Could It Be Him?

                                        

                                              
CHAPTER: 13
*
Angel.
I couldn't stay in that office a second longer.
My legs moved before my brain caught up, carrying me down the hallway and past the glass walls. 
I didn't realize I was heading for Cyrus' office until I was already knocking on the door and hearing his voice call, "Come in."
He looked up from his desk, eyebrows raised. "Jesus, Angel—you look like you've seen a ghost."
I did my best to hold it together, clenching my jaw against the tightness in my chest. "I'm... not feeling too good. Might be something I ate. I just—need to go home."
Cyrus narrowed his eyes slightly, but nodded. "Get some rest. And Angel?"
I paused, hand already on the door.
"If you're feeling better tomorrow, let me know. We'll regroup."
I nodded once and walked out, the box—that box—still sitting heavy in my bag, like it was burning a hole through the fabric.
The first thing I did when I got home was head straight for the shower.
Steam curled around me as I leaned into the spray, letting it scald my body. But no amount of water could erase the image of that finger, limp and stiff with blood crusting around the base.
Or the ring.
I shut off the water before I drowned in the memory and stepped out.
Next stop was the mini bar. I grabbed the half-empty bottle of bourbon, a glass, and took it to my home office—the one I almost never used. It still smelled like dust and paperwork.
Sitting down, I poured a drink, and stared at the wall.
Who the hell did I piss off this badly?
This wasn't a message. It was a declaration. Someone wasn't just trying to hurt me—they were staking a claim. 
Leaving me a warning. And no matter how I thought about it, this was something far more intimate than any threat I'd gotten in my career.
Besides, this didn't feel like work.
It wasn't about a case I've solved or a CID drama. It wasn't even about Dan, as much as my instincts wanted to pin something this twisted on him. 
Sure, he had a motive. But that note... You belong to me, my Falco. That wasn't Dan's style, unless he was trying to throw me off.
I took another sip, relishing the way my throat burned. My chest tightened as someone else surfaced in my mind.
The masked man.
The one I can't stop seeing every time I close my eyes. The one whose mouth felt like a sin I never wanted to recover from. The one who kissed me like he already owned me.
Could it be him?
I set the glass down too hard, liquid sloshing over the rim, and grabbed my laptop from the top of my desk. 
It booted up with a soft chime, and I logged into the agency database, fingers already typing before the thought fully formed.
If I could just find the guest list from the masquerade ball, maybe—maybe—I'd be able to match a face, a name. Something.
I searched the location, filtered the date, and pulled up the incident report.
Access Denied.
I frowned and tried again.