When the Last Light Fades

ᴇ ʟ ɪ ᴢ ᴀ ʙ ᴇ ᴛ ʜ

The sound of shattering glass mercilessly tore me from my thoughts.

I looked around, making sure the scene surrounding me wasn’t some figment of my imagination, but merely an ordinary gathering bringing together the once-feuding members of our team.

I exhaled the breath I’d been holding for far too long, watching the brown liquid resting at the bottom of my glass shimmer beneath the light of the bare bulbs hanging loosely from the ceiling.

I sighed in resignation, fully aware that those innocent-looking—at least to me—fifteen milliliters of whiskey might very well become the nail in my coffin.

“Here’s to Montgomery!” a voice called from behind me.

I flinched.

I turned in my chair toward a group of middle-aged men who were happily raising their mugs toward the ceiling, whistling, cursing the current administration under their breath, and taking turns shouting my last name.

I propped my head against my elbow, silently cursing the moment I’d agreed to attend this oh-so-ceremonial affair.

“Wait!” the bearded man shouted, wiping his hands against his suit trousers. “I don’t have anything to toast with.”

He adjusted his glasses, waving his hands above the heads of the amused crowd.

Instantly, every pair of eyes turned toward his flushed, purple face.

What a shame…

“No problem!” a woman in a skimpy dress chimed in, grabbing a bottle of cheap champagne.

Without a second thought, she tossed it toward her colleague.

“Will this do?” She winked at him, tugging at a piece of fabric that was slowly revealing far more than it should have.

She glittered across the dance floor like a star as she moved to the rhythm of Take on Me, proudly displaying her considerable assets to everyone at the party.

“To Elizabeth Montgomery!”

A chorus of voices echoed throughout the building, bursting at the seams with drunken, spineless cops who had long since abandoned the last remnants of their dignity, as well as federal agents preening like cats—women who had apparently either missed their calling or simply walked into the wrong club that night.

Wild Coyote wasn’t particularly popular.

The small, country-style dive attracted mostly travelers looking for a quiet place where they could sip beer to the sound of country music, sit on old barrels, chew tobacco, and enjoy the smell of leather—a permanent feature of the saddles hanging from the wooden walls.

“To Elizabeth!” one of the men practically roared, spilling the contents of his bottle all over himself, barely able to keep hold of it.

I sighed and straightened in my chair.

I gave the boys a suffering look, deliberately raising my glass, which held perhaps a single swallow of alcohol.

When they gave me the signal, I emptied it in one smooth motion, setting the glass down hard on the sticky bar top where I’d spent half the evening.

The bitterness of the liquor irritated my throat.

I cleared it instinctively, feeling the unpleasant burn lingering in my mouth.

I gave a crooked smile to one of my colleagues, who was staring at me rather blatantly.

“Well… Montgomery!”

The warmth of someone’s breath tickled the back of my neck.

As gently as I could, I turned toward my potential conversational partner.

Our lips were mere millimeters apart.

His piercing gaze rested on my lips, which I’d pursed into a displeased grimace.

“I was going to say something more, but…”

“But?” I raised an eyebrow, moving away to a safer distance.

“I didn’t think we’d get to that part so quickly,” he rasped, brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“Walter…” I groaned, dodging his foul-smelling finger, stained with the grease from paprika-flavored chips, as it wandered toward my chin.

“Don’t you think you should slow down with the alcohol?” I added, studying his glassy eyes.

He looked like he was about to have a stroke.

“You know…” he muttered, leaning closer to my ear. “You look fucking good tonight.”

He smacked his lips, running his thumb along the line of my jaw, which disappeared somewhere beneath a layer of excess weight.

“If you’re interested…” He loosened the collar of his grease-stained, wrinkled shirt.

I cleared my throat, leaning back in my chair.

Moves like that did little to stir any sort of emotion in me.

I raised an eyebrow as a mischievous smile crept across my face.

“What did I do to deserve the FBI Director himself—Walter Dickinson—making such fucking immoral propositions to me tonight? Hmm?”

“Maybe the tequila made you look a little sexier?”

The stench of alcohol he’d been pouring down his throat by the gallon mingled with the scent of his cheap cologne.

He wasn’t exactly the perfect husband.

He didn’t even try to be.

He’d never hidden his interest in other women.

Poor Jane.

If only she’d known about his escapades while she was still alive…

“One or two more drinks and you’ll mistake Henderson for a woman.”

I glanced at my chubby colleague, who had nearly dropped dead trying to dance to one of the better-known songs of the eighties.

“All he has to do is let his slicked-back bun loose and…”

“Stop.” He drew the word out almost pleadingly, lifting his eyes toward the heavens as though the mere thought of his coworker filled him with absolute disgust.

