Pitch Black (Romantic Thriller, Completed)

Chapter 2

I'd say I woke at dawn that morning, the day of the funeral, but the truth is I never really slept. As soon as the sun cleared the horizon, I headed into the office to work on the case that had occupied my every waking moment, as well as my dreams, for the past week.

The murder of my husband.

I felt like my heart had been ripped out, set on fire, and then put in a blender. My head told me I should be out looking for his killers, that they needed to pay for what they'd done, but inside I was paralysed.

My friend Daniela had moved into my house and each morning, she'd herd me out to the car and drive me to the office. We had a routine now.

"How are you feeling?" she'd ask.

"A little better," I'd lie.

"We're getting closer. We'll find them; I promise."

Dan was heading up the investigation and had a team of our best people working for her, but so far, every lead had petered out. I offered little help as I sat behind my desk, staring at the wall.

"Hey, watch it!"

I looked across as one of our technicians bumped into a chair, waking Evan, who'd been slumped sideways in it.

"Sorry."

Evan shook his head. "No, it's me who should apologise. I shouldn't have snapped."

Tension crackled through the air. Not a minute passed without somebody yawning, and tempers were frayed. The equipment in the company gym took a battering as the guys tried not to vent their frustrations on each other. The punch bags bore the brunt of it, and we'd replaced two of them already.

Nick stomped in at ten, wearing a scowl. "Every cop I've spoken to in Mexico is either corrupt or incompetent."

"You didn't learn anything, then?"

"Apart from how to swear more creatively in Spanish? No."

He'd been trying to trace the true identity of the sorry excuse for a human being currently on ice with the coroner. The team had narrowed his origins down to somewhere south of the border, but the fact that a good portion of his face was missing left us struggling to pinpoint things any further.

Nick sat back on the couch in the corner and sighed. I wasn't the only person my husband's death was affecting. Nick had been one of his best friends.

"Do you want me to make you a drink?" I asked. Playing barista was all I was good for at the moment.

He managed a small smile. "Coffee would be good."

At least it gave me something to do, although when the machine flashed the "change water filter" light at me, I wanted to kick it. My tolerance of menial tasks had dropped considerably.

At 11 a.m. my office assistant, Sloane, gently nudged my arm. "It's almost time."

"Did Bradley bring something for me to wear?"

"It's hanging on the back of your bathroom door."

Her voice cracked as she spoke, and I knew she'd been crying. She'd tried to hide it, but her puffy eyes had telltale smudges of mascara around them. I wanted to give her a hug, to tell her to cry if it would make her feel better, but I couldn't. I was afraid that if she started sobbing, then I would too, and I didn't cry anymore. Ever.

No matter how much of a wreck I was inside, to anyone looking at me, I was the ice queen. I never got upset, never got emotional. Not in front of anyone but my husband, anyway. He was the only person who saw the real me. And now he'd gone, that girl was locked up inside, and I'd thrown away the key.