Obsessed

Chapter 47

The morning sun barely filtered through the windows, casting a faint glow across the rumpled sheets and tangled limbs. The air in Mark's bedroom was still heavy with heat, the scent of sweat and s*x lingering like a secret they never wanted to give up. Mark lay on his side, one arm draped over Ronnie's waist, his fingers gently tracing circles against her bare skin. Ronnie’s cheek was pressed to his chest, her legs tangled with his beneath the twisted sheets damp from their night of passion.

Neither of them spoke at first. There was no need to. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was weighted, meaningful. Safe.

But despite the warmth of his body and the way her heart felt like it had finally stopped running, Ronnie’s mind kept circling back to one word. One name.

"Victor."

She didn’t even realize she’d whispered it until Mark’s fingers paused mid-stroke.

"What did you say?" he asked, voice rough from sleep.

Ronnie blinked slowly, staring at the ceiling now. "Victor. I... I don’t know why, but I can’t stop thinking about that name. It’s familiar. It’s wrong, but familiar."

Mark exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as he sat up. "It’s been stuck in my head, too. That name... it’s like a ghost."

They lay there for a few more minutes, holding on to the peace they knew wouldn’t last much longer. But the job was waiting. Answers were waiting. And the killer wasn’t going to take a holiday break.

By the time they stepped outside, snow had started to fall—light and delicate, blanketing the world in a deceptive kind of quiet. Ronnie tilted her face up to the sky for a moment, letting a few flakes kiss her skin before she exhaled and slid into the passenger seat.

The drive to the precinct was quiet. Not tense, just thoughtful. Mark reached over and took her hand, lacing their fingers together without a word. Ronnie squeezed gently, grateful for the silence.

The station was buzzing with holiday energy. Tinsel lined the bulletin boards. The break room was filled with donated cookies and coffee spiked with too much peppermint creamer. People wore ugly sweaters and laughed too loudly.

But the festive noise only made Ronnie’s chest ache more.

Mark glanced at her as they passed a paper snowflake taped to the wall. "You okay?"

She nodded, then shook her head. "It’s just... this will be my first Christmas without Theo. I know he’s safer in Florida with Marvin and Gale, but... it’s weird. Empty."

Mark stopped walking. He cupped her cheek and leaned in to kiss her forehead. "We’ll get him back home soon. This ends. I promise."

She nodded, blinking back the sudden sting in her eyes.

Jackson met them in the hallway, his usual cocky grin muted. "Morning, lovebirds. Reynolds is waiting."

Together, the three of them made their way to Reynolds' office. Inside, the air was a mix of old coffee and stress. The commissioner looked up from a stack of files, dark circles under his eyes.

"We’re still trying to track Victor down," he said without preamble. "Whoever this guy is, he’s a ghost. No fingerprints. No solid records. Even Elise’s prison logs don’t show him visiting, which we know happened."

Mark frowned, his arms crossed. "There has to be something. Maybe he’s military. Someone off the grid."

"That’s what I need your help with," Reynolds said, pointing to a computer across the room. "We’ve been granted limited access to the classified archives. We’ve narrowed it down to a few potential aliases, but we need to cross-reference with old deployment records."

Ronnie started pacing. Her boots made soft thuds against the carpet as her fingers fidgeted with the sleeves of her coat.

"Victor... Victor... why does that name feel like I should know it?" she muttered. "It’s not just some random creep. It’s something older. Deeper."

She stopped pacing suddenly, her eyes narrowing. "I need to go see my mother again. Maybe she can help. Maybe she knows why it sounds familiar."

Mark stiffened. "Ronnie—"

"I’ll go," Jackson said, stepping forward. "Reynolds needs you here. Let me take her. I’ll keep her safe."

Mark’s jaw clenched. He looked between the two of them, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Ronnie walked over, placing both her hands on his chest.

"Mark. I’ll be okay. You trust Jackson, right?"

He nodded, reluctantly.

"I’ll be back before you know it," she said, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips. "Besides, you’ve got work to do. You’re the only one who can help them find this guy."

