You've Got Me Now

You've Got Me Now
Rachael

The hum of the dryer dragged me out of sleep. For a second, I thought I was dreaming, then the smell of detergent hit my nose. My eyes snapped open.
I stumbled out of bed in a wrinkled T-shirt, rubbing my eyes, and nearly tripped over my boots in the hall. The sight that stopped me dead: Roman, standing in my laundry nook, pulling clothes from the dryer like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He folded a shirt of mine, neatly, too neatly, and stacked it on the pile.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I croaked, voice still gravelly from sleep.
Roman glanced over his shoulder, utterly unbothered. He didn’t pause, didn’t smirk, just went on with the task like it wasn’t weird at all.
My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I expected a jab, a teasing remark about the mess I was. Instead, he was just… doing it. Efficient. Calm.
It unsettled me more than if he’d teased. Like he belonged here, fitting into spaces I hadn’t invited him into.
“Thanks,” I muttered finally, ducking past him for the kitchen. I needed coffee, or maybe something stronger.

My pill bottles sat in their usual lineup on the counter. I dry-swallowed one and poured myself water, avoiding looking back toward the laundry nook. The sound of hangers clinking carried down the hall. He was still at it. Like it wasn’t my life he was folding into neat, controlled stacks.

By the time we got to the precinct, my nerves were buzzing worse than the hangover. The building always felt too small for breathing, but today the walls might as well have been closing in.
Marty’s voice thundered from his office, rattling the glass: “I don’t give a damn what the mayor thinks! He’s not the one taking the calls from hysterical locals!”
I shot Roman a sideways look. He didn’t react, probably used to higher-up temper tantrums, but the edges of his mouth twitched like he was amused.

Vicky sat at dispatch, headset perched, pen tapping on her notepad. Or at least, that’s what she was supposed to be doing. Instead, she was openly watching Roman, eyes trailing from his broad shoulders to his jaw like she was measuring him for a meal. Subtlety wasn’t her strong suit.

“If she stares any harder, she’s going to sprain her neck,” I muttered under my breath.
Roman bent just slightly toward me, enough that his voice brushed my ear. “I don’t notice other women,” he said, calm and sure.
Heat shot up the back of my neck. I almost tripped over my own boots.
I covered it with sarcasm. “Good line. Bet it works every time.”

His smirk flashed, brief and sharp, before he straightened again.

We holed up in my office, tiny and cluttered. Roman set down a thick folder. Montana missing persons. We start here. Divide the list, half for you, half for me. We’ll narrow them down faster.”
Roman’s voice cut through, steady and grounding. “Sinclair. Start with Missoula. I’ll take Billings. Circle any that sound right.”
I nodded, forcing myself into motion. Dial tone. A bored deputy’s voice on the other end. I asked the questions, wrote down the answers, and repeated.

Across from me, Roman’s voice flowed smoother, steadier. He had the cadence that made people cooperate before they even realized. He sounded like he’d been doing this his whole life. Probably had.

My phone buzzed against the desk.
Travis Hale.

The name froze me in place. I let it ring out.
It buzzed again. I ignored it, pressing the phone flat against my thigh like I could crush it silent.

Then the text preview lit the screen.
“You think you’re better than me now? You’re still—”
I shoved it face-down, chest clenching.

Roman’s eyes flicked to it, sharp and knowing. But he didn’t comment. He just turned another page of his file, smooth as stone.
Marty stormed out of his office, slamming the phone onto the desk behind him. “Another conference is set for tomorrow morning. Roman, you’re handling it. Sinclair, you stay on it. Tonight. I want progress.”
Roman nodded once. I hate to fight the urge to roll my eyes at him. Yeah, we can just pull a serial killer out of our ass tonight.

