?”

She didn’t even wait for him to toss his phone on the table which was what he did before answering.

Once he’d shifted into her, did that and brought them back, he told her, “Asked the interns to run the name Malachi, see if anyone reported him missing. They did. Nothing.”