Maddox P.O.V

A blaring ringing awakes me with a start. Francesca looks up at me from where she's using my chest as a pillow, and after a quick assessment, she rolls over onto her side, going back to sleep.

I stifle a frustrated groan, grab my phone off the nightstand, and bring it to my ear.

"Hello?" I groggily mutter into the receiver. However, nothing but silence greets me on the other end.

"Hello?" I say again as another ring sounds out. It takes my still sleep-addled brain a second to realize it's coming from my living room, where Chance had crashed moments before.

Or, more accurately, according to the clock on my phone, three and a half hours earlier.

Who in the hell could be calling? The sun wasn't even up yet, for fucks sake.

I toss aside my cover and pad to the door, my footsteps guided by the moonlight streaming through the window. On the way out, I gently closed the door behind me, careful not to wake Francesca. She was a light sleeper. And while that often benefited her in her profession, it could be a tad bit inconvenient whenever she slept over.

Soft snores float over to me from the couch, where Chance lays face down with the blankets hanging halfway off his body.

"Chance," I call, roughly shaking his shoulder until his head pops up from the pillow.

With his wavy dark locks jutting out in every imaginable direction, he looks around through slightly squinted eyes, checking his surroundings before focusing on me. "What?" He groans.

"Answer your phone."

"It's not even ringing." He declares, dropping his head heavily back onto the pillow.

"It was."

He grabs his phone off the table and scrolls through his missed calls. "Fuck." He groans again, untangling the sheet from his legs as he sits up.

I drop into the recliner, resting my head back. "Who was it? Ebony?"

"No. My Captain."

Captain Wade Deckerd was highly respected in the police department for his merits and achievements throughout his career. There were many a tale of his unorthodox but effective methods for solving cases passed down through the years.

Over time, he'd garnered the reputation for being a hardass, but that hasn't stopped every starry-eyed cadet from wanting to work with him.

I'd met Captain Deckard once or twice on one of the rare occasions our cases overlapped, but we hadn't spoken much beyond that.

"You gonna call him back?" I ask.

"Yeah. Don't really have a choice not to." Chance scratches the top of his head, further messing his hair. "It could be important."

I nod, my eyes drifting close. The buttery, soft leather cradling my body was far too tempting to resist.

"Hey," Chance lightly smacks my knee. "I'm uh...sorry for interrupting."

I wave off his apology. "Don't worry about it. If anything, I sho-"

Chance's phone rings. He sighs softly, rubbing the knuckle of his thumb over his brow before answering. "He-"

"Collins, where the hell are ya?!" A deep voice booms from the speaker.

"Why? What's going on?"

There's a long pause before he says, "We got a body."

Chance's eyes briefly cut to me before returning to his phone screen. "Sienna?"

"Don't know yet. It's bad. Real bad." Deckard says, and even through the line, his voice sounds strained and weary. "Just get here fast."

"Where?"

"I'll text you the location."

"Alright. I'm on the way." He ends the call, reaching for his keys, but I swipe them off the table before he can.

"What are you doing? You heard him. I need to go."

"You've been drinking, remember? And you're crazy if you think imma let you get behind the wheel."

"Oh, right, right." He mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, are you going to take me then?"

I deeply exhale. "Yeah."

There was no way he'd find a cab. It'd be hard, if not impossible, to do at this hour. And it'd be pretty reckless and stupid of me to let him drive anyway while aware of his condition. Therefore, the only option is for me to take him. Great.

Reluctantly, I go into my bedroom and drag on the first pair of clothes I find before we set off for the location.

My stomach drops when Chance reads the address of the local park Scarlett and I frequent with Rococo.

I didn't even know the full scope of the situation yet, but this already hit a little too close to my home for my liking.

In no time, we arrive at the park. The place is crawling with cops and a few hungry reporters looking for their next story.

"Damn, Captain Deckard must've called the entire force out for this one." Chance remarks, heading up the pathway to the restrooms where two officers stand guard.

I give a short nod in agreement but keep quiet as we near the men. Neither move to intercept us as we pass through the doorway leading into the women's bathroom. However, Captain Deckard stands just inside the entrance, blocking the way. His back to us as he types something on his phone.

Chance grabs his shoulders. "What do we got?" He asks, trying to peer around him.

Captain Deckard glances at me, his face giving nothing away about what he thought of my presence before he slips his phone into his blazer pocket. "I was just about to call you again."

"Well, now you don't have to. So what do we got?"

Captain Deckard lightly shakes his head in wry amusement before walking further inside. He stops beside an overturned gray bin with garbage spilling out. The lightheartedness from moments before dissipates as he says, "A severed foot was found mixed among the trash."

Next to a wad of tissue, a white foot encased in plastic lies on its side with dried blood streaks running down the skin. Light blue polish covers the short nails, and a silver ring encircles the second toe.

"A young lady's by the looks of it, bu-" he stops, realizing Chance is still looking at the foot. His dark blue eyes glossy and unfocused as if lost in a deep trance.

"Chance," he calls, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and concern. "You alright? You look a little pale, son."

Chance blinks a few times, rubbing his stomach. "Yes, sir."

"Alright, good. Can't have you getting sick on me right now." He smiles and claps him on the back.

Chance returns it with a smile of his own, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I-Is this all you found?"

"I wish, mate. I fuckin' wish." He strides for the door, stepping out into the early morning light. "The sick son of a bitch chopped her up and spread her body amongst the trash bins."

Damn. It was a gruesome way to go, but sadly, not the worst I'd heard of.

"That's a risky move." Chance strokes the stubble on his chin, eyeing the large dumpster at the edge of the parking lot. "Why not in one central location?"

Deckard shrugs. "Beats me, son. You're asking me to get into the mind of a killer, and that's one place I'd rather not be."

"Have you I.D her yet?" I ask.

"No, the guys are still searching for all the pieces."

"What if you don't find them?"

He runs his hand over his gray hair, letting out a deep breath. "I don't know. Still working that out."

"Who called in the..." Chance turns back to the restroom, letting us fill in the blank.

"Her." Deckard gestures with his chin to a woman with blonde matted hair, speaking to an officer nearby.

Homeless by the looks of her tattered clothes and the cart by her side filled to the brim with an assortment of stuff. She keeps one hand on it throughout the conversation.

"Sir," a young female officer calls, jogging over to us. "We have a positive I.D. on our victim." She says.

"How?"

"We found the head, and inside the mouth... is the actual I.D."

And with that, Chance loses it, spewing his guts behind a nearby bush.

Captain Deckard looks to me for an explanation. "What the fuck is going on?"

"He's going to be a dad."