A F T E R

H E

W A T C H E D

(A Sloane Riddle Mystery—Book 5)

R y l i e   D a r k

Rylie Dark

Bestselling author Rylie Dark is author of the SADIE PRICE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising ten books (and counting); of the CARLY SEE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books; of the MIA NORTH FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books; of the MORGAN STARK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books; of the HAILEY ROCK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising sixteen books (and counting); of the TARA STRONG MYSTERY series, comprising six books; of the ALEX QUINN FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books; of the MAEVE SHARP FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the KELLY CRUZ FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the JESSIE REACH FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising seven books; of the BECCA THORN FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the CASEY FAITH SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the ARIA BRANDT SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the HAYDEN SMART SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the SLOANE RIDDLE SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; and of the new HANNAH MERCY SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books (and counting).

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Rylie loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.ryliedark.com to learn more and stay in touch.

Copyright © 2025 by Rylie Dark. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

BOOKS BY RYLIE DARK

HANNAH MERCY MYSTERY

COME CLOSE (Book #1)

COME HOME (Book #2)

COME BACK (Book #3)

COME HELP (Book #4)

COME HERE (Book #4)

COME INSIDE (Book #5)

COME WITH (Book #7)

COME PRETEND (Book #8)

COME STAY (Book #9)

COME WATCH (Book #10)

COME WISH (Book #11)

COME FORGET (Book #12)

SLOANE RIDDLE MYSTERY

AFTER HE TOOK (Book #1)

AFTER HE STRUCK (Book #2)

AFTER HE SNAPPED (Book #3)

AFTER HE WAITED (Book #4)

AFTER HE WATCHED (Book #5)

HAYDEN SMART MYSTERY

ALL FOR ME (Book #1)

ALL FOR NOTHING (Book #2)

ALL FOR VENGEANCE (Book #3)

ALL FOR YOU (Book #4)

ALL FOREVER (Book #5)

ARIA BRANDT MYSTERY

THE UNKNOWN WOMAN (Book #1)

THE UNKNOWN WIFE (Book #2)

THE UNKNOWN NEIGHBOR (Book #3)

THE UNKNOWN GUEST (Book #4)

THE UNKNOWN PAST (Book #5)

CASEY FAITH MYSTERY

BEHIND HIS EYES (Book #1)

BEHIND HIS SMILE (Book #2)

BEHIND HIS MASK (Book #3)

BEHIND HIS LIES (Book #4)

BEHIND HIS THOUGHTS (Book #5)

BECCA THORN MYSTERY

GONE COLD (Book #1)

GONE DARK (Book #2)

GONE SILENT (Book #3)

GONE HOLLOW (Book #4)

GONE FOREVER (Book #5)

JESSIE REACH MYSTERY

HIS OTHER SIDE (Book #1)

HIS OTHER SELF (Book #2)

HIS OTHER SECRET (Book #3)

HIS OTHER WISH (Book #4)

HIS OTHER PLAN (Book #5)

KELLY CRUZ MYSTERY

WHERE YOU GO (Book #1)

WHERE YOU HIDE (Book #2)

WHERE YOU SLEEP (Book #3)

WHERE YOU RUN (Book #4)

WHERE YOU FEAR (Book #5)

MAEVE SHARP FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

WITH MALICE (Book #1)

WITH ENVY (Book #2)

WITH VENGEANCE (Book #3)

WITH RAGE (Book #4)

WITH YOU (Book #5)

ALEX QUINN SUSPENSE THRILLER

FIRST, MURDER (Book #1)

SECOND, DEATH (Book #2)

THIRD, ENVY (Book #3)

FOURTH, LUST (Book #4)

FIFTH, WRATH (Book #5)

TARA STRONG MYSTERY

GIRL WITHOUT A CHANCE (Book #1)

GIRL WITHOUT A HOME (Book #2)

GIRL WITHOUT A TRACE (Book #3)

GIRL WITHOUT A NAME (Book #4)

GIRL WITHOUT A PRAYER (Book #5)

GIRL WITHOUT A PAST (Book #6)

HAILEY ROCK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

BEHIND YOU (Book #1)

BESIDE YOU (Book #2)

AFTER YOU (Book #3)

WATCHING YOU (Book #4)

JUDGING YOU (Book #5)

FOLLOWING YOU (Book #6)

NEEDING YOU (Book #7)

TAKING YOU (Book #8)

AMONG YOU (Book #9)

AGAINST YOU (Book #10)

BEYOND YOU (Book #11)

NEAR YOU (Book #12)

HAUNTING YOU (Book #13)

CHOOSING YOU (Book #14)

FINDING YOU (Book #15)

CLAIMING YOU (Book #16)

SADIE PRICE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

ONLY MURDER (Book #1)

ONLY RAGE (Book #2)

ONLY HIS (Book #3)

ONLY ONCE (Book #4)

ONLY SPITE (Book #5)

ONLY MADNESS (Book #6)

ONLY DARKNESS (Book #7)

ONLY SILENCE (Book #8)

ONLY VENGEANCE (Book #9)

ONLY SOLITUDE (Book #10)

MIA NORTH FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

SEE HER RUN (Book #1)

SEE HER HIDE (Book #2)

SEE HER SCREAM (Book #3)

SEE HER VANISH (Book #4)

SEE HER GONE (Book #5)

SEE HER DEAD (Book #6)

CARLY SEE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

NO WAY OUT (Book #1)

NO WAY BACK (Book #2)

NO WAY HOME (Book #3)

NO WAY LEFT (Book #4)

NO WAY UP (Book #5)

NO WAY TO DIE (Book #6)

MORGAN STARK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

TOO LATE (Book #1)

TOO CLOSE (Book #2)

TOO FAR GONE (Book #3)

TOO LOST (Book #4)

TOO BROKEN (Book #5)

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

The real estate office in downtown Phoenix was quiet, just the way Henry Tusk liked it. Once the rest of them had packed up their things and left, he had packed up the things in his small corner office and moved everything into the main conference room. It was only the conference room because it was the largest room on the floor, but it left a lot to be desired.

Still, it allowed Henry to spread out his documents and examine the entire project. He shifted some more papers to the side so none of the blueprints were covered. If everything went according to plan, the shopping center would be the third largest in Phoenix, and that was something to be proud of.

Henry picked up his cup and lazily drank from the lukewarm liquid within, not tasting any of it. Some dribbled down his chin and fell to the desk, but he didn't notice. Henry was below average in height and stocky. He had been compared to a bull in the past and liked to think that was something to do with his strength, but it was more to do with the way he approached a deal, going in headfirst. For a man who looked strong, he had very little real strength, but he didn’t need physicality in his line of work.

A tinkling sound caught his ears, and it became an immediate annoyance. He tried to place it. Maybe the sound of a spoon being stirred inside an empty cup?

Henry looked down at the mug on the desk and realized, for the first time, that he was drinking cold coffee. He picked it up and left the conference room, going to refresh his cup and see who was still there. He checked his watch. It was too late for anyone else to be in the office and too early for the cleaners, who wouldn’t arrive until early morning.

Henry shook his head as he walked under the flickering fluorescent bulb in the hallway, but the shake of his head had nothing to do with the lighting situation. If someone else was in the office, it was a distraction. He could function perfectly fine when the office was full and noisy and often kept to himself in his office, but when he wanted to visualize something big, something life-changing, he waited for the office to empty out, giving his ideas a chance to expand.

The staff canteen was no bigger than a broom cupboard. A small sink and countertop took up most of the room, with the most important feature: the coffeemaker, taking up most of the counter space. There was no one in the room.

Henry entered and looked back out into the main offices, but he saw no one. The only light from the main offices came from the conference room and the likening light in the hallway, and they cast an eerie glow over the rest of the office. Henry dumped his cold coffee down the sink, rinsed his cup, and filled it from the ever-active coffee pot.

The coffee maker was not the only thing on the countertop. There was also a cup with a spoon inside. Henry picked it up to examine it closer as if it held the solution to some great mystery.

"Is anyone there?" Henry asked through the open door.

He immediately winced at saying something so stupid. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from repeating it a second time and waiting for a response.

Henry didn't feel any fear. He didn't assume that there was an intruder or someone was playing tricks on him; he only assumed either that someone was there or he had imagined the noise.

When I first made my coffee, I would have seen the mug and spoon. It must all be in my head.

Henry took a sip of his freshly poured coffee to ensure it was hot and left the small canteen to return to more important matters. As he walked through the office back to the conference room, he glanced left and right, checking each desk for anyone who had returned or hadn't left at all. He passed by the open door to the conference room, its interior visible through the large glass panels, and scanned the rest of the office but found nothing.

Henry took a deep breath in satisfaction. He returned to the conference room, placed the mug of fresh coffee on the desk, and rolled up his shirt sleeves, which made him feel ready to get to work.

The blueprints on the table were surrounded by contracts, deeds, and zoning maps, all a piece of the larger puzzle. A dirty window at the back of the conference room displayed a small slice of downtown Phoenix. That slice mainly consisted of a pulsing neon sign on the top of the building opposite, advertising Chinese food. He couldn’t see down to the sidewalks but knew most of them would be empty at this time of night. A siren blared in the distance for a moment before it moved out of hearing range, and everything except for the low hum of the office was silent again.

Until it wasn’t.

Henry frowned as he looked down at the documents, his palms placed face-down on the tabletop. He lifted his head but didn't look around just yet. He could swear he had heard the sound of the spoon tinkling in the cup again. He held himself still, trying to hear it one more time to be sure. The two times he’d heard it, he hadn’t listening for it.

There was only silence.

Still, Henry couldn’t let it go. He needed to know he wasn’t losing his mind. He shook his head and grimaced, annoyed that he was being pulled away from his important work, and even more annoyed that it was probably just his own imagination causing it. Henry left the conference room again, this time without his coffee, and headed to the staff canteen.

He found it empty. He found the same cup and spoon on the countertop.

Why didn't I just put it away?

Henry picked them up, placed the spoon back in the drawer and the mug back in the cupboard.. Then, for the second time that night, and with more frustration, Henry returned to the conference room.

When he returned, he rubbed his temple. This was the deal of a lifetime, and he was worrying about imaginary noises! He tried to concentrate on the report he needed to write for the client, but something in the back of his mind was still listening out for that noise.

Henry stopped again, turning around, unable to discern if he had heard anything that time. He knew it was idiotic but couldn't get it out of his mind. The sound scratched at the inside of his ear, demanding to be heard even though he knew he had put the cup and spoon away, even though he was sure he hadn’t heard the sound again.

What am I doing here? Is it the deal? Is something wrong? Am I trying to drive myself crazy?

Henry turned back to the table and felt a prick in his neck. The sight of someone in the conference room caught him by surprise and silenced him. His only thought in the first few moments was: You were in the conference room before I got back here.

Henry's survival instincts kicked in, and he brought a hand to his neck where the sharp pain had been. He didn't feel anything now. Then an arm around his waist, and a hand over his mouth. Henry tried to fight back, but something happened inside. His body convulsed from within, and he lost control of his limbs. His body went into seizure, and the person cradling him, his attacker, laid him on the floor.

Henry opened his mouth to say something, to beg for his life, but he vomited instead. The contents of his stomach stained the already-stained carpet, some of it dribbling down his cheek.

His body shook, but he felt no pain. His vision was blurred by the shaking until it stopped, and he watched the figure walk out the conference room door. He could not move any part of his body. He couldn’t even blink. His breathing was labored and short, his body working on autopilot.

The person walked away. They wore some sort of uniform or coveralls, but he couldn’t link them to anything specific. They rounded the corner, and Henry Tusk was finally alone, just as he had wanted.

He didn't cry, not that he was able to; nor did he feel fear, though that might have had something to do with the paralysis setting in; nor did he wish to beg for his life. He only felt regret that he would not do the deal and that someone else would swoop in and do it in his place.

Henry didn't close his eyes when he died. One moment, the conference room surrounded him, and then next: black.

CHAPTER ONE

"I want to talk with him face to face," Sloane said.

"You can't be serious," Brendan replied. "If you track him down and bring him in, he’ll only fight back. I don't want him knowing that you have anything to do with me, Sloane. I’m the one who messed up, and you don't need to be put in danger because of that. I know I shouldn’t have come here."

"The minute I accepted you being here was the moment I waded into this with you, Brendan," Sloane said. "I’m here to help you, and that’s what I’m going to do. You came here for my help, and you don't get to back out of that."

"I came here because there was nowhere else to go," Brendan said.

"Well, if there is nowhere else to go, then you have no reason to leave," Sloane pointed out.

"You sound like a lawyer now," Brendan said.

"I always thought I’d make a pretty good lawyer," Sloane admitted. "I have a way of arguing well with facts and logic."

"No, you have a way of always being right," Brendan pointed out. "Even back when we were kids, you won every argument, though I still think that’s because you were always Mom’s favorite."

"It didn't help that you were always getting into trouble," Sloane pointed out.

"Yeah, what’s new?"

Sloane held up her empty beer bottle and looked over at Brendan. He handed her his bottle, and she got up from her chair.

"We need something a little stronger," Sloane said.

She took the bottles through to the kitchen. She was glad to see her brother again after he’d been missing for almost two weeks though she would rather it were under far better circumstances. She was a homicide detective with the Phoenix Police Department, and he was a criminal who seemed intent on going back to jail.

Since being released, Brendan had fallen in with his old crowd, and a deal gone wrong had angered the crime boss behind it. Sloane and some of her colleagues had been the ones to break up the deal before it went down, and Sloane had hoped to get Brendan out of there personally in the process, but he had slipped away. Now, he was in her apartment, and he had a target on his head.

Sloane was the one who had caught wind of the deal through Brendan, so she was ultimately responsible for putting that target on his head. She’d always offered to help him, but this was the first time she truly owed it to him.