“And you know perfectly well you wouldn’t have to ask him twice,” I shot back sarcastically.

I took a sip of his beer, watching my conversational partner approach the peak of his irritation.

I placed the enormous, ornate mug back on the counter.

Foam trickled down the glass, forming a sticky puddle on the lacquered surface.

I smoothed the fabric of my white cotton shirt, nudging my drunken admirer with my elbow as he swayed to the muffled music coming from the other end of the room.

“Looks like you’re having a good time,” I remarked, patting him on the chest.

The Director nodded approvingly, leaning his back against a stone wall decorated with photographs of women in cowboy hats and skimpy outfits, grinning at the camera as though it were their ticket to wealth and fame.

I slipped unnoticed through the crowd packed onto the dance floor.

Never in my life would I have guessed that people who seemed so respectable could end up wrapped around each other after only a few drinks, completely forgetting about their families and the wives sleeping alone at home…

A few agents were also debating politics, hurling insults at one another.

Others crowded around the bar, emptying bottle after bottle of whiskey.

A few were attempting to cover up their pathetic affairs by pretending they were discussing work, but a drop of alcohol loosened their tongues and publicly undid the buttons of their freshly pressed suits.

Within a few seconds, I reached the far end of the room, hurriedly grabbing my black wool coat.

It hung from a makeshift coat rack fashioned from a deer’s skull, crowned with a massive set of antlers.

It probably served as decoration most of the time, but in extreme circumstances, it could apparently replace an important piece of the pub’s equipment.

I threw the door open.

A blast of freezing air hit me without mercy.

Rain lashed against my cheeks, still flushed from the high-proof drinks.

I leaned against the beautifully carved oak wall, completely unfazed by the fight between two police officers taking place nearby.

Had one of them turned out to be the biological father of someone’s child?

I reached into my pants pocket.

A pack of red Marlboros appeared in my hand in an instant.

I raised my eyebrows when I saw only two cigarettes left at the bottom.

Without hurrying, I pulled one out and tucked it between my teeth.

I struck a match.

I shielded the flame with my hand, protecting it from the relentless wind.

The tobacco caught fire with an orange glow, and at last I could savor the taste of nicotine my body had been demanding for some time.

I tilted my head back, savoring the smoke as each drag irritated my lungs.

Strands of black hair swirled around my head, obscuring my view of the rainy, miserable town.

“Oh! Liz.”

I closed my eyes, feeling my frustration building.

A shrill female voice seemed to be getting closer with every passing second.

I looked toward the source of someone cheerfully calling my name, wearing an expression so calm it bordered on exaggerated.

“Oh, hi,” I whispered.

I felt someone’s hot hand close around my wrist.

“I thought you’d already left,” the dark-skinned woman muttered, reaching for the cigarette I was absentmindedly holding between my fingers.

What the hell had I done to deserve this?

“I would’ve been sad if you’d ended the party so early.”

“Margaret, I know this is something special for you guys, but…” I said, handing the cigarette butt to my colleague.

She didn’t seem to notice that one more drag and she’d be smoking the filter instead of the tobacco.

“I don’t accept any excuses!” she protested.

She staggered slightly but quickly regained her balance.

“If it weren’t for you, everything would still be at a standstill…”

“It was the whole team’s work, not mine…” I frowned, folding my arms across my chest.

She wasn’t giving up.

“Even Dicky’s got a bigger thing for you because of it.” She giggled, peering through the bar’s window in hopes of catching Walter’s eye.

I wanted to throw one of the more obscene words I knew at her, but I bit my tongue just in time.

“Maybe if he invested in better cologne, he’d have a better chance with women…”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you don’t like him.”

She bit her lip, openly looking me up and down.

“You’d make a perfect couple. He’s a widower, you’re…” She paused for a moment. “Well… what exactly are you?”

“What answer are you expecting from me?”

I wrapped my coat around my freezing body.

An unpleasant shiver ran down my spine.

“You’re surrounded by so many handsome men, and you haven’t paid attention to a single one.”

“Because my only love is my work.”

An ironic smile crept across my face.

I grabbed the door handle, leaving Margaret far behind.

“I think Walter’s not the only thing he’s got that’s big.”

She winked, catching up with me.

I could hear her heavy breathing behind me.

Hard to believe that taking a few steps was such an exhausting endeavor for her.

“Please…” I groaned, heading back toward the bar.

Tonight was definitely not going down as one of my more successful evenings.

I exhaled, feeling my pulse suddenly accelerate.

I swear, one more shot of tequila and the party was going to end with me in an emergency room.

