14.

As I'm leaving my office for the courthouse, my sergeant calls and asks me to come to his office. I'm in a hurry but take time to give him the rundown on the previous murders in Louisiana. And though it's a very long shot, I tell him about the prostitute I plan to work a composite sketch with. What was once the glamorous job of an actual artist can now be done on a computer by any detective who's been trained. A few years ago, I went to a free class taught by the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children to receive my certification. The department bought the software and it's standard for us to do our own computer-generated photos now. They're accurate as hell but like I said, a long shot.

"I've spoken to Officer Wilder's supervisor and we're assigning him to assist you for the next two weeks."

I don't reiterate that this guy's timeline could include several murders in two weeks. Before that happens, I'll make the call to the FBI myself. "Thank you, sir. Wilder's a good cop and I need the help."

I leave the station and arrive at the courthouse ten minutes late. The docket should be crowded, so I'm not worried. The parking lot is full. I get lucky when someone backs out of a space close to the walkway. I look around and don't see Shelby's car. There's extra parking in the back, so I'm not concerned that Shelby's car isn't visible. The security guard at the metal detector shows me the docket list so I know which courtroom to head to. I'm surprised that Shelby's uncle hasn't recused himself.

Not my damn problem. I just can't help wondering what the hell he's trying to achieve.

The courtroom is packed and my eyes travel through the room looking for Shelby. I don't see her and figure she's in the bathroom or something. I back out of the room, pull out my cell phone, and send her a text.

I'm here, where are you?

I turn my phone to vibrate, keep it in my hand, and walk back into the courtroom. I stand and watch as a name is called and a middle-aged man and his attorney walk forward to give his plea. I never asked Shelby if she had an attorney. I have trouble believing she'll actually need one.

I keep peering down at my phone as I scan the rows of people again in case I missed her.

"Shelby Ryan," the bailiff calls out.

No one moves. I didn't miss her. She isn't here.

"Detective Street," the judge says.

"Yes, sir," I answer as I walk forward. I mentally run through the possible reasons Shelby wouldn't be here.

"I believe you are responsible for Shelby to appear in my courtroom this morning?"

I'm about to answer, but my thoughts are like streaks of lightning. I turn away from the judge and charge from the room.

I'm fifteen minutes away from her house even when I put my lights and siren on. I call dispatch and tell them to send the closest unit code-7 to Shelby's house. This means they won't go in with lights and sirens blazing. I'll turn off my siren when I'm a few miles away. I'm willing to look like a fool if Shelby isn't in danger. I want to be a fool. My heart is beating double-time and the crazy dread I feel isn't going away. I slam my fist against the steering wheel. "Fuck," I yell over the sound of the siren.

When I swing the car around the final corner, I see a black car parked on the side of the road a half a block from my door. I only notice it because a door sticker proclaims it a vehicle of the Lord. A young cop is standing on Shelby's doorstep knocking on the door. I swing my car into my driveway and throw open the door. Daisy's loud howl is the first thing I hear. I pull my gun from its holster and signal the cop to give me to the count of ten and kick in the door. I fly around the left side of the house on my side and jump the fence. I keep running and head straight to Shelby's yard.

Daisy sees me and releases a yelping bark. I streak past him and put everything I have against the back door. The door gives; she has the same piece of shit door I had before I replaced mine. The wood of the door jamb is old and dry too, which helps me enter quickly. The officer comes through the front at the same time. Shelby sits hunched in a corner in her bra and panties with her arms wrapped around herself and tears streaking down her face. Duct tape covers her mouth and wrists.

She's shaking her head frantically. I stop my forward motion.

A shot explodes and the bullet hits the doorjamb next to my head. The responding officer quickly backs out the front door and takes cover. The psychopath is in the hallway and Shelby's in his sights. Before I charge the hallway, Daisy streaks past me with a ferocious growl. Another shot explodes. I turn the corner and Daisy has the guy down on the ground, attempting to bite off the hand holding the gun. The guy screams bloody murder. I can't get a clear shot without hitting Daisy, so I throw myself on both of them. Daisy won't let go of his hand, so I grab the gun and quickly plow my left fist into his face.

Blood flies.

The responding officer yells from the head of the hallway. "Get your hands up."

"Daisy, come here, big guy," Shelby yells from behind the officer.

"Get her the fuck out of here," I yell back as I hit the guy with the butt of my gun. His screams turn to gasping cries begging for help. Daisy's teeth are buried in his wrist. I grab the guy by his tie and lift my gun up to the side of his head.