Sloane grabbed the bourbon from the cupboard above the fridge and poured out two measures into two separate glasses. She took them through to the living room and handed one to Brandon. She held out her glass and he clinked his against it, a moment of normalcy before the proverbial crap hit the fan.

"That’s the only way out of this," Sloane said, continuing the previous conversation. "He knows we know about the deal. He needs to know that you are protected."

"Am I protected?" Brendan asked. "If you mean by you, then I already told you I don't want to leave you in the mess I created. We both know you won't have the department's backing."

No, but I do have the backing of my partner, Max.

The only problem was that, like Brendan, she didn't want to let anyone else into the mess she had created.

"And you don't have leverage," Brendan continued. "If you had anything on Vincent, you would have brought him in by now. We all know he orchestrated the deal, but he’s too smart to allow it to lead back to him."

Sloane took a sip of the hard liquor, trying to think of a way out of the situation. She looked at her little brother, who was so different from how he he’d been as a kid but, in some ways, so similar. He was still reckless and impulsive. He was stubborn and only asked for help when it was a life-and-death situation. He could be kind and often meant well, but he often got in his own way.

They both inherited their father’s jet-black hair and green eyes, which were softened by their mother's features. However, the black hair and green eyes were as far as their similarities went. Sloane was tall for a woman, while Brendan was average height. She was also lithe and athletic, while Brendan was muscular from working out. Sloane was attractive, while Brendan was mousy and rugged.

She was a detective, and he was a criminal.

Sloane took another sip of her drink. "I still need to talk with him. This won't end until I do. He’s out for your head, and he won't stop until he gets it. If you go to talk with him, you won't leave."

"What makes you think you will?" Brendan asked.

"He’s not foolish enough to kill a detective, especially in public."

"You don't know what he’s stupid enough to do," Brendan replied. "You don't have anything to offer him. What are you going to say to him?"

"I’ll figure that out," Sloane said.

***

Three days later, Detective Sloane Riddle walked into the Whisky Lounge. The air was thick with cigar smoke and sweat. She walked straight to the large mahogany reception desk at the bottom of the stairs and showed her badge.

"I’m not here to cause any trouble," she said to the young, tanned woman behind the desk.

The security guard to her left glanced over but didn't say anything or move.

"We don't get many women in here," the receptionist replied.

"I won't be long," Sloane told her.

She slipped her badge back in her pocket and then walked past the security guard by the open door. The Whisky Lounge was a known hangout for criminals, and it was not unusual to see law enforcement there, both as customers and investigators. There was a balance to be had in large cities. Sometimes, you had to befriend the right criminal to get to the worst criminals.

It was like fog when Sloane stepped through into the main club. Sloane didn't mind the smell of cigars, but that was based on one or two lit in the same room, and not dozens of men all smoking. A small black stage stood at the far end of the large, open lounge, and a middle-aged woman sang slowly and huskily. She wasn’t dressed skimpily or sexily, but she commanded the attention of the room.

That attention flickered to Sloane—not because she was a cop, but because she was a woman.

Sloane could smell whisky in the air, but not any of the individual aromas; it all came together in an intoxicating mix. Added to that was the smell of real leather from the large sofas and armchairs. Black tables sat between and around them, filled with glasses and ashtrays.

Vincent Mercado was known to them and had been for a long time, but there had never been any evidence to warrant bringing him in. They had brought in many of his people over the years, but the buck always stopped there. They knew he gave the orders but couldn't prove it, and everyone who worked for him was loyal.

Sloane spotted him at the side of the room, tucked away but with a good view of the stage. She imagined it was his regular spot when he visited the club. Vincent Mercado was a powerful and feared man. He was large, tall and broad, completely shaven, with a thick neck almost as wide as his head and sleeves always rolled up to show his thick forearms.

Four men surrounded Vincent, all of them in suits. He was dressed down, wearing simple tan slacks and a brown sweater. No one in the establishment had said anything to Sloane as she passed through, nor did Vincent and his entourage, although as Sloane approached, he did spot her and held up his hand.

In another situation, she would have dived straight in and sat down to interrupt them, but she waited for the singer to finish her song. This was a different type of negotiation, and she didn't want to begin it on the back foot.

When the singer finished, everyone in the club politely applauded. Vincent extended his hand to tell Sloane to take one of the empty seats. The singer began singing her next song. Sloane did as told and sat down.

"I’m guessing you’re law enforcement," Vincent said. "If you’re lost, then you’re very lost, but I don't think that’s the case."

Sloane took out her badge and showed it to Vincent.

"So, what can I do for you, Detective Riddle?"

"Maybe we can talk in private?" Sloane suggested.

"No, we can talk here," Vincent said. "Leave us for now," he added to his men. He looked at Sloane as the men stood. "Good enough?"

"Good enough," Sloane replied.

Vincent nodded, and the four men left for the bar.

"You’re obviously not here to arrest me or accuse me of anything," Vincent said as he lit his cigar. "No offense, but they wouldn’t send a woman by herself. So, why are you here, Detective Riddle?"

"I want to talk about my brother," Sloane said, getting straight to the point.

Vincent drew in a breath and puffed out a thick cloud of smoke that mingled with the rest. "I’m assuming I know your brother."

"Brendan Riddle," Sloane said.

"Never knew his surname, but I will assume we are talking about the same Brendan. So, you’re here on your own authority. What is it you want me to do, or not do, with Brendan?"

"I want you to leave him alone," Sloane said. "He’s out of this game and wants to move on."

"He wants to move on, or you want him to move on?" Vincent asked. "I assume it’s incredibly embarrassing to have a criminal in the family when you are a detective."

Sloane felt the unease creep up her neck. She was a fly caught in a spiderweb. Vincent spun his words like silk, slowly wrapping her up, but he would eventually bite. The politeness was all an act, and those who were not careful to remember that ended up dead.

"I won't bore you with the details, Mr. Mercado," Sloane said. "Suffice to say, I need Brendan to be out of this."

"Clever girl," Vincent said. "I assumed you would come in here and demand I leave him alone because you are a cop, but you’re smarter than that. You need him to be out of trouble, which means you need me. So, the question is: how do you get me?"

Sloane had been asking herself the same question. She obviously didn’t have the department's backing on this, which meant she was going it alone. She could call on Max if needed but didn't want him involved, even though she knew he would dive in if she asked him. He would also dive in if she didn't ask him and he found out about it. That was a risk.

"We both know you run a criminal enterprise," Sloane said.

"Do we?" Vincent asked. "All we know is that your brother has become mixed up with some very undesirable people, and because of his screw up, his head is on the chopping block."

"It wasn’t his fault," Sloane said.

"Not solely, no," Vincent said. "The entire team failed me, and Brendan was a part of that team. He has a price to pay like all the others. So, what do you propose, Detective? You haven’t come here to take his place, have you?"

Sloane would put herself in danger and risk her life to save Brendan, but she couldn't give her life in exchange for his. This was his fault, and she would help, but he was the one who had to face the music.

"No," Vincent said, angering his own question. "I can see in your eyes that you don't intend to be a sacrifice. So, what else could you possibly offer me, Detective Riddle?"

Sloane took a deep breath as it came to her. She didn't like it, but it felt like the only way. "Information. My intent is to arrest you someday, Mr. Mercado, and I won't stand in the way of you being arrested, but I can offer you information. Not any information on any investigation surrounding you, but I can give you information on your rival crime bosses if and when I get any. That is the extent of my power, so take it or leave it."

"Take it or leave it?" Vincent chuckled. "You’re not the one who gets to make the ultimatums, Detective. I’ll accept your deal, but there is one caveat. If I don't like the information I hear, then I come after you and your brother. I’m sure you’re resourceful enough to rustle up something good for me, Detective Riddle, so I wouldn’t worry too much about looking over your shoulder. Although accidents do happen."

Sloane saw the look in his eyes change, and she understood the deal was done, whether she agreed to it or not. She pushed herself up from the armchair as Vincent focused back on the singer. She walked through the club again, many eyes on her, but aware mostly of the four suited men at the bar watching her, and then she burst out into the fresh air. Sloane took a deep breath as if resurfacing from a long dive.

Did I make it any better, or did I just add a target to my back?

CHAPTER TWO

"How did it go?" Brendan asked as soon as Sloane walked in the door.

"I walked out of there in one piece," Sloane replied.

"What happened?" Brendan asked.

He could sense the stress in her voice and the tension in her body. She had walked out of there, but she was in far more danger now than she had been there before walking into the club. She wanted to dismiss Brendan and tell him that everything was fine. She wanted to go to bed and get some rest. The sun would be up in a few hours, and she had no energy for anyone or anything.

Yet, she couldn’t lie to him. She had waited far too long for him to come around and make contact with her, to accept her help, and she had to keep that trust.

"I made a deal," Sloane said. "I’ll feed him information in exchange for him leaving us alone. We’re not in the clear yet, but as long as I get him information, we’re fine until I can figure out what to do next."

There had been no talking about the finer points of the deal. Sloane had no idea how long she would have to get information for him or when enough would be enough. All she knew was that the gun was pointed, but it wasn’t loaded.

"What do you mean we’re fine?" Brendan asked. "You’re a part of the deal, too, Sloane? Are you in trouble?"

"Just give me some space," Sloane said, frustrated. "You’re the one who got into this mess, and you have no right to question me when I’m trying to fix it."

"I do have a right to question you when you’ve put yourself in the firing line along with me." Brendan threw his hands up in the air. "I’m going over there right now. I can't have you endanger yourself, Sloane. You’re right. I screwed this up, and I need to face the music. He can kill me, but I won't let him kill you."

Sloane grabbed her brother’s arm. "You’re not going anywhere, alright? You came to me for help, and I’m helping. I know what I’m doing, Brendan."

I wish I knew what I was doing.

"Well, it doesn't sound like it," Brendan said.

Sloane shook her head, trying to smile. "Do you really have so little faith in me? I’m handling things my way. You tried to hand things your way, and look where that got you. Now, can we please not argue about this? We’re both in this now, and I’d rather we present a united front."

Brendan said nothing. He stepped forward and wrapped his sister in his arms, holding her tight. He rubbed her back. Sloane wrapped her arms around her little brother, realizing this was the first time they had hugged since he was released from prison. She drank it all in.

"What do you do next?" Brendan asked.

"I need to get some sleep so I can go into the office early tomorrow," Sloane said. "I work in homicide, and there overlaps with much of what these criminal organizations do, but I need to talk with some other departments, and it can’t be just anyone, or someone will get suspicious of what I’m doing."

"This is illegal, though, right?" Brendan asked.

Sloane and Brendan came apart.

"It was all I could think of," Sloane said. "I could see what he really wanted: a favor from me, but I wasn’t giving him that. That would have been far worse. For now, I pass him information about his rivals, and it gets him ahead, but it gives us more fodder. If I can steer where he goes and what he does, we get a step closer to bringing him down. Do that, and we are both in the clear."

"Alright," Brendan said. "I do trust you, and I know you know what you’re doing, but I’m still worried about you."

"Well, get used to it," Sloane said. "We seem to share that trait. I still manage to get myself into trouble, even as a detective."

Sloane’s phone rang, and he took it out of her pocket. She expected it to be Vincent Mercado on a withheld number, but it wasn’t. It was her sergeant.

"It’s late," Sloane said. She looked at the time on her ringing phone. "It’s early. This is bad news. I can't handle another homicide case right now."

Sloane hit the button to answer and brought the phone to her ear.

"Riddle? Are you there?" Sergeant Ramirez asked.

"Yeah, sorry, my phone was acting up," Sloane said. "It’s the middle of the night. This is not good news, is it?"

"Callahan is on his way to pick you up, Riddle. There’s been a murder in the downtown offices, and it’s pretty grizzly down there. I want a report on my desk by tomorrow afternoon, or this afternoon, whatever day this is."

"I’m on it, Sarge," Sloane said.

***

As the car turned onto her street, Sloane looked up at her apartment window. Brendan was standing in the window, looking down at her. He chewed on his fingernails as he observed her. She didn't like how he watched over her; it made her more worried.

The car pulled up beside her, and Sloane got in.

"Good morning," Max said, taking his head.

"Is it?" Sloane asked, giving a short laugh through her nose, trying to remember how she normally acted. Since agreeing to feed Vincent Mercado information, she had forgotten the most basic aspects of her character.

What if I forget who I am?

Max pulled away from the curb, and at three a.m., they were off through the streets of Phoenix.

Detective Max Callahan had been Sloane’s partner for over six years. He was a good man with a simple outlook on life. He wanted to right wrongs and cared deeply for the people he loved, including Sloane. She knew he would protect her with every fiber of his being, even if she didn't want him to at times.

Max was a fighter. The angle of his nose was a testament to that. He’d been a brawler in his younger years, and that had carried somewhat into the police force. As a detective, he wasn’t afraid to wade into a fight and take a few punches himself. His fighting nature mirrored his character—he had been knocked down multiple times, but he always got back up.

Max Callahan was attractive, but not in the perfect, beautiful way shown in magazines. Alongside the fighter’s nose, his skin was quite blemished, and his features were nothing special on their own, yet when combined and topped off with his personality, the end result was a charming man. Sloane had taken in all of that over the years, but the only thing that mattered was that he had her back, and she had his.

"Where are you at?" Max asked as they drove the mostly empty streets.

"What do you mean? Nowhere."

"You’re off somewhere," Max told her. "Listen, I know you have a lot on your mind with Brendan still missing, but we need to focus on the work at hand. When Brendan is ready to make contact, he will, and then we’ll deal with it together, alright?"

"Yeah," Sloane said as she looked out of the window. "Yeah, I know."

It was better for now not to tell Max that Brendan was in her apartment. If he found that out, he would want to know what came next, and she wouldn’t be able to keep her meeting with Vincent Mercado from him. Once he discovered that, he would want to meet with Vincent, whether Sloane liked it or not, and things wouldn’t end well for anyone.