“Well, well, well…” a tall man growled, the only person in the room who wasn’t swaying with every step.

“Our wonderful profiler.”

He nearly choked on the words.

“And where are all your admirers? Where’s the dress?” he asked sarcastically, placing a massive hand on my shoulder.

“Maybe I wanted to take a little break?”

I leaned against the bar, looking at him from beneath lowered brows.

I silently begged for this entire spectacle to come to an end.

“You did a great job,” he added with a fake smile plastered across his perfect face.

He’d probably needed half a bottle of gel to tame the storm of blond hair that made more than a few girls lose their minds.

His grin widened as he took the seat right beside me.

Why?

Everyone knew that Michael Wilson wasn’t someone I voluntarily wanted to spend time with.

We lived like cat and dog.

Our constant rivalry had made it impossible for us to look at each other without at least a tiny dose of hatred.

“I already told Margaret it wasn’t my doing… everyone played their part in the case. Everyone contributed to closing it, even if only in the smallest way.”

I sighed in resignation.

I had the feeling that overnight I’d become a Hollywood celebrity rather than an ordinary FBI agent—and all because of one case we’d recently managed to close successfully.

“But you were the only one capable of stepping into the Judge’s skin for a moment and leading us to the finish line.”

He nudged me in the ribs with his elbow.

I flinched.

“It’s my job… You handle the things I’m not particularly good at just fine.”

“You should start learning to appreciate compliments, Montgomery,” he whispered, bringing his lips closer to my ear. “Not everyone can think like a murderer.”

My heart beat harder.

“Anyone can…” I straightened abruptly, fixing my hair. “Not everyone wants to.”

I narrowed my eyes, waiting for his reaction.

“But you’re surprisingly good at it.”

One corner of his mouth lifted.

“That’s not the only thing I’m good at, Wilson.”

“Then show me what else you can do,” he muttered, tightening his grip on my buttock.

He was shameless.

Instinctively, I reached for the holster that, thank God, wasn’t attached to my belt.

That little incident could have ended with a disciplinary hearing at best.

I drew a breath through my nose, trying to calm the thoughts spinning through my head.

Michael, seeing my reaction, twisted his lips into a mocking smile.

“Lose something?” he whispered, trailing his fingers along my thigh.

“Maybe you want to grab something else?”

He bit his lip, looking me up and down.

A wave of nausea swept through my body with dizzying speed.

“I think you could use a proper…” he began, glancing curiously at his zipper, which nearly seemed to undo itself.

“Am I supposed to understand that you’ve already slept with half the women in the FBI and now it’s my turn?”

I made it perfectly clear that his hand needed to disappear from my leg immediately, or this was going to end very badly for him.

“You’re last on the list.”

He flashed a row of white teeth, drilling me with his blue eyes.

I couldn’t understand what those poor girls he’d broken one after another had ever seen in him.

To me, he was a complete asshole.

“So?” he rasped, trying to draw my attention to his enormous hand.

He traced little circles around the rim of the glass I’d been drinking from earlier, as though it were some sort of trophy he intended to claim.

I gave him one last look.

I sincerely hoped he’d seen the disgust on my face, because I had no intention of hiding it.

In silence, I crossed the distance toward the doors, beyond which the gray, merciless reality was waiting for me.

I hurriedly threw my coat over my shoulders.

I surrendered myself to the freezing air, which at that moment had a strangely soothing effect.

A few deep breaths were enough to steady my racing heartbeat.

I wiped my flushed face with my hand, heading toward the black Mercedes parked not far from the bar.

I looked back one last time, making no attempt to hide the contempt I felt for the people partying inside that wretched building.

Wilson, however, occupied a special place on my list…

More than six feet tall, flawless skin, and the voice of a radio host did nothing to excuse his behavior.

He was a womanizer wearing the skin of Adonis…

A playboy who cared about nothing but having a good time.

I pulled the cold key from my coat pocket, clumsily trying to fit it into the ignition.

I hadn’t drunk that much.

Had I?

I rested my head against the headrest, squeezing my eyes shut.

I felt relieved knowing that with every passing minute I was getting farther away from that godforsaken place.

I ran my fingers through my hair, rubbing my bloodshot eyes.

I fastened my seat belt.

In a split second, the engine growled to life, casting a stream of yellowish light over the cars parked along the forest road.

Who was going to pull me over for drunk driving when every police officer in town was freely pouring gallons of alcohol down their throats tonight?…

Without giving it much thought, I headed toward the main road.

A road that felt strangely familiar.

Dark.

Brutally empty.

The rainy landscape blurred, along with the memories I wanted, at all costs, to leave behind within the four walls of Wild Coyote.

Forever…