My phone buzzed again, jittering across the desk like it wanted to crawl inside my head. I didn’t flip it over. I didn’t need to see it.
Roman finally broke the silence. “Why don’t you block his number?”
The laugh that slipped out of me wasn’t funny; it was sharp, bitter. “I do. Every damn time. Then he finds a new one. Borrowed phones, burner phones, whatever he can get his hands on. Blocking doesn’t matter. He always slithers back.”

Roman leaned back in the chair across from me, his arms folding like he had all the time in the world. His eyes never left my face. “Then make it matter. File a complaint. He’s under a restraining order; every call, every text is a violation. Put it on paper. Build the case.”
I shook my head, staring at the file in front of me until the letters blurred. “You think a piece of paper scares him? He’ll spend a night in jail, then walk out laughing. And I’ll get twice as many calls, just to prove he still can.”

His jaw tightened, just slightly. “Doesn’t mean you let him have the run of you. At least make him work for it.”
I scoffed, tossing my pen down. “Work for it? You think he gives a damn about fines or time in jail? He doesn’t care. He’ll sit it out, drink it off, and be waiting for me the second I step outside. He’s made that clear enough.”
Roman didn’t flinch. “So you do nothing?”
I bristled. “I survive. That’s what I do. I’ve been doing it a long time.”

He leaned forward now, forearms braced on the desk. His voice dropped, lower, not unkind. “There’s a difference between surviving and letting him chew through your life one message at a time. Which one do you want to be doing a year from now?”
My throat went dry. I hated the way he could corner me with words without raising his voice. “You don’t get it,” I muttered. “Guys like him don’t stop. You can put them in a cage and they still find a way to rattle it.”

Roman studied me, gaze steady. “You don’t believe in the system.”
I laughed again, hollow. “The system? You mean the one we work for? No, I don’t.”
The words hung there, too raw, too close. I clenched my jaw, furious I’d said them out loud.
Roman didn’t pounce. He just said, evenly, “That’s fair. But the system isn’t the only tool in the box. You’ve got me now.”
I stared at him, waiting for the smirk, the catch, some reason not to believe him. But his face stayed calm, unreadable.
Finally, I muttered, “You sound like you think you can fix it. Fix me.”

“Not my job to fix you,” he said softly. “But it is my job to keep you alive. And that means keeping him at arm’s length, however we have to do it.”
The phone buzzed again, screen lighting up just long enough for another preview to flash: “Answer me, Rach. Don’t pretend you’re—”
I snatched it up, shoved it in my pocket before Roman could read the rest. My heart hammered like it wanted out.

I forced myself to breathe, focus on the paperwork instead of the glow of my phone still burning through my pocket.
“Where are we on the list?” I asked, just to hear my own voice fill the silence.
Roman didn’t hesitate. He flipped open his folder, neat rows of notes already scrawled in his controlled hand. “Out of sixty-two missing women flagged in-state over the past five years, we’ve ruled out thirty-nine.”
“That many already?”

He nodded. “Most were cleared by local reports, found alive, relocated, or custody disputes. Some didn’t fit the profile at all. Too old, too young, or confirmed medical conditions.” He pushed a few files aside with two fingers, efficient and deliberate.

I glanced at the growing discard pile. “So what’s left?”
“Twenty-three possibles. Ten stronger fits.”

Ten. The number hit like a fist in my gut. Ten women who could be Jane Does waiting in the dirt.

Roman’s voice cut in before I spiraled too deep. “It’s progress, Sinclair. Narrowing the list means we’re closer.”
“Closer to what?” I muttered. “Closer to another body?”
His gaze sharpened. “Closer to the truth. Don’t confuse the two.”
I swallowed, forcing myself to nod.

He leaned back, arms folding, watching me too closely. “You’ve got good instincts and you’re doing a great job. Don’t sell yourself short.”
The compliment caught me off guard. My cheeks burned, and I busied myself shuffling papers I didn’t need to move. “You really know how to butter up your partner, Fed.”
He smirked. “Better than ignoring her spiral and pretending I don’t see it.”

I shot him a glare, but the corner of my mouth twitched despite myself.