Sloane had visions of Max being arrested for taking his frustrations out on Vincent.

However, she didn't want to keep secrets from him, nor did she want to be dishonest. She couldn’t think of a time when Max was dishonest with her. He was a straight arrow and told it how it was.

Another vision popped into her mind—a memory. Four nights ago, he’d dropped her off at her apartment, and she’d found Brendan inside. She had hugged Max before going in, both of them tired and worn out. They had almost kissed. Sloane had looked back on that night and knew she wanted to kiss him. But she also wanted the trouble with Brendan to be over, and she knew she couldn’t have Max until she had dealt with Brendan.

I never thought my brother would get in the way of a relationship with someone I care about.

"So?" Max asked after they had been driving for a few minutes.

"So, what?" Sloane replied.

"So, we’ve just been assigned to a murder, and you haven’t even asked who we are on our way to see. What’s really wrong with you, Sloane?"

"Nothing," Sloane claimed. "I’m tired, that’s all." At least that part was the truth.

"Yeah, you and me both," Max said. "I had just gone to bed when the phone rang. It was poker night tonight. Tonight? Last night?"

Sloane knew she had to get her ass in gear if she were to keep the peace with Max for now.

"So, did you take them for all they have?" Sloane asked.

"Almost," Max admitted. "Carl from tech was the big winner on the night, but I left with more than I arrived with."

"So, the drinks are on you when we next hit the bar," Sloane said, starting to feel more like herself. At the same time, she worried that she might never be her old self ever again.

"Aren’t they always?" Max asked.

"There was that one time recently when I paid. When was that?" Sloane asked. "Last month or the month before?"

"Try the year twenty-twenty-two," Max said.

"Alright, now you’re messing with me," Sloane said. "Anyway, I’m a lady, Max."

"Are you?" Max smiled and raised an eyebrow as they drove.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Sloane asked with mock outrage.

"It doesn’t mean anything," Max said with a sly smile on his face.

Sloane smiled and looked out of the window. She was solely focused on helping her brother, but being with Max was a welcome distraction. And she felt safe with him. If Vincent Mercado came after her, there was no one she wanted at her side more than Max.

"Alright, so who was killed?" Sloane asked.

They drove between tall office buildings, some of which had lights on, but most were dark. They passed a middle-aged woman on the street dressed like she was going to the office. It was an early start.

"Henry Tusk," Max told her.

"And who is Henry Tusk?" Sloane asked.

"He’s a real estate developer, dealing mainly in commercial properties. I didn't have time to look much into him before jumping in my car, but the word on the street is that he is a controversial figure and was currently working on some sort of big deal. The deal of his career, apparently."

"Alright, so maybe that’s motive for murder?" Sloane thought out loud. "Someone else wants the deal, and they off Henry to snatch it from him. You said he was a controversial figure. Any idea what that means?"

"Again, I didn't get much," Max said. "From the brief phone call I had, I got the impression that Henry wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. I don't know if that means he had some off-the-books transactions going on or if he kept the wrong company, or maybe it’s just that he wasn’t afraid to use dirty tactics to get the deals he wanted."

"And he was murdered in his office?" Sloane asked.

"He must have been working late last night. The cleaners found him about an hour ago and called it in. Sounds like it wasn’t a pretty sight. They’re not going to be used to that sort of horror-show, are they?"

"Any info on the cleaners?" Sloane asked. "Could they be involved and want to look innocent?"

"Don't know," Max admitted. "From what I know of the crime scene, they are still there." Max pulled the car to a halt amid the multiple other vehicles. "Still here."

"Alright," Sloane said. "Let’s go see if it’s as gruesome as they say."

CHAPTER THREE

Sloane and Max showed their identification to the uniformed officer at the door. Then, they were allowed under the police tape and into the office building. They left behind the red and blue lights of the emergency vehicle outside to step through the relatively silent lobby. They took the stairs up to the third floor of the office building where Henry Tusk had been killed.

Sloane led the way up the stairs and then out onto the third floor, all of which was occupied by the real estate offices.

The open-plan office was bright—all the lights on the floor had been turned on. The focus was contained to three main areas. At the other end of the floor, where they'd exited the stairs, was a large glass room containing the dead body and, currently, the forensic team. Off to the right, there was a small room being searched by two officers—Henry Tusk's office. In the third area, adjacent to Sloane and Max, an officer was talking to two cleaners, who were animatedly protesting about something.

When the officer spotted Sloane and Max, he waved them over and held out his hand to the two cleaners.

"I told them they couldn’t go until you got here," the officer said. "They’ve been trying to leave since we got here, so can—"

Sloane held up her hand. "We’ll talk to them now," she said. "They likely want to get to their next job."

The officer nodded.

Sloane looked at the two cleaners as she approached them. One male and one female, quite likely partners from the way they stood next to each other. Their equipment, minimal enough that they could carry it with them, stood against the wall behind them.

"My name's Detective Riddle," Sloane said, showing her badge. "Do you have another job to get to?"

"Yes, yes," the man said quickly. "We’ve been trying to tell you that, but you keep us here against our will. We’ve told you everything we know. If we’re late, they’ll call in someone else, and we lose the contract."

"I understand," Sloane said. "I would like the number of the manager of the next job you have lined up, and any others after that you might be late to, and I will call them personally and tell them that you’ve been assisting us in an investigation. I assure you that you won’t lose out on any jobs you might be late for this morning. Does that sound fair?"

"Yes, yes, that sounds fair."

"Why don’t we talk over here?" Max asked the woman. You can give me the numbers we need so we can call them as soon as possible. We really won't keep you for long."

"Yes, yes, go on," the man said to the woman.

Sloane smiled politely as Max and the woman moved away. It was a classic case of divide and conquer. The two detectives would check the cleaner’s stories independently, and when they came back together, they could look for any discrepancies. There was always a chance they had turned up to clean, and Henry Tusk had become argumentative. Sloane glanced again at the cleaning equipment. Even mop handle could be a murder weapon, and they certainly had all the equipment the needed to clean up after themselves.

"I know you have already given your name, but could you give it one more time?" Sloane asked.

"Carlos Vasquez," the man said.

"And the woman?" Sloane asked. "She’s your wife?"

"Yes, she is."

"Can you take me through what happened from when you arrived here up until now?" Sloane asked.

"I told them, and there’s not much to tell. We came from our previous job at O’Malley’s bar, and here is always next on our list, and we come to clean, and the first thing we notice is the smell of vomit like someone had thrown up, and we see a mess in the conference room, and when we go there, we see the man on the floor, and vomit on the carpet, and we immediately call an ambulance."

"You didn’t touch the body?" Sloane asked.

"No, of course not," Carlos said. "We’re not doctors. I see all the time what it is like when someone who doesn't know what they are doing tries to help; they only make it worse. No, the vomit, we could deal with that even though we didn’t, but we can't deal with a dead man."

"You knew he was dead?" Sloane asked.

"He was lying on the ground with his eyes open and vomit all over him," Carlos said. "He looked pretty dead to me."

"So, what happened between making the phone call and the ambulance arriving?" Sloane asked.

Carlos looked down at the carpet as he spoke. "Well, we didn't know what else to do, so we started to clean. Not around him, but we got to work on the cleaning we had to do because it would have to be done sooner or later."

"Alright," Sloane said. It wasn’t funny, but the thought of them cleaning around a dead body somehow made her want to smile. "How about O’Malley’s? Was there anyone there when you were in to clean?"

"Yes, they were closing up," Carlos said. "The manager was there, and some of the servers, too."

"Okay, good," Sloane said. "I don't think we need to keep you any longer, and I will make that phone call for you. You have my word."

"Thank you, Detective," Carlos said.

Once Max was done with Carlos’s wife, they reconvened and checked both stories. They were identical, and the wife had given Max all the numbers of the businesses they were due to clean that morning, including O’Malley’s.

"I can't see it being them," Max said.

"No, I agree," Sloane said. "Once we know more about the cause and time of death, we can hopefully rule them out, but they’ve given each other an alibi, and with their stories matching so well, I don't think they are in it together and lying. They were pretty anxious to get to the next job, but that’s because they’re afraid of losing it, not because they’ve just committed murder."

"Let’s take a look at the body and hope there’s not a bottle of Lysol sticking out of him," Max said.

The two detectives went to the conference room. . Previously, the only thing Sloane had smelt were cleaning products. Now, though, as they approached the dead body, the scents of pine and bleach gave way to something else.

Sloane covered her nose as she got close.

Henry Tusk lay inside the conference room, his eyes open and staring at nothing, just as Carlos had described. The smell of vomit was still in the room, but the vomit no longer was. Sloane was glad it had gone, and didn't envy the person who’d had to bag it up, nor the person who would have to poke through it to determine what had caused Henry to be sick.

"What are we looking at?" Sloane asked.

One of the forensic techs stopped what they were doing and stood up, removing the mask covering his mouth.

"We’re not entirely sure yet except that he’s dead," the tech said. "By the looks of him and the vomit we found on the carpet, we have to initially assume he was poisoned. We won't know for sure until we get him to the coroner’s office. He had a mug of coffee on the table, and that’s been bagged and tagged, too. We’ve also taken the coffee maker to examine the contents in case someone is trying to poison the entire office."

"Maybe he wasn’t the target?" Max suggested. "Someone adds poison to the coffee maker, not counting on Henry working late, hoping to poison the whole workforce?"

"As I said, we won't know until we have everything tested," the tech said.

"What can you tell us?" Sloane asked.

"Most likely, he died a couple of hours before he was found," the tech said.

Good, that rules out Carlos and his wife.

 "There was no sign of a struggle," the tech continued. "Nothing was out of place in the office, nothing knocked over, no injuries on the body from what we’ve looked at so far, and no sign that Henry Tusk fought with anyone."

"Do you know about the security in the office?" Sloane asked. "Can anyone walk up here?"

"It looks like it," the tech said. "I heard Officers Jones and Albertsson talking, and they reckon anyone could have come up here and done it. Someone’s talking to the building manager right now to see if there’s anything on the CCTV feed."

"So, we have the entire office being targeted or Henry specifically," Sloane said. "Either way, it suggests someone connected to the people here or one of the projects they were working on. If Henry was the target, someone knew he was working late. If it’s the office, then who bears a grudge against them? An ex-employee? A deal gone wrong?"

"This deal?" Max asked, gesturing toward the table.

"Do we know what it is?" Sloane asked the officer who was going over it. He was the same officer she had seen in Henry Tusk’s office when they entered.

"Looks like a pretty big deal," the officer said. "They want to demolish a bunch of buildings to build a new development with a large shopping center in the middle, over in the Lancaster District. I had a cousin who lived over there for a while. It’s pretty run down."

"But you’d think something like this would rejuvenate it," Max said. "So why would that be a reason to kill someone? Is there anyone who would lose out on a deal like this? What buildings are demolished?"

"I don't know yet," the officer admitted. "All the documentation is here, so it’ll detail that somewhere. I can let you know when I find it."

"I’ll help," Max said. "If we find someone with the motivation to be angry at the deal, we have our first suspect."

Sloane walked over to Henry’s office, where an officer was still searching it. "Have you found anything in here?" she asked.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, but then, I don't really know what I’m looking for."

"When you are done, can you focus on the employees here?" Sloane asked. "If it comes back that the coffee was poisoned, then we're looking at someone who’s more annoyed at the company than at any one individual." Unless they are using that as a cover while they take out the true target: Henry Tusk. "I want to know about any ex-employees and why they were let go. Also, any recent deals that have ended badly for someone."

"Alright, you got it, Detective," the officer said.

Sloane watched for a few seconds more as the officer searched before she left the office and looked around the entire floor. Soon, the employees would begin arriving and being turned away, and their office would forever be a crime scene.

"Hey, Sloane!" Max called.

Sloane returned to the conference room, a little more used to the smell this time. "What did you find?"

"So, these are the businesses that are to be knocked down to make way for the new development," Max said, holding up a stack of files. "A law office, alongside a few empty and derelict building, a plant nursery, a kindergarten, two dry cleaners, low-cost housing, a couple of bodegas, and Domingo Pizza."

"Domingo Pizza?" Sloane asked.

"Yeah," Max said.

Sloane stood for a second as the implication sunk in. Domingo Pizza was notoriously a front for the Domingo family, one of the main criminal players in Phoenix.

"If the Domingo Family are being forced out, they’d be unhappy about it, and they would have the means to do something about it," Sloane said. "Would that be enough for them to kill Henry?"

"Maybe," Max said. "Take him out as a warning to other developers not to take the development? Or, they install one of their own to take care of the deal. I don't know. I guess they could poison someone just as quickly as they would shoot or stab them, but it doesn’t really sound like the standard gangster m.o., does it?"

Has this fallen in my lap? If the Domingo family is behind his, it’s information Vincent Mercado would like to know.

Sloane didn't want to think about that right now. It felt far too convenient for it to be true.

"Okay, so we find someone who knows about the development on that end," Sloane said. "The Domingo family are not the sort of people to be forced out, so I want to know what happened there."

"Henry Tusk was known for his controversial style," Max said. "Maybe he just fell in with the wrong people. Or fell out with them."

"Detectives?" an officer called from the top of the stairwell.

Max and Sloane headed over toward him, the documents still in Max’s hands.

"I have the building manager downstairs, and they’ve caught someone on the security cameras from earlier," the officer said. "I thought you would both want to take a look."

"Take us there right now," Sloane said.

CHAPTER FOUR

Sloane and Max followed the officer down the stairs, and all three of them almost broke into a run at the bottom, so eager they were to see the person who had killed Henry Tusk. The officer opened the door and held it for Max and Sloane. They went inside and were greeted by the building manager.