"Release," I say sternly to Daisy. After another savage growl and a shake of his head, he releases the mangled wrist in his jaws and backs up. Shelby is yelling at the officer and refuses to leave her damn dog. "Daisy is fine, Shelby," I gasp out. "Don't move, motherfucker," I tell the man beneath me. What I really want to say is, "Go ahead and move." I'd like nothing more than to blow his motherfucking head off.

Sirens blare out front. Shelby now has Daisy in her arms, and the officer still has his gun trained down the hallway. I holster my gun and grab the man beneath me by the front of his jacket. I turn him enough that I can slam him face-first into the carpet. His wrist is a bloody mess and I hope he loses his damn hand.

I begin patting him down and use every bit of training I have to resist putting a bullet in the back of his head. The image of Shelby bound and almost naked keeps buzzing through my head, and it makes me fight to stay in control. When I'm sure he's free of weapons, I pull his wrists behind his back, enjoy his scream, and cuff him with the set of cuffs attached to my belt. The other officer holsters his gun as soon as the cuffs snap in place.

Everyone and their brother is now piling into the house and trying to see down the hallway. I can still hear Shelby's voice calming Daisy. "Someone cover her up and get her out of here," I demand. Shelby looks down the hall at me. I don't think she realized she was standing there in her bra and panties until I said something. I want to kick myself for the embarrassed expression that tinges her cheeks red. She backs up and pulls Daisy with her. A blanket goes over her shoulders and she says something to the officer who put it there, but I can't hear her.

I ask someone to call an ambulance. Unfortunately, I need to get this SOB medical attention. Sometimes the legal side of the law sucks.

15.

Several hours go by before I have the entire story. I didn't take a knife off Donald Terry when I searched him. The knife was discovered on Shelby's coffee table. Blood surged through my veins when I saw it. All I could picture was Shelby's bloody and lifeless body.

I sent two uniformed officers to accompany Terry to the hospital. One called an hour later while I was working with the crime scene techs and told me Terry had tendon damage that will eventually require surgery. Terry is medically cleared to go to jail.

Shelby was driven to another hospital to be checked out. She wasn't happy, but I sent a text to her phone from across the room where we were surrounded by officers and evidence techs.

Go, for me. PLEASE!

She's now wearing jeans and a T-shirt, which I retrieved from her room. She's not acting like the crazy wild woman I care so much about, and it guts me. She glances down at her phone then turns my way with a forlorn look before walking out the door. A female patrol officer accompanies her.

I'm relieved when Shelby's gone. I'm having a very hard time separating Shelby, the woman I'm in a relationship with, from a key witness in a serial murder case.

I arrive at the jail to personally book Donald Terry in. He lawyers up as soon as I read him his rights. I keep my cool, aware that cameras are everywhere. I want so bad to break his other wrist. I'm holding on by a thread.

An hour later, I sit in the viewing room and watch one of our female detectives who specializes in sex crimes, interview Shelby. Shelby glances up at the small camera in the room with such a lost look on her face. I know she's wondering why it isn't me in the room with her.

I can't allow this guy to walk. When the defense questions me, I won't lie about my relationship with Shelby, and that relationship could destroy this case if I'm not careful. Before I walked into the interview viewing room, I reviewed positive lab results. We have matching DNA from our first and second victims. A match with Terry will be the ace in the hole if we get it.

Shelby's testimony will be a royal flush.

Her voice grows stronger the longer she talks. "He came to the door in a suit and tie holding a Bible. I was in a hurry and had just put Daisy, he's my dog, outside. I planned to tell the guy I didn't need saving. He shoved me back and I fell. He had the door shut and locked before I could scramble up. He pointed a gun at me and said I was lucky Daisy was outside because he planned to kill him and still might." Shelby wipes tears from her eyes and Detective Nichols hands her a box of tissues. "Thank you, sorry."

"It's okay, take your time." Detective Nichols is good. That's why I had her called in on her day off.

"He told me to take my shirt off. I cried and stalled. I had to be in court at ten this morning. I had already called work and told them I would be in late, but I knew someone at the courthouse would raise an alarm when I didn't show. Judge Rictor is my uncle." She lifts her head and pride shows on her face.

"Good girl," I whisper into the quiet room. I don't want her to let what happened keep her down. She needs to have pride in her family. And herself. She saved her own life by stalling. I want so bad to wrap my arms around her and say exactly that. And that's why I've stayed clear of her. She needs to explain what happened with no prompting from me.

