The rain always made the city feel colder. The lights, usually comforting, reflected like shattered glass on the wet pavement as I stepped under the yellow crime scene tape.
"Detective Gray," Officer Daniels nodded, lifting the tape for me. His uniform was soaked through, and the rain dripped from the brim of his hat.
Something about tonight felt unsettling.
I tucked my hands deeper into my coat pockets, the weight of my badge pressing against my side. "What do we have?"
He gestured towards the alley. "Male, early forties. Single gunshot wound to the chest. No ID. Found about an hour ago by a bar worker."
Bar worker?
I followed Daniels further in, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The alley was narrow, the walls on either side slick with rain, and at the far end, crumpled near the dumpster, was the body.
The victim's clothes were expensive. A navy suit, tailored. The kind of man who didn't belong in alleys like this. One could tell that he belonged to a well-off family.
What unfortunate circumstances could have brought him here?
I had seen several dead bodies, this was no surprise to me. What caught my attention wasn't the body—it was the message written in dripping red paint above him.
"Solve it."
I stared at the words, the familiarity striking like a cold blade to the chest.
Not again.
The letters were thick, the paint still dripping—whoever left the message had done so recently.
"Kate," Officer Daniels called softly. "Forensics is on the way. They found the gun in the dumpster, but no prints."
Of course not. This wasn't the work of some careless thug.
This was planned. Precise.
And if the pattern held, it wouldn't be the last body I found like this.
I rose slowly, my fingers curling into fists. My chest tightened with the familiar burn of frustration. The Puzzler—that's what the press had started calling him. Or her. No one knew.
Twelve bodies in six months. Each one left with the same cryptic message. No witnesses. No clues.
Until now.
I crouched by the victim, carefully studying the way his body had been found. His wallet was missing, but the watch on his wrist looked untouched. A Cartier. Now that's expensive. I thought to myself as I slowly got up.
This wasn't a robbery. It was personal.
"Who found him?" I asked, standing and glancing around the alley.
Daniels nodded toward the street. "Marcus Luciano. He owns that bar over there, you see—Luciano's."
The name stopped me in my tracks, and I slowly shifted my gaze towards Daniels.
Marcus Luciano.
Three years ago, I thought Marcus Luciano was just another name in a case file.
At the time, I was chasing down leads on illegal gambling rings connected to his bar, Luciano's. I walked in, flashed my badge, and expected him to crumble like the rest of them.
He didn't.
Instead, Marcus leaned against the bar, poured himself a drink, and smiled like he was genuinely glad to see me.
"Detective Gray," he greeted me, his voice smooth as silk. "Welcome to my place."
I'd arrested plenty of men who thought charm could save them. Marcus was different. Calculated.
The more I investigated, the more frustrating he became—always staying just out of reach.
And yet, even as I told myself I hated him, I kept finding reasons to go back.
Marcus and I walked a dangerous line, one I was careful never to cross.
Until now.
I looked up, scanning the shadows until I spotted him leaning against the corner of the building across the street. His arms were crossed, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. He watched me with the kind of gaze that felt like it could cut through bone.
Oh god. He was so attractive.
Our eyes met.
I hadn't seen him in months, but even from here, the air between us felt like it carried all the weight of the last time he spoke.
"Stay here," I told Daniels, already making my way towards Marcus. Daniels nodded and turned to leave.
Marcus didn't move as I approached, simply exhaled a slow stream of smoke and offered me that faint unreadable smirk.
He was complicated. I never understood him. I tried to but I really never could.
"It's been a while, Kate."
"Not long enough."
Marcus chuckled softly, flicking the cigarette onto the ground. "Always a pleasure."
He was tall, dark-haired, and infuriatingly calm for someone standing ten feet from a corpse.
I crossed my arms, holding his gaze. "What were you doing in the alley?"
"Taking out the trash," he replied smoothly. "I found him there. Thought I should call it in."
"You don't usually play the Good Samaritan."
"I don't usually find bodies outside my bar.", he replied smoothly, stepping closer. His voice was low, but there was something in it that made my skin prickle—like he knew something I didn't.
His sarcasm always pissed me off.
"Interesting, isn't it"
I narrowed my eyes. Marcus was lying—if not about finding the body, then about something else. He always did. His expressions just gave it off.
I glanced at the body behind me, then back at him.
Marcus Luciano was no stranger to crime scenes. But standing this close, with the victim's blood barely dry…
It wasn't a coincidence.
"You know something," I said quietly.
He held my gaze for a long moment, and for the first time, the smirk faded. "Maybe."
"Tell me."
Marcus stepped even closer, his breath warm against my ear when he finally spoke.
"Figure it out, Detective Gray."
Then, just like that, he was gone—disappearing into the night as silently as he'd arrived, leaving me alone with a dead man, a message, and the creeping suspicion that Marcus Luciano knew exactly who The Puzzler was.
Maybe he was even protecting them.
And maybe—just maybe—that's why I couldn't stay away.