He remained in his swivel chair and held his hand out for Sloane and Max to shake. "Arnold Guttis, Building Manager. Don't worry about the time; I’ve been called in for all sorts, not just to here but my other places as well. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve seen."

"What do you have for us tonight, Arnold?" Max asked. "Our officer here told us you might have an image of our killer."

"Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves," Arnold said. "I don't have that for you, but I can point you in the right direction. Come and take a look."

Sloane and Max got close to the screen, Max squatting down and Sloane bending over.

"We have one camera here to monitor the main entrance. They need more cameras for the back and side entrances, but the owner won't pay for them, so what can you do?"

"They came in the front?" Sloane asked.

Arnold nodded as he played the footage.

The camera showed the main entrance Sloane and Max had entered when they arrived at the building. It was not pointed at the door but away from it and toward the elevators.

"This is after everyone left," the building manager pointed out.

The timestamp in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen showed 1:16 am. The foyer was empty, and then a figure appeared under the camera, but facing away from it. The figure was male, with short, black hair, and they wore a uniform of some sort, coveralls like a mechanic would wear. The man walked toward the elevators but turned right and disappeared.

"That’s all there is," Arnold said. "Now, I recognize the uniform. It’s from a maintenance company we outsource to, but I didn't receive a call last night that anyone was coming to the building, and I have no notification of anyone coming to fix anything."

"What’s to the right of the elevators?" Sloane asked.

"The electrical room is there, the furnace, water shutoffs, all of that," Arnold said. "Just past that is a back stairway to all the floors."

"So, he could have taken that up to the real estate office," Max noted.

"Play it again," Sloane said.

Arnold did as he was told and ran the footage a second time. This time, Sloane didn't pay attention to the man but to the small work bag he held. It was large enough to hold many things, including poison.

***

Max and Sloane grabbed a bite to eat and some coffee when they left the office building. The maintenance company went by the solid, practical name of Maintain; they had a central office, but they didn't open until nine. Out of hours, the calls were diverted to whoever was on duty. Sloane and Max took the decision to go for coffee and bagels before heading straight to the office.

As they drove, Sloane stifled her yawns. She knew she should be tired, and as far as Max was concerned, she would be just as tired as he was, having both received an early call-out. She didn’t want him to think any different. Nor did she want to remember just why she’d had so little sleep.

They pulled up at the maintenance office at three minutes past nine. Sloane felt a little better after the coffee and bagel, but she really needed to sleep, and that wouldn’t happen for another twelve hours or so.

When they entered the office, they didn't see an obvious reception desk. The interior looked more like a waiting area, with couches and chairs scattered around and a small kitchen in the far corner. Around a dozen people wore the same coveralls they had seen on the footage.

It made Sloane think of the Whisky Lounge, but only because it was so different to it. The Whisky Lounge had luxurious furniture and the best of everything. The layout might have been similar in a way, but the couches in the maintenance offices were worn and fading, and the fake leather ones were chipped and scratched.

They were approached by an older gentleman whose mustache was so bushy it might have been used for sweeping floors.

"What can I do you for?" he asked. "We don't usually get walk-ins, but you two don't look like walk-ins. What has one of us done now?"

"You’re used to cops coming in here?" Max asked, showing his badge.

"Nah, I’m only making a joke, but I did finger you for a cop."

"When the office is close, your calls are directed to another number," Sloane said. "Do you happen to know who was taking calls last night?"

"I do indeed," the man said. "Oscar Almasi."

"And what time will Mr. Almasi be in?" Max asked. "Or do you have a home address for him?"

"Nah, there’s no need for that," the man said. "Oscar’s right over there."

As he pointed, Sloane looked over at the man with their back to them. It might not hold up in a court of law, but from behind, Oscar Almasi looked exactly like the man on the footage. Same height, build, hair, and uniform.

"Oscar!" the man shouted.

Oscar turned. He looked distinctly Middle Eastern and wore a jovial smile that told of a polite and decent man. Sloane and Max had dealt with many people like that, and some of them turned out to be murderers.

"What can I do for you, Joe?" Oscar asked.

"There’s a couple of detectives here who want to talk to you!" Joe called.

Sloane might have introduced herself more delicately, but it gave her a chance to study the man’s immediate reaction. The smile dropped from his face, but only for a tenth of a second before it returned.

"Detectives?" Oscar asked. "Yes, of course. Anything you need. We can talk over here."

Oscar gestured toward an area in the corner of the room where no one sat.

"Can I get you some tea or coffee?" Oscar asked.

"No, we’re fine," Max said.

They followed Oscar over to the seating area as everyone else looked on, and Max gave Sloane a look when Oscar’s back was turned: Hiding Something?

Sloane raised her eyebrows in reply.

Oscar stood and gestured to the chairs for Sloane and Max to sit in, then sat opposite them.

"So, what can I do for you both?" he asked politely, his accent heavy but understandable.

"You were on call last night," Sloane said. "Is that right?"

"Yes, that is right," he replied, happy to be able to answer the question.

Max took over next. "Did you receive any calls last night?"

"Yes, I did. I received one," Oscar said, not volunteering any more information.

"What was the job?" Sloane asked.

"A simple fix for a leak in a water supply pipe," Oscar said with a pleasant smile.

"Where was the job?" Max asked.

"I don't know the address off the top of my head, but it was in the warehouse district. It's a brewery, and they often work around the clock. If I had to guess, I would say they pushed their equipment too hard and didn't have enough regular maintenance, but I also understand. They are only starting out, and they don't have a lot of money. If I do a good job for them, they will continue to use us when they become a big company."

"That was your only job last night?" Max asked.

"Yes, that was it."

"Is there anyone else on call?" Sloane asked. "Someone else who would also take a call?"

"No, there was no one else who would have taken a call last night," Oscar said with a nod. He brushed his hands together. "There are others who don't take calls but are ready to take a job if I call them and assign some work on."

"But there were no other calls last night?" Sloane asked. "Only the one that you answered, for the brewery."

"Yes, that is correct," Oscar said.

Sloane didn't feel like beating around the bush anymore. She decided on the direct approach.

"So, if there were no other calls last night, then why do we have footage of you entering the Wardorf Building downtown at 1.13 am?" Sloane asked.

Oscar’s face went pale, and he glanced quickly around the room before looking back at the detectives. The smile never left his face. He licked his lips and ran his teeth over them as he thought about how to answer it.

You haven’t come out and denied it, so you’re thinking about a way out of this.

"What were you doing there, Oscar?" Sloane asked. "What was in the bag?"

"I…" Oscar managed.

"Have you had dealings with Henry Tusk before?" Max asked.

Oscar was still in a daze, and it took him a moment to answer. "Henry Tusk? No. Who is that?"

"He’s the man who was murdered around 1.13 am," Max continued.

"What?" Oscar said. "I don't understand what this has to do with me."

"What do you mean? What has it got to do with you, Oscar?" Max said, smiling incredulously. "You entered that building at 1.13 this morning, and you killed Henry Tusk. You poisoned him, Oscar. We know you did it, and it would be far better if you confessed and saved yourself some jail time."

"No, no, no, no, no," Oscar said. "No, I don't kill anyone. I would never kill anyone. I don't even know the man you are talking about. I was there, alright. I should have said that from the start, but I didn’t… I didn't want them to know." Oscar’s gaze flickered again to the other employee in the room.

"You didn't want them to know what?" Sloane asked.

"He called me earlier that day and asked if I could come at after midnight when there would be no employees around," Oscar said.

"Who called you?" Max asked before Oscar continued the story.

"Mr. Smith from Endless Enterprises, another firm in the building," Oscar explained. "He told me there was a job to be done in his office, and that if I took the job outside of the company, he could pay me cash under the table, and no one would ever need to know about it." Oscar rubbed his head in his hands. "I don't earn a lot, alright. I knew I shouldn’t have done it, but I did, and I do regret that, but I didn't kill anyone. I would never kill anyone."

"What was the job?" Sloane asked.

"He wanted cameras installed in the office, but he didn't want the staff knowing they were there. I don't know why he wanted them, but he told me it was because of theft, and I didn't believe him, but it was money in my pocket, and I needed money to send home. It was foolish, but I didn't kill anyone. I will swear that to you now. I’ll do anything you want, say anything you want, but I need this job. I have a family here and more family back home, and without me, they starve, Detectives. Please. Please believe me."

Sloane could see he was playing it up, but she did believe him, and even though he was currently their best suspect, she felt sorry for him.

"We’re going to have to take you down to the station to take your statement and check your story," Sloane said. "Even with what you’ve told us, it doesn’t prove you didn’t kill him, so if you have anything else you need to tell us, tell us now."

"I don’t, I swear," Oscar said. "Please, if you take me out of here, I lose my shifts for today, and I can't lose any shifts."

"You should have thought about that before you took money under the table." Max must have shared the same sympathies as Sloane. "The best we can do right now is to not handcuff you as long as you come nicely, but we’re not leaving the building without you, Oscar."

Oscar sighed but said nothing more. When Max and Sloane stood up, he stood up, and he walked beside Max out of the building. No one said anything to them or asked any questions.

Max sat in the back with Oscar Almasi while Sloane drove them to the precinct.

Sergeant Ramirez was waiting for them when they got there.

"I’ll take him. Just text me the details," the sergeant said to them before they could get a word in. "The coroner just called with early autopsy results. This case is more than we initially thought, and you need to get over there right now."

CHAPTER FIVE

Max drove them away from the precinct on the short drive to the coroner’s office.

"What does that mean?" Max asked. "This case is more than we thought?"

"C’mon, you know the Sarge likes to be cryptic. To have asked what he meant would only have annoyed him and slowed us down." Sloane yawned, unable to stifle it this time. "If I had to guess, it would be that we have another murder connected to this one. I don't know if we want that or not. Do we want a simple murder case or a serial killer?"

"If it is connected, maybe we have our killer already behind bars," Max noted. "It’s a pretty good way to blend in and get to people. If Almasi’s going into buildings late at night, there’s no one else around, and even if he can't kill during the night, he can case the place out without looking suspicious."

"Do you get the impression he’s a killer?" Sloane asked.

"No, but he said it himself. He needs money, and if there is enough money in it, people will end another’s life. You only have to find that amount."

"What amount is that for you, Max?" Sloane asked.

"When I’m hungry, I’d be pretty tempted by a cream cheese and smoked salmon bagel."

Sloane chuckled and looked out of the window. The city had awoken, and the streets were much busier. Everything was bathed in a golden glow now the sun was up. Everyone went about their business, unaware someone had died amongst them.

"How about the Domingo family angle?" Max asked. "What do you make of all that?"

"They’ll need a good reason," Sloane said. "If it’s a case of the lease being up and the owner chucking them out to make a buck on selling the building to be demolished, then maybe, but in that area? People know people. The building owner must have known who was renting from him. Or maybe someone from outside the city owns the building; I don't know. Either way, why go after the property developer and not the building owner?"

"Maybe Henry Tusk was the driving force behind the deal," Max suggested. "If this was his idea and it hadn’t been finalized, maybe it falls apart without him."

"I like that," Sloane said. "And it makes sense, as long as Henry was the target. We should find that out as soon as we talk to the coroner. If we find out he was poisoned and not the coffee, then we investigate that angle."

Max smiled as he drove. It was usually Sloane bringing the brains to the operation, and he was proud of himself for being the one to suggest it.

When they arrived at the coroner’s office, Max pulled into the parking lot and parked.

Dr. Maria Santos, the coroner, was waiting for them inside, and they were taken straight to her office.

"Thank you for getting back to us so quickly," Sloane said. "Sergeant Ramirez told us you had something important for us."

"I do," Dr. Santos said. "We were able to confirm that Henry Tusk was poisoned." She tapped on her keyboard and then turned the monitor to show the screen to Sloane and Max. "Do you see the small dot surrounded by red?"

"Yes," they said together.

"Almost imperceptible to the human eye, but this is where he was injected," the cornered said.

"So, he was targeted," Sloane said to Max.

"Henry Tusk was injected with cicutoxin, a violent neurotoxin. With the dose he was given, he would have been dead within fifteen to twenty minutes."

"So, someone was with him for some time?" Max asked.

"No, not necessarily," Dr. Santos said. "The cause of death was asphyxiation, but the toxin would have caused paralysis long before that. There would have been convulsions, muscle spasms, and paralysis of the body, later including respiratory paralysis. The body would try to get rid of the toxin through vomiting, but it doesn't work, especially when injected. The toxin would have entered his bloodstream almost immediately."

"Okay, so we have established that someone was there with him," Sloane said. "He was injected, and then his killer might have hung around but didn't need to. Do you know where this toxin can be obtained?"

"It comes from the water Hemlock plant," the coroner explained. "The plant itself is highly toxic and must be handled with care, so you won't find it just anywhere. It is easily grown in contained environments, but it also grows wild, and if someone knew what they were doing, they could grow it in their backyard."

Maria Santos tapped on her keyboard again, and a picture of the plant in the wild appeared. It was a fern-like plant with toothed leaves. The stems were green with purple stalks, and the flowers were white and clustered.

"It has been mistaken for carrot or parsley in the past, other vegetables, too," Maria explained. "Not often, but it does happen. The person who injected Henry Tusk definitely had knowledge about the plant and would have had to extract enough toxin to produce an injectable dose."

"And it grows in Phoenix?" Max asked.

"Definitely in the area, and as I said, you could grow it in your backyard if you knew what you were doing."

"Okay, so Henry Tusk was injected with poison and intentionally murdered," Sloane said. "That’s not the sole reason you brought us down here, is it? What else do you have for us, Dr. Santos?"

"Martha Fieldstone," Maria said. She tapped again on her keyboard and brought up an image of a dead woman on the coroner’s metal table, presumably Martha. "Martha Fieldstone was found dead in her home garden three weeks ago. When I did the autopsy, I found traces of the same poison and an injection site in her shoulder. I can't say for sure, but I think there’s a strong chance that the same person killed both victims."