"Daisy was barking, and that gave me the courage to defy him. He talked a lot. Said he liked dirty girls." She looks up at the camera and my heart twists. "He told me about the other women he killed."

My fists clench.

"He... he said he eats their soul."

One thing Shelby and the media don't know is that Donald Terry cut a small strip of skin from each victim. I hold my breath as Shelby continues.

She covers her face with both hands. "He eats their flesh."

Kurtis and I discussed the missing skin and concluded they were trophies. This is a sick, sick individual. Shelby's statement absolutely ties Terry to the other victims, and I'm able to exhale. Her testimony will crucify this asshole.

Shelby lowers her hands and looks up. "I fought him when he put tape around my wrists. He also covered my mouth and then he cut my shirt off then removed my skirt. I kicked him in the thigh and he was getting angrier because I wouldn't do what he said. That's when the patrol car pulled up out front. He pushed me into the corner and told me not to move. He could see me from the hallway."

Shelby talks for another thirty minutes and then Detective Nichols clears up a few things Shelby said. How did Terry know where she lived? Had she ever seen him before? Shelby explained about her work with HHW and that she was on Central Avenue the evening before. These questions take another hour.

I'm waiting when the two women leave the interview room. Shelby walks straight into my open arms. I look over her head and Detective Nichols mouths, "She's lucky."

Not quite-she's strong, fearless, and brave.

"Can we go home now?" Shelby whispers into my chest.

"Yes," I say as I lead her out of the police department. I'm holding her hand for the world to see. I don't care if she's the lead witness in my case. I'm not hiding it, and the case will run smoother without any kind of cover-up. I forget about the long-ass report I need to write, the search warrant to get Terry's DNA, and all the other shit that goes with closing a case. Right now it's all about Shelby.

For the first fifteen minutes of the drive home, she's quiet. I run my thumb across the back of her hand, which is still wrapped in mine. I give her time.

"Were you watching the interview?" is the first thing she asks.

"Yes."

"Was it enough to put him away forever?" Her voice is so tiny, which isn't the Shelby I know.

I can only give her the truth. "It's in the hands of the justice system now. It's never as cut and dried as it seems."

Her head jerks in my direction. I have my eyes half on her and half on the road. "How can you say that? He'll kill again if he gets out."

I squeeze her hand. "It's a good case, and I don't see how he has a chance in hell of getting off."

Her sigh is loud in the cab of my truck. "Okay, could you lie to me next time I ask that question? I need to know he'll never get out."

A grin tugs at my lips. "He won't get out, not a chance."

She pulls her legs up on the seat. There's a large console between us and it's filled with change and other assorted items. "Here," I lift the console and don't even cringe when everything inside makes a racket. I unclip Shelby's seatbelt and pull her in close so she's tucked into my side as I drive. Her entire body trembles while she quietly cries. She held up so well today and now she's suffering adrenaline dump.

I pull into my driveway and wrap my arms around her again.

"I'm such a fool," she mumbles into my chest.

"No, Shels. You're strong. The strongest woman I've ever known."

"I was so afraid," she whimpers.

"I was afraid too... terrified." I don't even want to think about the drive from the courthouse to Shelby's house. Terrified is too tame a word.

The sun is barely going down, but I feel like it's midnight. I'm also suffering an adrenaline dump. "Come on. Let's get inside and let Daisy out. He needs to eat too."

I put Daisy and a large bag of dog food in my house so the crime techs could do their job. Crime scene tape is still covering Shelby's front porch. The house is clear for us to enter but I'll play that by ear and see how Shelby feels about it.

Daisy greets us at the door. Shelby goes to her knees and hugs the goliath while receiving slobbery kisses. "I love you, you're such a good dog," she tells him.

"I'll order delivery for dinner. Is pizza okay?" I ask as Shelby continues to hug Daisy.

"Yeah," she says and looks up at me. Tears stream down her cheeks, but she smiles. "Let's get you outside, big boy." She releases the dog and rises to her feet. I pull out my phone while watching her move to the back door. Her hand reaches for the knob and then she freezes. I walk up behind her and place my hand over hers, and we open the door together. She sucks in a sharp breath.

"You're staying here tonight and for as many nights as you need. I have no choice but to go into the station tomorrow and write my report. I can drop you at your parents' house and pick you up when I'm done. You won't be alone until you're ready." While I was talking, Daisy streaked past us heading deep into the yard.

"Not my parents, but you're right. I don't want to be alone," she says quietly.

I know she'll be okay. My Shelby is a fighter. It's just that right now her timidity is tearing my heart out.

16.