Rough Draft: Snow Road Chapter 3

Snow Road Chapter 3

Shipmen PD

Agent Jax Voss pulled up in front of the Shipmen Police Department and exhaled, eyeing the worn down little precinct. The kind of place you’d miss if you blinked—until recently. Now it was everywhere—news vans lining the street, bloggers circling, amateur sleuths feeding off a constant drip of speculation and leaks.

His gaze slid across Main Street to the chaos out front. Reporters swarmed the entrance like flies. Yeah. Not today. He scanned the building for another way in. That’s when he spotted her.

Detective Sloane Drake, coffee in hand, cutting across the street—and yeah, he noticed. Hard not to. But it wasn’t just that she was stunning. In a case this dark, she was the only thing that didn’t feel heavy.

Jax shut the truck door and moved fast, intercepting her before the press could. He gave a short nod. “Drake.”

“Voss.”

“Get any sleep?”

“Enough.” Her light blue eyes flicked up to his, then back to the incoming swarm.

Jax didn’t slow. He pushed straight through the crowd, using his size to part it, one arm reaching the door and holding it open behind him like a shield.

Sloane ducked under, slipping inside untouched. Perfect timing. Third day in a row. He was punctual.

She hated the press—hated the closeness, the noise, the grabby desperation. The rear lot couldn’t get paved soon enough. Back entrances were safer. Cleaner. Predictable.

Inside, the door slammed shut and the noise died instantly. Sloane didn’t stop moving.

Angelo glanced up from his desk, met her eyes for half a second, then looked away. Message received.

She kept walking. He was still pissed. Not her problem.

She hadn’t asked to be reassigned. Hadn’t asked for the feds to recruit her without him. Hadn’t asked for a serial killer to land in their laps. But three bodies within fifty yards of each other changed everything. This wasn’t Shipmen PD territory anymore.

And Angelo—despite outranking her by a few months—was taking it personally. Like her being chosen had something to do with gender instead of clearance rates and experience. Having seven more solved cases than him didn’t help his mood. Neither did being left behind with a skeleton crew. He was just mad and needed her to be the reason.

Her new office didn’t help their issues but it did help her escape everyone. She was grateful. Sloane unlocked the door and stepped inside—then stopped. Someone was already there.

A man sat in the chair across from Voss’s desk. Broad. Still. Salt-and-pepper flat top, posture military-straight.

The door had been locked. He was not lost, then. She let it slam behind her.

He turned his head slightly, not his body—watching her from the corner of his eye. Controlled. Observant. Interesting.

“Uh… hello?” she said, her voice smooth in the quiet room.

He stood immediately, turning to face her fully, buttoning his jacket as he did.

“Hello.” He extended his hand. “Supervisory Agent Mason Lyndith.”

Sloane stepped in, meeting the gesture. His grip was firm, confident—brief.

“Detective Sloane Drake.”

Up close, he was striking. Older, sure—but sharp in a way that didn’t fade with age. Strong lines, clear skin, eyes that took in more than they gave away. Composed. Intentional.

“Pleasure, ma’am.”

“You here for Voss?”

“For both of you, actually. Is he—”

The door swung open behind them. Jax stepped in, stirring his coffee, singing under his breath—on key. His hair was still damp, hanging loose around his shoulders. He kicked the door shut, turned—

—and froze.

“Oh. Hey, sir.”

“Agent Voss.”

Jax recovered quickly, circling his desk. “Make yourself comfortable. Looks like you’ve met Detective Drake.”

“I have.”

Sloane sat, though her attention lingered a moment longer than she intended before dropping to her phone. Too many messages already. Too early. Too much energy in the room. She rubbed the back of her neck, subtly resetting.

Voss leaned back slightly in his chair. “To what do we owe the visit?”

He already knew the answer. Too many bodies. Not enough leads. But if Lyndith came all the way from Georgia alone, something had shifted. That wasn’t routine. Lyndith unbuttoned his jacket and leaned back.

“I wanted to go over strategy. We’ve got new lab results.”

Jax lifted his cup. “Coffee?”

“I’m good.”

“Alright.” Jax nodded. “Four bodies now. All female, mid-twenties to mid-thirties. Dismembered. Bagged in sections. Dump sites within a hundred feet of each other. Any cause of death yet?”

Sloane ended her call and leaned in, fully present now. A knock hit the door before it opened. Chief Ronald Carnivale stepped in without waiting.

“Lyndith,” he said, crossing the room and shaking his hand. “You catch the game?”

“Nope. Actually slept for once.”

“Damn shame.” Carnivale dropped into a chair. “What’d I miss?”

“I was just getting to it.”

Carnivale leaned back, already grimacing. “Oh, you’re gonna love this.”

Sloane folded her arms lightly. “We have IDs?”

Lyndith nodded. “Two. Out of five.”

Jax blinked. “Five?”

“Right arm recovered with the third victim doesn’t belong to her—or any of the others.”

Jax swore under his breath.

Sloane stayed level. “Tattoo match Valengues?”

Lyndith nodded. “We think so.”

“So we’re looking for a fifth victim?” Jax sipped his coffee.

Lyndith nodded more. “First two IDs are university-connected. No direct link beyond demographics. Donna Brigham, twenty-seven, PhD student. Treena Sevey, thirty-one, admin staff. Both confirmed via DNA.”

“Same offender?” Jax asked.

“Yes. Same male DNA. No match in the system yet.”

Jax dragged a hand through his hair. “Not uploaded in CODIS yet.”

“No.”

Carnivale leaned forward. “Third victim still unidentified. Fourth likely Valengues. I’ve got to go public—confirm we have serial activity. That’s gonna blow this town wide open.”

Sloane exhaled slowly. “Might also flush him out.”

“Or feed him,” Lyndith said. “Either way, I’m staying. We build a profile, we move fast, and we stop him before he escalates further.” There was steel in his voice now.

Sloane noticed.

“Chief,” Jax said, “we’ll update boards and head back out to Snow Road after this.”

Carnivale stood. “Keep everything tight. Nothing leaks.” He dropped a file on Sloane’s desk. “I mean it.” Then he was gone.

Lyndith turned back to them. “We’ll also need to address logistics. That motel you’re in—”

“Not ideal,” Jax said.

“Exactly. Somewhere more private. Off-grid, if possible.”

Sloane didn’t hesitate. “I’ve got a place,” she said. “Studio above my barn. Hundred-plus acres ten miles outside of town. No traffic. Visibility for us, not outsiders.”

Lyndith studied her. “Family nearby?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Just me and my farm hands. They’ve been with me since childhood.”

Lyndith took a moment.  “That could work,” he said. “I’ll get it cleared and you compensated.”

Jax gave a small, approving nod. Sloane leaned back slightly, already thinking ahead. Work all day. Then share space off the clock. With both of them. Complicated. But manageable. Probably.

Dezi Golden