"We need to get a look at any files connected to Martha Fieldstone," Sloane said.

"And we need to find out where Oscar Almasi was when she was killed," Max added.

***

 The man adjusted his coveralls before he entered the large greenhouse. He took in a deep breath, engulfing himself in the floral and earth aromas. The greenhouse was not beautiful by any means, the main structure an old building he had converted, and the glazing made of old windows that he’d fitted into place with rusty nails and screws, using small panes of glass to fill the gaps.

The greenhouse acted as a metaphor. That was how he always saw it. It was about taking things that were broken and making them into something new. His time in Thornwood Prison had taught him that. Broken things were often the most malleable, and they could be shaped more easily, even if they seemed rigid at first. The windows were not ideal for a greenhouse, each of them a different size, but if the area was prepared first, then it could be made to fit the window instead of trying to jam the windows into places they didn't fit.

It was about giving back. The windows had all been discarded, and if left to their own devices, they would have eventually become cracked and broken. He had breathed new life into them, given back to the windows, and they gave back to him by focusing the light and storing the heat from the sun. Without them, the garden within wouldn’t grow.

He had spent his entire life giving back, and he didn't want to stop now. He would continue to give back and help those who needed it the most. He bent down and pulled a ripe red strawberry from the low stem, popping it straight in his mouth.

"Fully organic, no pesticide here," he said to himself as he chewed on it, the sweetness bursting out. It was delicious, better than any strawberry that could be bought in a store.

"You continue to save me," he said to the plants.

They saved him now by giving him nourishment, but they had saved him before by showing him there was a purpose in life. Without the plants, he would not have survived the prison.

He walked through the greenhouse, obscured from the main road by the abandoned buildings around it, and reached out his hand to touch some of the taller plants. The earth in the building had been tiled once the remainder of the floor had been removed, and he’d had to bring in compost to supplement the soil, but once the balance was right, there was very little to do over than monitor. Rain barrels collected water to be used, and a faucet in one of the buildings was still operational if he needed more.

The man walked past the table where he processed the fruit and vegetables and continued toward the rear of the building. He stopped and plucked a cherry tomato from a vine, popping it into his mouth and exploding it with pressure from his teeth. He had to tighten his lips to stop it from spurting forth.

Before he reached the far end of the makeshift greenhouse, he took some latex gloves from his pocket and donned them. He then stopped at the rear of the greenhouse and looked down at the water hemlock plant.

It was beautiful. Not because of the shape of its leaves or the color of the flowers, both of which were unremarkable compared to some other flowers he’d tended, but because of the toxin it contained. That made it the most beautiful plant in the greenhouse. The other plants were fine, but none of them could kill like water hemlock could.

The man crouched down and carefully pushed the soil aside to expose the roots. He then easily lifted the plant from the soil. The roots contained the most concentrated poison, and the rest of the plant would not survive without them, so it would have to be discarded. He could extract the toxin from the rest of the plant, but it would be a weaker version, so it was best to use the roots alone.

As he stood back up, he looked at the row of water hemlock plants. There were plenty more, so he didn’t need to worry about extracting all the possible toxins from the plant. He would burn what was not used.

The man took the plant to the table in the middle of the greenhouse. He pulled out an old cutting board and knife, which he had only used for the water hemlock. He cut off the roots and chucked the rest of the plant into a metal can under the table. Then, he used the knife to carefully chop and crush the roots.

The man poured some ethanol into a jar and brushed the crushed roots from the board with the knife. He watched the pieces of roots gently sink in the liquid.

He set the board and knife aside to be sanitized later and placed the glass jar at the back of the table. The cicutoxin would dissolve into the ethanol overnight before the roots were removed. Then, the mixture would be slowly evaporated over low heat to produce a concentration of the toxin. After that, it would be ready for use.

The man took a breath as he examined the roots in the glass jar. They represented giving back—he was giving back, and the water hemlock was giving back. They gave back by taking a life.

Two had been killed, but there were many more to go. He was patient. He would kill them one by one until he had none left to kill.

CHAPTER SIX

Sloane and Max sat in their office in the precinct, going over the files for Martha Fieldstone. She was an urban planning commissioner who had been found in her garden by a neighbor three weeks ago.

"That has to be the link, right?" Max asked. "Henry Tusk was a real estate developer, and Martha Fieldstone was a planning commissioner. Someone was upset about the changes in the city and took matters into their own hands."

"It’s really personal," Sloane said. "Someone took the time to either get their hands on the poison or to make it themselves, and neither is a straightforward task. The killer could have stabbed, strangled, or shot them, but they chose to poison the victims. To get nice and close and then stick a needle into them and kill them. Whoever did that is angry, and I think they’re angry at these people specifically. I mean, you don't take this much time to kill the planning commissioner if your beef is at the planning department."

"So, we look at connections specific to the two," Max said. "Maybe she was involved in the deal Henry was orchestrating. You don't get anything done in the city without talking to the planning commissioner first. The killer goes after her, thinking it would stop the development, and when it doesn’t, they go after Henry Tusk."

"I hope you’re right, Max," Sloane said. "If you are, then it means the killer doesn't have anyone in their sights right now. If you’re wrong, they might be targeting someone as we speak. Where are we at with an alibi for Oscar Almasi?"

"They’re checking on it right now," Max said. "If he was at a job that entire morning with three other guys, then we know he didn't kill Martha Fieldstone. If he didn't kill Martha, then it’s unlikely that he killed Henry Tusk, but we’re still waiting to hear back from the office manager on the fifth floor to confirm he asked Oscar to do the job that night. It just seems like a heck of a coincidence there would be a murder on the same night a maintenance worker was called to a job on one of the floors above."

"It does, but they happen," Sloane said. "An alibi for the first murder would all but rule him out, in my opinion, but confirmation from the fifth floor would really cement that."

"How about the case file for Martha Fieldstone?" Max asked. "Do we have any leads that haven’t been followed?"

"No, but I would like to talk with Dr. James Cooper again," Sloane said. "He was a colleague of hers, and they both taught at the same university. From the statement he gave, they became good friends there and continued that after she left. The detective who questioned him was acting on the assumption that this was a one-off murder and there would be no direct connection to any developments. Maybe Dr. Cooper has more information for us now."

"When do you want to pay him a visit?" Max asked.

"First thing in the morning," Sloane replied. "We could both do with a good night of rest after being called in so early this morning. I feel as rough as you look, Max."

"I don't know if that’s a compliment or not," Max said. "Alright, we finish up here and then head home for the day. I have some two-day-old Chinese food in the fridge with my name on it."

"Sounds delightful," Sloane said.

"No, it is," Max claimed. "The flavors really come together when they get to sit in the fridge together for a while. They become good friends."

"I don't know if I’ve ever heard anyone describe cold takeaway quite like that before, Max, but I’ll take your word for it."

"It’s what makes me a good detective," Max claimed. "Seeing things in a different way."

Sloane smiled. "I’ll take your word for that, too, Max."

***

The university education assistant escorted Sloane and Max to Dr Cooper’s office. After a full night's sleep, Sloane felt her head was much clearer. She could see that freshness reflected in Max’s eyes—he looked more rested than he had the previous day.

The university building was large, but the layout inside was straightforward. They passed lecture halls, and some doors were open while others were closed. Students dotted the hallways and seating areas. The smell was familiar. Sloane hadn't studied for her criminal psychology degree at this university, but it felt much the same.

When they reached his office door, the education assistant said, "Dr. Cooper is expecting you. " The woman knocked and was told to enter. She opened the door and stood back to allow Sloane and Max to go in. "Can I get you anything, Dr. Cooper?" she asked.

"No, I’m fine," he said gruffly. He waved his hand toward the two detectives. "Take a seat."

It felt like they had been sent to see the principal instead of being there to interview someone in a murder case.

"They haven’t been caught yet," Dr. Cooper said.

Sloane hadn’t realized it was a question until he looked up from his notes at them with a gaze that demanded an answer.

"No," Sloane replied, "but we’re working on it."

Dr. Cooper took off his glasses and placed them on his desk. "And before you were working on it, someone else was working on it, and it's been three weeks. I know how this works. If the killer isn't found soon after, they've probably got away with it."

Dr. Cooper had a face that matched his brusque manner. His skin was crisscrossed with creases, most of which looked like they came from anger rather than laughter. His eyes were softer without the glasses and piercing with them on. He wore a suit jacket with patches on the elbow as if he wanted to lean into the stereotype and didn't want to scuff his attire.

Sloane had gone toe-to-to with Vincent Mercado, but she felt more nervous in the presence of Dr. James Cooper.

"Dr Cooper," Max said. "We understand it has been three weeks, but there are new developments in the case, and we are hoping to go over some questions with you. Would that be okay?"

"Would that be okay?" Dr. Cooper wrinkled his nose. "Are you asking if I have the time to assist in the capture of my good friend’s killer? Yes, I’m sure I can spare some time. Can you think of anything I could be doing that’s more important than that?"

Sloane detected more than a hint of mockery in his voice.

"Dr. Cooper, you and Martha Fieldstone met here. Is that correct?" Sloane asked, continuing the conversation.

"Yes," he replied, curtly.

Did she ever have any disagreements with anyone during her time at the university?" Max asked.

"I already told this to the other detective," Dr. Cooper said.

"We understand, but we would appreciate it if you could tell us again," Max said.

"Have you read the report the other detective wrote?" Dr. Cooper asked. "I presume he wrote a report."

"I have," Max said.

"Then you know exactly the answer to that question. Don't waste my time, Detectives, and I won't waste yours. If you have any additional questions, please ask them."

Sloane had also read the report, which described a woman who was liked and admired by her colleagues. Dr. Cooper had stated that she had no enemies at the university.

"The report didn't tell us the reason she left the university," Sloane said. "Why did she move on?"

"Good, an actual question where I don't have to repeat myself," Dr. Cooper said. "Marta left because she was offered an urban planning position with great potential for growth. She would have been an idiot not to take it. If you are asking what I believe you are asking, she left on good terms. She was not fired from her role here; she remained in place for six weeks to help integrate her replacement, and there were no hard feelings from anyone."

"We’d like to talk more about her role as an urban planner," Sloane said. "We have reason to believe her death might be connected to a new development in the city. You knew her best from what we have been told, so can you think of any conflict she had in her role after leaving the university?"

"She didn't mention anything to me. She kept her head down when she worked for the planning department, knowing that if she were to move up, she would be scrutinized. She didn't want any sort of scandal to ruin her promotion to the top, and it didn’t."

"Was anyone upset that she got the job over them?" Max asked.

"If they did, they didn't show it," Dr. Cooper said. "And Martha didn't mention that anyone was bitter about her being promoted. The one thing about Martha is that she invested in the people around her. Even if someone was upset that she got the role over them, she would have taken them with her. Martha was a team player. Of course, if you want conflict, she had that in buckets once she became commissioner."

"What sort of conflict?" Sloane asked.

"Oh, all sorts," Dr. Cooper replied. "When you’re in charge of everything, you can't please anyone. If a subset of people wants a certain zoning for an area, another subset will not want it. If there’s a push for more commercial expansion, someone else will be calling for green spaces and social housing. I always told with her that it had to be in balance. If ever there was a project that had total support from everyone, she should steer well clear of it."

"You mention conflict with people as commissioner, but does anything stand out?" Sloane asked. "We want to attack the development and planning angle. Was there anyone who stood out?"

"She did speak about Aiden Shaw, a landscaper or architect. No, landscape architect, that's what he calls himself. He also calls himself successful, but that's debatable. The only thing he's successful at is keeping his fingers in a lot of pies. I heard he's also involved in some sort of eco-activism. Martha mentioned once that he threatened her, but she only mentioned it once."

"What was the threat?" Sloane asked.

"I have no idea," Dr. Cooper said, raising his hands. "I told the other detective this, and he wrote it in his notebook, but I assume it didn’t make it into his report. Listen, most things were like water off a duck’s back for Martha, but he must have bothered her more than usual. I don't know what happened between them, but he would be where I’d start digging."

"Thank you, Dr. Cooper," Sloane said. "We won't take up any more of your time, but if you think of anything else, please give us a call."

"I will," Dr. Cooper said. After talking with him, he was much more agreeable than he had been when they first entered. Perhaps it was because they were leaving.

Sloane and Max left the office and found their own way out of the building.

"So, we pay Aiden Shaw a visit?" Max asked.

"We will, but I want to find out why he wasn’t followed up on by the detective who was assigned the case initially."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sloane sat with Detective Samson in his office. Although she had seen him around and knew him by name, she knew little about him. Sloane often found that male colleagues spoke down to her because she was a woman, but Samson didn't treat her any differently, even though his case had been assigned to her and Max.

"Yeah, I’m glad you and Callahan are on it," he said. "I keep going back to it, but there are no other leads to follow."

"You spoke to Dr. Cooper, and he mentioned Aiden Shaw to you, but he’s not mentioned in the official reports," Sloane pointed out.

"We had a conversation with him, but it didn't lead anywhere," Detective Samson said. "I remember Cooper telling us there had been threatening behavior, and that is pretty standard for Aiden Shaw, but we spoke to him, and he didn't report any interaction with Martha Fieldstone at all. He also had an alibi for the time of her murder. He was at one of his sites the entire morning. We had to rule him out."

"You said that threatening people is standard behavior for him. What does that mean?" Sloane asked.

"Not threatening exactly. He thrives on public engagement," Detective Samson said. "We checked out his social media, and he's heavily involved in the development of Phoenix and has some strong opinions about it. He often does these one-take videos with him in the shot at some location that's being developed, needs to be developed, or has been developed, and he basically tears it apart…along with whoever's responsible for it. I don't know if he believes anything of what he said, but it stirs up public debate, and that's what it's all about right? Get some interactions on your post and your name out there, and you monetize that somehow. His name is out there, and I'm pretty sure that's what he wants."

