Anarchy Found (SuperAlpha, #1)(48)

My back pocket vibrates and I realize how lucky I am to still have my phone.

It can’t be Lincoln, he doesn’t have my number.

He’s a criminal hacker, Molly. How hard would it be to get your number?

But it’s not him, so I don’t even bother wondering. I just tab accept and speak into the phone. “Yes, Chief.”

“Where the f*ck have you been? I’ve been calling you since yesterday morning. Partying too hard on the weekend again?”

“Sorry, Chief, but it’s my day off.”

“You don’t get a day off, Masters! You’re a city employee! You’re a servant of the greater good! You’re a—”

“I got it, Chief,” I snarl back at him. “I don’t need reminding.”

“What did you just say?”

Dammit. I sigh heavily. “I’m here now, OK? I wasn’t drinking. I was up in the mountains with no service.”

“Get your ass into the station. Now. There’s been another suicide.”

And then he hangs up on me. Just like clockwork.

But I get to my feet and force myself to get back on the bike. Because this shit needs to be dealt with. Lincoln needs to be dealt with. I’m not sure what that entails, to be honest. I’m not sure if it means I turn him in or turn a blind eye. I’m just not sure. But I can’t stay here.

I’m cold.

I’m broken, and…

I’m desperately in need of a few million complete strangers in the city to take my mind off the killer I just spent the night with.



When I finally weave my way through the congested streets of downtown Cathedral City and park my bike, it’s close to nine AM.

Roger, the intern at the reception desk, looks up at me when I enter the building. He shakes his head. “He’s so mad today, Molly. Just nod and say, ‘Yes, sir.’”

“Got it,” I say. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

I get buzzed through into the back and just like last week, the place is crawling with people waiting to be booked. One guy makes a grab for me as I pass by a desk he’s handcuffed to, but the arresting officer, who looks like he’s just doing paperwork and not paying attention, grabs his Billy club and cracks it against the guy’s chest, making him retreat like a yelping dog.

“Sorry, Masters,” the uniformed cop says, barely taking his eyes off his paperwork.

“Um.” That’s all I have for that. Because I don’t have the respect around here one would need to start shit with a ten-year veteran about police brutality.

“Masters!” the chief bellows.

“Coming,” I mutter under my breath. I’m tired of him screaming at me and I’m really not in the mood to get my ass chewed out for whatever he’s pissed about now. So I start making a list of why I should turn Lincoln in as I cross the room.

He’s a serial killer.

He’s dangerous as hell.

He’s bad.



It’s a pretty lame list. I mean, number one is a good enough reason. But what he said is still rolling though my head.

The victims were all part of the Prodigy School. That gives me pause. Are they the victims? Or were we the victims? This new perspective does me no good. Justice is based on laws and rules. The subtleties of an eye for an eye don’t matter in the courtroom.

But maybe they should? Maybe the good intentions paving the road to hell are really the dark shadows that line the alley of righteousness? And maybe Lincoln and his friends are those same dark shadows. Maybe they are right.

I don’t remember it all, but I know the people at the Prodigy School were evil. I know I wanted to run away when Lincoln saved me. And I know I never missed it.

I did miss him though. And now that I can remember a little bit about that night, I wonder if I always knew he was missing from my life. Somewhere deep inside I knew he was part of me. He was my beginning and I was his end.

“Yes, Chief?” I say, walking into his office and taking a seat in front of his desk.

He gives me a glare. “As I was saying. There’s been another suicide at Blue Corp. And you know what, Masters? I’m pretty sure the people of Cathedral City think you’re not earning your keep around here. That’s four murders—”

“Wait, what? I thought you said this was a suicide?”

He squints and scrubs his hand over his face. “Well, I think it’s murder. Not suicide. It’s too convenient.”

“Hmm,” I say, noncommittal.

“Get your ass over to Blue Corp right now. They’re waiting for you.”

I salute and walk out.

“And Masters!” Chief bellows at my back.

“This isn’t the military,” I yell back. “Got it.” He’s gonna fire me. But I don’t care. Maybe this job is not what I want out of life. I mean, who the hell wants to track down killers for a living?

You do, Molly.

I do. I just don’t want to track down Lincoln. I don’t want him to be what he just admitted to being because I can’t be with in love with someone who hurts people. I can’t.





When I get up to the twenty-first floor of Blue Corp, there’s no dead body and no Atticus. No Alastair either, thank f*ck. Just some janitor changing out the fluorescent lights over the desk where a body has been outlined in tape.