TIES THAT BIND, Jay Halstead

004.

The sun was setting over New Orleans, casting a golden hue over the city’s eclectic mix of architecture and vibrant streets. Jay leaned against the side of the car, eyes narrowed as he stared at the crime scene in front of him. The air was thick, humid, and the smell of decay lingered in the alley, adding to the weight of the case that was slowly but surely grinding him down.

The BAU was handling a different case back in Virginia, so they had sent him and Alba to handle the case alone, a decision that felt like both a blessing and a curse.

It had been days since they’d arrived in the city to investigate a series of murders targeting military veterans.

Jay’s gaze shifted to Alba now as she spoke with one of the officers. She was standing tall, her posture rigid, her expression unreadable as always. He could feel the tension in his shoulders, the old habits creeping back in. His hand was clenched tightly around the edge of the car door, his fingers white with the effort. He could hear the sounds of the bustling city around him, the distant hum of traffic, the murmur of voices. But in his head, it was quiet—too quiet.

“You good?” Alba’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Jay blinked, refocusing on the present. She was standing next to him now, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes scanning him with an intensity that made him uncomfortable.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jay muttered, his voice clipped, the words feeling like they were stuck in his throat. He forced a smile, but it felt hollow, a mask he wore too often.

But the lie was obvious, even to him. His hand was shaking slightly as he ran it through his hair, and he could feel the familiar pressure building in his chest. He swallowed hard, trying to push it down.

Alba didn’t buy it. She never did. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing, turning back to the officers. She was a stark contrast to the buzzing chaos around them, her figure rigid, her stance unaffected by the oppressive air. Alba was always this way—focused, precise, and cold. He sometimes wondered if she ever truly let anyone in.

“Ready?” Her voice cut through the noise, unbothered by the simmering tension between them.

Jay didn’t immediately respond. His fingers twitched at his sides, instinctively seeking the comfort of his weapons holstered at his waist. It wasn’t just the killer’s methods that had Jay on edge, it was everything—the smell of the street, the sound of distant voices, the way his heart was beating just a bit too fast.

“Yeah, let’s get this over with,” he muttered, forcing his voice to sound unaffected, his words hollow as if he were trying to convince himself. He followed her into the building, letting the scent of rotting wood and mildew fill his nostrils, but nothing could cleanse the bitter taste in his mouth.

Inside, the new case details were as ugly as they’d feared. The fourth victim. The victims had been former soldiers, each one’s death staged with disturbing care. It was as though the killer had been studying them, learning their every move. The methodical nature of the killings—each one nearly identical, no traces left behind—reminded Jay of his own time in combat, the quiet before the storm, the precision needed to survive.

As they combed through the evidence, Alba remained focused. Her eyes scanning the room with razor-sharp precision. Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes never leaving her work. There was a distance in her that Jay couldn’t shake. She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t open up, didn’t let anyone see her cracks. She had learned to bury it all beneath that cold exterior.