"So, you’ve spoken to him in person?" Sloane asked.

"Yeah, we did. He gave us an alibi, and we downloaded the GPS data from his vehicle, and it showed where he was the entire morning. We’ve also looked into the Desert Guardians connection."

"Desert Guardians?" Sloane asked. "What is that? We heard that Aiden Shaw might be involved in eco-activism."

"That’s exactly what it is," Detective Samson confirmed. "He tried to distance himself from the group when we asked him about it, but we have reliable information that he’s heavily involved."

"And the group?" Sloane asked.

"They're very vocal and believe humans don't belong in the wilderness at all, but now they're here, their duty is to care for and guard it. They're rigorously opposed to development and expansion; they can get provocative—targeting officials online and in person; someone had eggs thrown at them, which maybe isn't all that ecological. Their supposed 'mission' has expanded to cover any building or works they take exception to, regardless of how close to the wilderness it is."

"So, they take action when needed?" Sloane asked.

"That’s the impression I got."

"Alright," Sloane said, rubbing her forehead. "So, Aiden posted a lot of videos online, calling people out, but we don't know if he took action. How about Martha? Does he have one calling her out? Threatening her?"

"No, never," Detective Samson said. "He calls out a lot of people, and he makes trouble for himself, but there’s nothing connecting him to Martha Fieldstone. I wish there had been, but we didn't have anything we could use to arrest him. You can take a shot at him if you want, but he’s not the guy."

"Alright, thank you, Detective."

Sloane headed back to the precinct to talk with Max about the next steps, Martha very much at the forefront of her mind. If she’d told her good friend Dr Cooper about being threatened by Shaw, then it had clearly affected her deeply. And yet there was no trace of it, no sign of any interaction between her and the controversy-loving Aiden Shaw.

Did he threaten her in secret?

Sloane wondered if it was worth paying Aiden Shaw a visit to take a crack at him. She had no doubt that Detective Samson and his partner had tried their best, but Sloane and Max had a way of getting people to talk.

Sloane parked in the underground parking lot and headed up to the office to see if Max had found anything. She grabbed a fresh cup of coffee on the way, the effects of her sleepless night still lingering from the previous day.

"Hey," she announced when she got to the office door. "Any luck on your end?"

"Nothing so far," Max said. "I’m going through all his social media posts, starting with the most recent and working back to see if I can find any mention of Martha Fieldstone, but I don't have a direct connection so far. There are mentions of projects she is responsible for, but there are no threats attached."

"Yeah, I got nothing from Detective Samson. He spoke to Shaw, and he provided an alibi for the murder."

"Do you want to check for an alibi for the second murder?" Max asked.

"Maybe," Sloane said.

"Riddle!" Sergeant Ramirez called from his office door.

Sloane left Max to his work, the whole thing bugging her. If Aiden had made a threat, it must have been secretly, but was he capable of that? He came across as big and brash, which wasn’t really consistent with someone who’d quietly threaten someone, then kill them over a building project.

"Sarge?" Sloane said when she reached his office.

"Riddle, grab a seat," Sergeant Ramirez said. "Can we let Oscar Almasi go, or do you want another crack at him? He has a strong alibi for the murder of Marta Fieldstone. Three employees attest that he was at a job with them the entire morning. We know for sure he didn't kill her. It’s a little more complicated with Henry Tusk. The office manager for Endless Enterprise confirms that he called Oscar earlier in the day and asked him to come in after midnight with the intention of requesting the work be done in secret and off the books. He confirms that Almasi completed the job, and it would have taken around two hours."

"So, he was there when we were there?" Sloane asked.

"That’s what Almasi told me when I spoke to him," Sergeant Ramirez said. "He said he went there to do the job and didn't see or hear anything until the emergency vehicles arrived. He was worried at first that they were there for him because the job wasn’t discussed through the official channels, but when they didn't come up to the fifth floor, he finished the job, then snuck out when he could through the back exit."

"And he didn't see or hear anything?" Sloane asked.

"That’s what he said."

Sloane took a deep breath as she considered it. Although she didn't like that he was in the building, only a few floors away, the story was so coincidental that she believed it.

"I’m sure we’re looking for the same person for both kills," Sloane said. "We can cut him loose for now, but he remains a person of interest."

Sergeant Ramirez nodded. "How are you doing with the Domingo Family?"

"I’ve put the word out quietly for everyone to keep their eyes open and ears to the ground," Sloane said. "It’ll take time to get any information back about them and the pizza place that’s facing demolition. When it was just Henry Tusk, there was a connection, but we haven’t found any links between the Domingos and Martha Fieldstone."

"Keep looking," the sergeant said. He paused for a second. "Riddle, will there be more murders?"

Sloane signed. "I don't know," she admitted. "We don't know why the two victims were killed, but we can be certain they were killed by the same person. Is it possible there will be more? Yes, it’s possible. Or, this could be a vendetta against the two deceased, and it ends here. I wish I knew more, Sarge."

"You will," he said. "You always find what you need to find, but Riddle? I would rather not have to explain to the Police Captain why we have a third body on our hands, so whatever you need to find, find it quickly."

"I will," Sloane said with a tight smile.

She left his office, wondering exactly how she was supposed to do that.

The killer can do his best to hide the evidence from us, but we’ll find it.

A thought struck Sloane, and she walked quickly back to the office she shared with Max.

"Hey, any luck with the social media?" she asked.

"No, and if the other detectives went through it, then I don't think I’m going to hit on anything."

"I was thinking about that," Sloane admitted. "Aiden Shaw is a man who says what he wants when he wants, right?"

"Right," Max said.

"And he’s not afraid to go after anyone, right?"

"Right again," Max said.

"Martha felt attacked enough to talk to Dr. Cooper about a threat when she never mentioned anyone else. If Aiden Shaw made a threat, how would he do it?"

"Publicly," Max said.

"Exactly," Sloane replied. "Now, if he made a threat, and then Martha wound up dead, what would be his next move?"

"To erase whatever he posted," Max said.

"What if that’s what he did?" Sloane asked. "What if he made a threat against her, heard she was dead, panicked, and removed the threat? Or, what if he followed through on the threat and knew it would point back to him?"

"I’ll get down to the tech department now and see if they can recover any deleted media from his accounts," Max said. "I really hope you’re right, Sloane. We really need a break in this case."

***

Twenty-four hours later, they got the break they had hoped for. Sloane and Max sat down in front of the screen as they watched the video posted two days before Martha was murdered and removed four hours after she had been found dead in her garden. The video had been shared by one of the viewers, and that video had not been scrubbed with the original.

Aiden Shaw was on the edge of the city, his face filling half the screen and the landscape behind filling the other half. The reddish earth was pocked with plant life. Sloane leaned a little closer to see if water hemlock was among them. She couldn’t see any.

"Martha Fieldstone, our urban planning commissioner, has made some great moves to upgrade our fine city, but she’s finally come crashing down. The recent development on the outskirts of the city means the end of our native plant habitats, and we can't stand for that. So, I am calling you out right here and right now, Martha Fieldstone. I want you to understand what you are destroying, and if you continue on this path, you will have to face the consequences. Are you willing to do that, Martha? Somebody needs to take you out of the game, Martha, before you do any more damage."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sloane and Max walked into the commercial building that housed Aiden Shaw’s landscape company. The building had a plant nursery, equipment rental, a storefront, and an office where services could be discussed. The sign above the front door and the reception desk inside said, "Aiden Shaw: Landscape Architect."

Max went to the reception desk, where he showed his identification and asked to see Aiden, but Sloane was interested in something else. She walked into the plant nursery, checking for one plant among many: water hemlock, but there was no sign of its distinctive sawtooth leaves or delicate flowers. She walked up and down the long rows, but there was no sign of the plant.

Then, a door to the right caught her attention. It was connected to the main plant nursery, and a green hose ran under the door. Sloane approached it. There were no employees around, not that their presence would have stopped her. She tried the handle to find it unlocked and opened the door.

It was disappointing when a large storage cupboard was revealed where the green hose connected to a water pipe.

If you grow toxic plants, you don't do it out in the open or anywhere they can be stumbled upon.

"We have to go," Max said. "He’s not here."

"Where is he?" Sloane asked.

"At city hall," Max said. "There’s a city planning meeting he’s a part of."

Sloane and Max got back in Max’s car and headed back toward the town center.

"He deleted the video," Max said. "Why make it and then delete it? It can't have been something he planned. If he meant to kill her, there’s no way he would make the video threat. He makes it, meets with her, loses control, and then has to backtrack on the video when he kills her, and deletes it, hoping that no one sees it or records it."

"He didn't lose control," Sloane said. "I don't know about Aiden Shaw, but the killer didn't lose control. Whoever killed Martha and Henry took a syringe of poison with them. This was not a spur-of-the-moment thing. The video doesn't make sense. I mean, it makes sense that he deleted it, but not that he made it in the first place if he’d planned to kill her. And he has an alibi for the first murder."

"There’s GPS data of him at a job site, but what if he loaned his vehicle out that day?" Max asked. "What if he had someone drive it for him to give him an alibi? It would be pretty smart. Detective Samson didn't do any digging because there was an alibi, and they didn't know about the threat. The second murder was in the middle of the night. If he has the same alibi for that one, then I start to get suspicious."

"Let’s bring him in and see what he has to say," Sloane said. "The threat in the video is enough to have a chat at the precinct with him."

When they reached city hall, they parked in the underground parking lot and walked to the stairwell.

"The truck," Max said, pointing to a black truck parked close to the stairs. He took out his notepad and checked something. "Yeah, that’s the plate matches. That’s Aiden’s truck. He’s here."

Sloane and Max took the stairs to city hall and went to the main desk to ask about the planning meeting. After showing their IDs and explaining a little about why they were there, they were told where the meeting was being held, but that they couldn’t go in as they had a warrant.

"We don't mind waiting," Max said.

They took a seat outside the large conference room where the city planning meeting was in progress.

"I don't like it," Max told Sloane, "but he’s not going anywhere."

"I want to be ready for him," Sloane said.

While they waited, Sloane got on the phone and called the precinct. She wanted all the data they could get their hands on before they brought Aiden in: GPS from his truck for the night Henry Tusk was killed, along with CCTV and corroborating statements from Shaw’s employees, concerning his whereabouts around the time of both murders.. She wanted everything they could get their hands on before they brought Aiden in.

"Hey, have you heard anything from Brendan?" Max asked.

"Hmm?" Sloane asked.

"Your brother," Max said. "Has he made contact yet?"

"No." Sloane shook her head. The less she said, the less guilt she felt about lying.

"I’m sure he’s fine," Max said.

In Max’s eyes, Brendan was still missing and had been for over two weeks. His tone was uplifting, but Sloane knew he could not be thinking that deep down. He would be thinking the worst but saying the right thing to make Sloane feel better. Of course, Brendan was currently in Sloane’s apartment, and she couldn't tell Max that.

"Yeah, I know," Sloane said, trying to say the right thing in reply to avoid suspicion. "I’m just worried about him."

Max’s tone was upbeat, but Sloane knew he was trying to sound that way for her benefit. Deep down, he’d be thinking the worst. And that, of course, made her feel even worse about lying to him.

"I’m here for you." Max patted Sloane’s leg and left his hand there momentarily before taking it back.

"Thanks, Max," Sloane said. She really hated herself now. Because she did need comforting. Not because of Brendan. But because of the deal she’d struck with Vincent Mercado.

Sloane took a deep breath as she wrestled with doing the right thing. She didn't know what the right thing was anymore. Harboring Brendan was the right thing. Protecting him and keeping him safe was the right thing. Keeping him out of jail was the right thing. Making a deal with a crime boss was not the right thing, even when it Brendan’s life depended on the deal. Without the deal, Brendan would be killed. It was a wrong that enabled a right, but it was still wrong.

Sloane let the breath out of her nose and decided she had to tell him. "Max—"

She was interrupted by the doors to their right opening and the members of the city planning meeting spilling out. Sloane didn't recognize anyone, and she mentally reminded herself to take more of an interest in city business and the people who made the decisions for all of them.

She and Max both held up their IDs.

"Just a moment, ladies and gentlemen, please," Max called. "We need to speak to Aiden Shaw."

Sloane looked through the dozen or so people leaving the conference room, but she didn't see Aiden. She did see a door on the other side of the room, and she gritted her teeth.

"Aiden Shaw!" she called to the group. "Did he leave through the other door?"

There were confused looks from the people who were exiting the meeting to be accosted by two detectives.

Sloane took one by the shoulder, an older man in a grey suit. "Aiden Shaw," Sloane said. "Did you see where he went?"

"I don’t—" the man started. "Please take your hands off me, Detective. What is it you need to know?"

Sloane quickly moved her hands from the man’s shoulder, needing to show urgency but wanting answers.

"We’re looking for Aiden Shaw," she said. "He was in the city planning meeting with you, and I assume he left through the other door. Did he know we were here?"

"I don't understand what you are talking about," the man said. "All of us are here. No one left through the other door; it’s locked anyway."

"Then where is Aiden Shaw?" Max asked.

"No, he wasn’t here, thank goodness," the man said.

"Maybe Shaw’s planning on making less trouble now he’s got a foot in both camps," a woman chimed in.

"What does that mean?" Sloane pressed.

"His firm was just awarded a thirty-two million dollar contract to revamp and ‘wild’ the green spaces around all public buildings in the city over the next five years," she replied.

"And you don’t think he was awarded it fairly?" Sloane asked.

"I didn’t say that," the woman clarified. "But it’s always better to have a guy inside your tent peeing out than the other way around."