Mark held onto her a second longer before finally letting go.

Jackson offered a salute, but it was half-hearted. "Let’s roll, Doc."

As they walked away, Mark sat down at the computer and pulled up the first batch of files. But all he could think about was the echo of that kiss and the shadow of a name that refused to stay buried.

The ride started quiet.

Jackson adjusted the heater in the SUV while Ronnie stared out the window, snowflakes collecting like soft ash on the glass. They hadn’t spoken since they pulled out of the precinct garage. The only sound was the hum of the engine and the whisper of the heater.

Jackson glanced over. “You know, you’re good for him.”

Ronnie blinked, shifting in her seat. “What?”

“Mark,” Jackson said with a small grin. “I’ve known the guy for five years. Worked side by side. And in all that time, I’ve never seen him smile like he does with you around.”

She offered a shy smile, tucking her hands between her thighs. “He’s just… different with me, I guess.”

“No,” Jackson shook his head. “You make him different. Before you, he was all steel and fire. Focused, dangerous. Hell, I’ve seen him go into shootouts with less hesitation than it takes him to drink a cup of coffee. But since you walked in, he’s… softer. Not weak, just… human again.”

Ronnie’s throat tightened. “He scares me sometimes. Not because he’d ever hurt me—but because he’d do anything for me. And that kind of loyalty, that kind of love… it’s rare. And heavy.”

Jackson nodded thoughtfully. “He’d burn the whole world down if it meant keeping you breathing.”

Ronnie let out a shaky breath. “I know.”

They shared a quiet moment, the road stretching ahead through soft snowfall.

Then—

A thunderous CRACK behind them.

The rear of the SUV jolted violently forward, forcing Jackson to lose control. The world spun. Metal screamed. Ronnie let out a gasp as the SUV was thrown into a tailspin. Tires screeched, then gravity gave way entirely.

The vehicle rolled—once, twice, three times—shards of glass dancing through the air like snowflakes made of razors.

Ronnie’s scream cut off as her head slammed against the passenger window, and everything went black.

The SUV landed with a jarring crunch on its passenger side, windows shattered, steam hissing from the engine.

Jackson groaned, blinking through the blur of blood and dust. “Ronnie…?”

She didn’t answer.

He coughed, pain shooting through his ribs, he crawled out the broken windshield and fumbled for his radio. “Dispatch… officer down. We’ve been hit. Civilian unconscious. Need medical and backup at—” his voice cut out in a wheeze of static, his ribs screaming in protest.

He turned to unbuckle Ronnie when BANG! A gunshot ripped through the cold.

“s**t!”

Jackson collapsed back against the SUV, blood blooming across his pant leg. He gritted his teeth, drew his weapon with trembling fingers, and forced himself upright. He braced against the shattered windshield, his gun trained on the silhouette approaching from the drifting snow.

A man in black.

Padded black coat. Combat boots. Gloves. Face completely obscured by a dark ski mask.

Another gunshot rang out—BANG!—hitting Jackson in the stomach. He gasped, stumbled backward, falling halfway down.

He fired blindly—once, twice—but missed.

The man walked forward slowly, calm, unhurried.

Jackson’s finger trembled on the trigger.

The masked man raised his pistol.

BANG!

The shot hit Jackson square in the forehead.

His body slumped lifelessly into the snow, eyes still open, blood staining the fresh white like a ruptured ink blot.

The masked man stood still for a moment, surveying his kill.

Then he stepped around Jackson’s body and crouched beside the SUV.

Ronnie was unconscious, her pale hair tangled, a line of blood trailing from her temple down her cheek. She looked small, fragile.

He reached in, lifting her with gentle precision, like a man carrying something sacred. Her limbs dangled limp as he slung her over his shoulder.

The plow truck rumbled in the distance, engine still running.

He turned, carrying her toward it like she weighed nothing, boots crunching through the fresh snow, leaving behind two sets of footprints.

One walking.

The other, slightly dragged.