There were some murmurs of agreement and a few wry chuckles. All of them wanted to leave the meeting and move on to whatever came next.

Sloane and Max spent a further thirty seconds figuring out that Aiden Shaw had not been at the city planning meeting, nor had he been invited.

"What else is on right now?" Sloane asked. "Where else might he be?"

"There’s nothing else planned for today," a woman said.

"So, why isn’t he here?" Max asked.

The meeting members filtered away, offering no help, not because they didn't want to, but because they didn't have any help to offer.

"You put it in your schedule that you are at a city planning meeting at city hall, and you park in the underground parking lot," Sloane said. "Why?"

"To make yourself look important? To hide what you’re really doing?" Max said.

"The GPS data would show you were at city hall," Sloane said.

"You don't think he's here to kill someone, do you?" Max asked.

"I don't know," Sloane admitted. "All we know is that he’s here for a reason, and we know he’s close."

"Let’s fan out and search the place," Max said. "Maybe there isn’t anything going on in city hall today, but there might be someone here he wants to kill."

Sloane moved quickly, going right down the hallway while Max went left. Most of the city hall was open to visitors, and her badge gave her access to most places. However, she couldn’t gain access to some areas without a warrant.

After a fruitless search, Sloane and Max met back where they started, no one in the building having seen Aiden Shaw.

"I want to check his truck is still there," Max said. "Maybe he slipped past us."

He and Sloane walked quickly toward the stairs leading down to the parking lot. They exited the stairwell and headed straight for where the truck had been parked. It was still there, unmoved.

"I don't understand," Max said.

"Unless he wasn’t here to visit the city hall," Sloane said. "If he came to meet someone else, or to kill someone, he could park here to cover what he was really doing. No, he wouldn’t kill someone here and park so close. That wouldn’t give him an alibi."

Voices came from the opposite end of the parking lot, where it exited out onto the street. Sloane and Max stood stock still, looking in the direction of the voices. Two men came into view. One of them was Aiden Shaw. He took one look at them before he pushed his companion in one direction and took off in the other.

CHAPTER NINE

Sloane and Max took off after him, even though they knew he would have to return to his truck eventually. They bolted toward where the two men had been, and right before they both turned left to run between parked vehicles, Sloane hesitated.

They bolted towards the spot where the two men had been standing, but Sloane hesitated right before they turned left to run between two parked vehicles. She had the faintest sense that she’d recognized Aidan’s companion, and she almost ran after him but instead chose to follow Max, darting in between a white van and a blue car.

"Aiden Shaw!" Max shouted as they pursued the suspect. "Stop running, Aiden. We only want to talk with you!"

Aiden took no notice of the shout and continued running ahead of them. The only thing he hadn’t figured was a way out. Aiden and the other man had come from the exit on one side of the parking lot, and they had come from the other. There were no exits in between.

Why didn’t you run back the way you came? Is it because of the other man? Who is he, Aiden?

Aiden ducked in behind a truck and disappeared from view. Sloane and Max didn't need to say anything to each other. They instinctively fanned out, neither of them drawing their guns, but both ready to do so.

"Aiden, make this easier on yourself," Max called.

He was somewhere behind the parked vehicles, but they couldn’t see him nor which way he might be sneaking. They could wait, but not forever. He would have to come out sometime, and there was no place to go but through or past them.

"Come on, Aiden. Let’s talk, okay?" Max suggested.

They moved down the line of cars, Sloane and Max crouching down to look beneath. They went slowly, so he didn't remain in place and burst out from where he had initially hidden, getting through both of them. Even if he did, there would not be enough time to get to his truck before they caught him, and that meant his only option was running for an exit.

Sloane got to the end of a blue car when she heard a slight scrape from behind the red truck beside it.

"Aiden, come out and make this easier," Sloane said. "We are both armed."

She moved slowly toward the red truck, taking a couple of steps back so she would have time to draw her gun if needed. She was almost at the side of the truck when Aiden sprinted out toward her, meaning to slam right into her and knock her down.

Sloane didn't have time to move out of the way or pull her gun.

Max grunted from her left, and he slammed into Aiden’s side as Aiden emerged from behind the vehicle. They fell together, slamming into the ground, Aiden taking the brunt of the fall as they toppled over each other. Max came back up to his knees, pinning Aiden to the cement floor. They didn’t have to worry about a struggle. The wind had been knocked from him, agony crossing his face.

"Why did you run, Aiden?" Sloane asked, looking down on him.

"I want my lawyer," Aiden managed.

***

"What do we have on Aiden Shaw?" Sloane asked.

"The GPS checks out for the murder of Martha Fieldstone," the officer said, "but we can't corroborate it. We’ve looked at CCTV feeds from the worksite, and we don't see his truck or him there. Now, the truck is explainable. Where he would park would be off-camera, but he would have been visible at some point on the feed. We see all the employees who were present on the job that day, but not Aiden Shaw."

"Okay," Sloane said. "You spoke to the employees?"

"We did," the officer said. "They all claim to have spoken to him that day, but no-one can give any specifics. When pressed on what they spoke about, they gave vague answers, and when asked where exactly they’d met Aiden that day, none of them could remember. If you want my opinion, it sounds like they were told to say he was there if asked, but they weren’t given any further details."

"Alright," Sloane said. "How about Henry Tusk’s murder?"

"Shaw's GPS coordinates put his truck at his house all night, so if he snuck out, he had some other means of transport. He has no family, so we can't confirm he was home all night. That part will be up to you."

"And city hall?" Sloane asked. "Do you know if there was something going on that he could have been a part of?"

"The planning meeting was the only scheduled event at city hall that day," the officer replied. "We’ve checked the CCTV feeds from outside city hall, but we can't find him or the mystery man he was with on them. Realistically, if he was coming back in via that entrance, it’s likely he wasn’t visiting city hall. He was more likely coming from somewhere else."

"Is there anything around that you would guess he was doing?" Sloane asked.

"He could have been doing anything, anywhere," the officer replied. "It would depend on how much time he had. He could have jumped in an Uber from there and gotten back in good time."

"Alright, thank you," Sloane said. "Keep looking at the CCTV outside city hall and see if you can figure out where he went."

The officer nodded and returned to her desk.

Sloane went to find Max. Aiden Shaw’s lawyer had finally arrived, and Sloane wanted answers. They wanted to bring him in, but only to talk with him. Everyone was innocent until proven guilty, but running from two detectives and then asking for your lawyer felt like an admission of guilt. They only had to prove it.

"You ready?" Sloane asked Max.

"Yeah," Max said.

They went together to the interrogation room where Aiden and his lawyer had been for the past two hours.

"How do you want to do this?" Max asked.

"I don't know yet," Sloane admitted. "I want to see how he is in there and move forward based on that."

They entered the room. Aiden Shaw sat at ease at the table beside his lawyer as if he had not just run from law enforcement. He was chatting easily with his lawyer, laughing at something the lawyer said.

"We could charge you with resisting arrest," Sloane said as she approached the table.

The lawyer and Aiden continued to talk, ignoring them completely.

"Or fleeing from an officer," Max added as they reached the table.

"I can have both charges town out before you bring them," the layer said confidently.

"Can you?" Max asked. "That doesn’t seem possible though, does it? Unless you can time travel."

The lawyer didn't respond, not taking the bait.

"Why did you run?" Sloane asked. Aiden.

"My client was unaware that you had identified yourselves as police officers, and he was exercising before getting back into his truck. Although he works in a physically demanding arena, his principal responsibilities are organizational, and that entails spending a lot of time behind a desk and dealing with paperwork. I am sure we can demonstrate just how noisy it was in the parking garage and that it would have been almost impossible to hear you calling after him. In fact, we are thinking about bringing charges against Detective Callahan for using unnecessary force upon my client. He was minding his own business when you slammed into him."

"He was coming at me," Sloane said.

"Purely accidental," the lawyer said. "If you would like an apology, my client will gladly give it."

"Why did you tell your assistant you were going to city hall when you had no intention of attending the meeting, a meeting you weren’t invited to," Sloane asked.

"That’s not a crime, is it?" the lawyer asked.

"So, what were you doing at city hall?" Max asked. "Who were you meeting with?"

"Is the question in relation to a crime?" the lawyer asked. "If it is not, then I urge you to move on."

Sloane took a breath to settle herself. They had been in the room for several minutes and asked multiple questions, but Aiden Shaw had not yet said a word in response. From what she’d seen so far, he ran a successful business, and had a sizable presence on social media, but Shaw’s lawyer, with his handmade suit and his solid gold cufflinks, seemed to belong to a different league. Why hire such a big gun? It made Sloane suspicious that Aiden was hiding something else, and she felt sure it had something to do with the man he’d been with in the parking garage.

"Okay, here’s where we are at," Sloane said. "Mr. Shaw, you were already questioned in relation to the murder of Martha Fieldstone."

"And my client has an alibi for the time of the murder," the lawyer said.

"Yes, let’s talk about that," Sloane said. "Mr. Shaw, your truck was at the worksite all morning, but there is no evidence you drove it there."

"You're clutching at straws, Detective," the lawyer said. "Your argument won't hold up in court, and you know it."

"People say you were on site, but no one remembers exactly where they saw you or what they spoke about with you or where they met with you. There is plenty of CCTV footage of the job site and of your colleagues, but no footage of you, Mr. Shaw. There is ample footage of everyone else, but nothing of you."

"Detective Riddle, we already went over all of this the last time my client was interviewed, so can we please stop? I don't know what you expect my client to say, but if you have any evidence of wrongdoing, now would be the time to bring it up."

"We interviewed Dr Cooper, and he informed us that Martha told him about a threat that came from you, Aiden. Would you care to comment on that?"

"Hearsay," the lawyer said. "Again, the testimony of the deceased’s friend won't prove anything in court. He could say anything he wanted, but that wouldn’t make it true."

"So, you didn't threaten her?" Sloane asked.

"Do you have any evidence or will you continue to ask questions in the hope my client says the wrong thing by mistake?" the lawyer asked.

"It’s a simple question," Max said to Aiden. "Did you threaten Martha before she was murdered?"

"My client—"

"No," Max interrupted sternly. "I want to hear it from you, Aiden. Did you or did you not threaten Martha before she was murdered?"

Aiden finally opened his mouth. "I had no reason to threaten her."

Max smiled. "So, this wasn’t you, then?" He pulled out his tape recorder and played the audio from the deleted video. He kept the smile on his face for the entire recording. "We have the video, too, if you want to see it. You know, Aiden? The video you had deleted right after Martha was murdered."

"This proves nothing," the lawyer said.

His tone was almost imperceptibly different, but Sloane picked up on it. There was a tinge of frustration.

"You are right," Sloane agreed. "This proves nothing. Still, when you were questioned the first time you were brought in, the threat was brought up, and you claimed you had no idea what the detective was talking about. It doesn’t seem like your memory is very good, so what can we trust, Aiden?"

"My client said no such thing. He told your colleague Detective Samson that he hadn’t interacted with Martha Fieldstone. And he didn’t. He spoke about her in an online post. That does not constitute interaction, Detective. You have no evidence my client has committed a crime," the lawyer said.

"No, not concretely," Sloane said. "But we do have a public threat made against Martha Fieldstone shortly before she was murdered, and your client’s whereabouts during the time she was murdered are ambiguous. He withheld information from two detectives, ran from two others, tried to assault me, and won't answer any of our questions. Why did you threaten her, Aiden? Was it just for the clicks, or do you mean what you say?"

"She was destroying plant life," Aiden said.

"You don't have to answer any questions," the lawyer advised.

"No, it’s fine," Aiden said with a wave of his hand. "I made the stupid threat, so I should stand by it. And yes, I took it down as soon as I found out about the murder because I knew how it would look. She was bought and paid for, and the contracts went to the highest bidder, the one who lined her pockets with the most money. She would have destroyed the biodiversity around our city, and I couldn’t have that."

"Couldn't have that?" Max asked.

"I don't mean it like that. I just mean that I didn't want it. I wanted to shed some light on it, but I wouldn’t ever kill someone."

"You mentioned contracts going to the highest bidder," Sloane pointed out. "You were awarded a hefty public contract recently, weren’t you? Thirty-two million dollars?"

"A service provided at a reasonable cost," Aiden said. "It’s not like I get the money."

"The entire procurement procedure is a matter of public record," the lawyer pointed out. "My client bid for a contract alongside multiple other firms. His bid was one of the most attractive."

"And cheapest," Aiden added.

"Does that clash with your work for the Desert Guardians?" John asked. "Moonlighting as an activist in your spare time and then collecting a fat check from the city?"

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Aiden growled.

The lawyer placed a hand on Aiden’s arm. "What better way to change the system than from within?"

"Why did you lie about where you were on the morning she was killed?" Sloane asked, taking a chance by changing the direction of the interview abruptly.

"I…"

"It is in your best interests not to answer any questions, Aiden," the lawyer said.

"I’m not going to…" Aiden said before he grimaced.

"Not going to what?" Sloane asked.

The lawyer glared at Aiden.

"I can't give you any names, but I was meeting with someone that morning. That’s why I covered it up. That was nothing to do with the murder."

"Were you meeting the same person you were with today?" Sloane asked quickly.

"No, that was another—" Aiden shut his mouth and tightened his lips.

"Another what?" Sloane asked. It finally hit her, the man she’d seen in the parking garage. She did know him. She knew him from case files, and she knew exactly why Aiden had run. "Another member of the family?"

Aiden grimaced some more. He knew exactly what she was talking about.

"You ran to give him time to get away, didn’t you?" Sloane asked. "You don't have to answer that. I know that’s what you did it. He’s a member of the Domingo crime family—I’ve seen his photo before. Is that who you were meeting on the morning Martha was killed? Are you working for them, Aiden?"

"My client will answer questions pertaining to your investigation and nothing more," the lawyer said.

"Yeah, he will answer the questions we have about the investigation," Sloane said. "We’re going to leave you two to talk, and if you have something that will rule your client out of our investigation, then we would love to hear it. Until then, we will be detaining you."

Sloane got up, and Max followed.

"The Domingo family?" Max asked.

"The guy in the parking lot today. He’s the son of Tommy Domingo. I remember seeing his mugshot from his file. He was brought in on a dangerous driving charge and then never again. Did he meet one of the family on the morning Martha was murdered? That would be something he might want to cover up."

"That connects the Domingos to both murders," Max pointed out.

"It’s not enough of a connection…Yet," Sloane replied. "Aiden is connected to Martha, and the Domingos might be connected to Aiden. It’s not enough of a connection to finger them for both murders, though."

"But we have enough suspicion to keep looking at Aiden Shaw," Max said.

"Let’s see what they come back with," Sloane said.

In the meantime, I can give Mercado something. The Domingos, getting cozy with a guy who’s slated to receive 32 million dollars of public money, linked to two recent murders, and has trouble keeping his mouth shut…

CHAPTER TEN

Councilwoman Giselle Hernandez paced back and forth in her office, talking through the proposal in her head. There were currently dozens of rezoning projects going through city hall, and if hers was to stand out, she needed to ensure it was the best it could possibly be.

"Councilwoman Hernandez?" a young woman asked from the doorway of her office. "Is there anything else you need from me before I go?"

Giselle didn't have to look at her watch to know it was late. She had half a mind to fabricate something for the intern, so she would have to stay, for no reason other than because she could.

"No. Go," Giselle ordered.

She shook her head, unhappy that the intern had distracted her. Giselle stared down at the documents and tried to regain her train of thought.

"We need more places for people to go," she said, as if rehearsing her pitch. "On the streets of Phoenix, crime is on the increase, and the reason for that is boredom. We live in an age where information is instant, entertainment is instant. But people can’t spend their entire existence staring at a screen. We need shopping districts, entertainment hubs, bars and restaurants on every corner." Giselle shook her head. "Not on every corner. It would be idiotic if we had all of this on every corner. In every quadrant? No, more than that."

Giselle picked up a stack of documents and slammed them down on the table. She began pacing again.

"This rezoning will pave the way for Phoenix to not only become a city that attracts people from outside, but a place where the residents don’t ever want to leave. Don't ever want to leave? That sounds like some form of prison, Giselle. How do I say that in a positive way?"

"Miss Hernandez?"

Giselle turned toward the doorway a second time to find her personal assistant standing there. Monica had a clipboard in one hand and a garment in a cover in the other.

"I will have your green pantsuit dry-cleaned before the presentation tomorrow," Monica said. "I’ll be back at six tomorrow morning?"

"Yes, yes," Giselle said, waving her off.

She watched the young woman go, coveting her beauty. Monica is right. I do look amazing in the green pantsuit. We don't like to think it, but sex sells.

 Giselle spent some more time pacing her office back and forth, trying to find the correct wording, the right facial expressions, the correct combination of sexy and confident that would win over a panel predominantly made up of men. She stopped and listened. City hall was empty. Perhaps there was someone else on the other side of the building working later, but she couldn’t hear anyone around her. Her staff had gone for the night, and it was time for her to leave, too. Monica had said she would be back at six, and that meant Giselle would have to be back before that. It wouldn’t do to arrive later than her assistant, and not for the first time, she cursed Monica for being so eager.

Giselle grabbed her coat and bag, taking them in hand. It was warm outside still, even at the late hour, and she only had to go downstairs to the parking lot. She used her pass to scan through the security door and walked the long corridor past the gardens.

The gardens were indoors but made to look like they were outdoors. Glass panels separated the gardens from the corridors that ran around them, and the ceiling above the plants and flowers was painted blue with white clouds, so it looked like daytime, or a cartoon version of it, even during the night.

Giselle had never understood the need to have gardens inside city hall. If people wanted to see flowers and plants, they should go outside somewhere and see them. It was space that could be put to much better use.

As she was standing contemplating just how pointless the garden was, she noticed the janitor spraying the flowers with a fine mist. Then, she noticed him waving to her as he watered the plants, a smile plastered to his face.

Giselle shook her head and continued walking.

What does he expect me to do? I wouldn’t wave to a stranger on the street, so why would I wave to someone when they’re watering the plants in my workplace?

She shook her head again when she saw another member of the team up ahead spraying some of the potted plants from a spray bottle. She prayed inwardly that this one wouldn’t wave to her or try to engage her in conversation.

She tried to look the other way as she passed him to show with her body language that she was not interested in interacting. She was almost past him when she felt the spray of water.

"Oh, you idiot!" she snapped. "You have one job to do, and you can't even do that."

"I’m terribly sorry," the janitor said, rushing to her side. He suddenly had a cloth in his hand, and he wiped her jacket frantically, removing the moisture he had sprayed.

"Get off me," Giselle hissed. "You’re making it worse. And that rag stinks. Just leave me alone."

"I'm sorry, I’m sorry," the man repeated. "I’m such an idiot sometimes. Please don't tell anyone about this. My boss can't find out."

"Let’s see how I feel in the morning," Giselle said, having every intention of reporting him once she found out who she needed to report him to.

"Yes, of course," the janitor said. He quickly turned away and went back to spraying the plants.

As she walked away from the janitor, Giselle shook her head as angrily as she could, thinking about how she could embellish the story enough to get him fired. She entered the stairwell and rubbed at her eyes, something in her left eye. The rubbing only made it worse and transferred it to the right eye also. Giselle breathed in and coughed. She breathed through her nose, and her nostrils burned. She shook her head one last time as if she could shake the symptoms away.

"What is…" Giselle whispered. She was having trouble concentrating on getting to her vehicle and only just managed to pull the keys from her bag.

 She looked for her car but didn't see it initially because of her blurred vision. She blinked three, four, five times, and it cleared enough for her to locate the white Prius. She only had to get inside and sit down to rest for a bit. She had been working too hard and not sleeping enough. Maybe she could tell Monica to come in later tomorrow.

Giselle was almost at her car when she had a dizzy spell, and she almost fell over. She would have if someone did not take her elbow.

"I don't know what—" she said as she turned.

It felt like rain hitting her. More water was sprayed over her in a fine mist, and it got in her mouth and up her nose. It cooled her eyes for a second before they burned even more. She licked her lips as they tingled, and her tongue felt far too bulbous for her mouth.

"I don't understand," she muttered.

"It’s okay," the man said.

Giselle opened her mouth to say something else but was hit in the face with whatever it was he sprayed at her. Her shoulders shook as he held her by the elbow. Her heart beat quicker as if she had just been on the treadmill. She struggled to breathe.

Giselle was lowered to the ground. She could feel the hardness of it beneath her. She tried to talk, but her body didn't cooperate. It was barely awake enough to breathe.

Then a scraping sound, and more moisture on her face. She couldn’t see clearly. Then, footsteps of someone walking toward her. No, walking away from her. Giselle blinked furiously, unable to move or speak. She finally cleared her vision and saw warped metal sheets and pipes above her. It took her almost a minute to figure out she was under her car.

I’m safe from the rain.

Giselle wanted to shake her head but couldn't. She couldn’t remember where the rain had come from, but it wouldn’t get to her under the car.

I only have to wait. Someone will be along soon.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sloane looked at her phone as she stood outside the Whisky Lounge. Max was calling her—she hit the red button to ignore the call and then put the phone back in her pocket. She felt it vibrate but didn't check it a second time.

Max, how I wish you were here with me for this. I need someone to talk to about it, and I have no one—not that I can talk about it.

Sloane held her hands before her, trying to stop the trembling. She wanted to turn and flee, but it had to be done. She had to do something she never thought she would do to save her brother. To save herself.

She took a deep breath, then took the stairs down into the club. The last time she had been there, it was nearly full—lots of witnesses when she spoke to Vincent. Sloane thought it prudent to talk to Vincent privately. She had messaged him earlier, and he had ordered her to come to the club. She was sure it would be an agreeable meeting, but she still didn't feel good about it.

A security guard stood by the door next to the coat check counter, but no one was behind the counter.

"I’m here to see Vincent Mercado," Sloane told the guard.

"Special Agent Riddle," the guard said.

Sloane nodded and grimaced. She did not like that her name was known around the club, and she preferred to remain as anonymous as possible.

"He’s waiting for you," the guard said, standing to the side.

Sloane avoided eye contact as she walked past. The club was almost empty except for Vincent, who was currently on his phone and a barman. Sloane walked over to the table where Vincent sat. He looked up at her and waved his hand to indicate she should sit. Then, he said goodbye to whomever he was on the phone with.

"What do you have for me?" Vincent asked.

Sloane swallowed—the lump in her throat and her pride.

"I have information about the Domingo family," she said, looking away from him.

Vincent sat forward. "I like the sound of that, Special Agent Hawk. Don't go all coy on me now. What do you have on them?"

Sloane licked her dry lips and tried to keep her expression under control. She knew she would pass on the information to save her brother, but part of her rebelled even now. What she was doing was wrong, no matter how she looked at it. Yet, there were no better options.

She knew she was taking far too long to give the information, but her law enforcement instincts would not let her hand it over too easily.

"I don't have all day," Vincent told her.

Just get it over with, like ripping off a Band-Aid!

Sloane looked Vincent in the eyes. If she was doing it, she was putting on a brave face. She told him what they had discovered about the Domingo family and Aiden Shaw’s involvement. When she was done, she needed to shower—she’d been forced to wallow in the weeds and muck with a criminal.

"You came through, Special Agent Hawk," Vincent said as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

"We’re done," Sloane said. "I held up my end of the deal, so it’s time to hold up yours."

"Oh, we’re far from done," Vincent said. "We’re talking about your life and the life of your brother. Don't you think that’s worth a little more than what you’ve given me?"

"We had a deal," Sloane pointed out.

"We have a deal," Vincent corrected. "Don't worry, I won't hold this over your head forever, but I’ll need more than this, Special Agent. This is a good start, and I’m pleased you came to see me. Now, get back out there and collect some more useful information for me. Be glad that I’m not currently thinking about executing your brother."

Sloane wanted to argue, but she knew it would be useless to do so. She maintained the neutral expression as she pushed herself up from her chair. She turned from Vincent, hoping never to see him again, but knowing she would. Sloane strode through the club, past the security guard, and out into the open air.

She almost threw up onto the sidewalk.

***

"I couldn’t get a hold of you," Max said. "You okay?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah," Sloane said in a rush. "I had some stuff I had to deal with." She smiled at Max. "I checked back in to see if Aiden Shaw had anything for us."

Max looked at her inquisitively as he took off his jacket. After a pause, he asked, "And?"

"His lawyer dropped off some files for us during the night," Sloane said.

"Does this mean we have to cut him loose?" Max asked.

"I think so." Sloane sighed. "I think it’s more obvious now that Aiden Shaw is dealing with the Domingos. The lawyer dropped off phone data showing Aiden’s phone location at a small restaurant close to the job site on the morning of Martha’s murder and at home on the night of Henry’s. We also have doorbell camera footage of him arriving home on the night Henry Tusk was killed, long before Henry was killed, and no sign of his going out again. Both could be doctored, but that would be a lot of effort to go to when he could have organized another alibi."

Sloane took a drink of her coffee and a bite of her breakfast muffin before she continued. "There’s also CCTV footage of him in the area close to the job site on the morning of Martha’s murder, and he can be seen going into a small restaurant, presumably to meet someone from the Domingo family. The staff in the restaurant will swear to seeing Aiden there, and there is a credit card transaction from the restaurant around the time of Martha’s murder. All in all, we don't have any reason to keep him."

"Alright, I’ll give him the good news," Max said. "What else do we have?"

"At the moment, we need to work on the development connection. Henry was working on a big development, and Martha had sway over the developments in the city. If someone wanted to halt developments, then murdering those two individuals is a pretty good way to do it, even if it's temporary. I've got half the team looking into city projects for any sort of connection."

"What about the other half?" Max asked.

"I want to know where someone could get water hemlock or the toxin derived from it. Is it readily obtainable? Can it be harvested by the average person? Grown by them? Can you buy the plants? The toxins? I wondered that when we were at Aiden’s business yesterday. You wouldn’t grow it out in the open if you were planning on using the toxin. Yet, how many people could accurately identify it if it were growing in the open?"

Max nodded. "I’ll be back in a minute once I process Aiden Shaw."

 Sloane returned to her laptop and looked up a minute later, a little surprised when Max arrived at the office.

"That was quick," Sloane noted. "He must really have wanted out of here."

"No, I haven’t dealt with that yet. The Sarge is taking care of it," Max said. "We need to go. We have a third victim."

***

Sloane and Max stood in the same parking lot as the previous day. They couldn’t close the entire garage, but they had done their best to cordon off an area and cover the vehicle.

"Under her car," Sloane said, shaking her head. "That’s where they found her?"

"It was Councilwoman Hernandez’s own P.A. She arrived early, dropped her keys on the floor, bent down to pick them up. Scared the life out of them, apparently," Officer Stark said.

"So, what are they thinking?" Sloane asked. "She crawled under there to try and get away from the killer? Thought she could save herself?"

"No," the officer replied. "It looked like the killer dragged her under there. Maybe killed her and then hid her so she wouldn’t be found for a time."

Sloane shook her head again and walked over to the white tarps hung from the ceiling. She pushed her way through and found the closest member of the forensic team.

"Is it the same as the other two?" Sloane asked. "Pinprick to the neck?"

"No," the forensic tech replied. "We’re working on the assumption that it is the same poison, but the application was far different."

"What happened to her?" Sloane asked.

"It’s hard to tell exactly, but toxin was thrown on her face, most likely sprayed on her face by the coverage. We found signs of it in her hair, face, and clothes. It likely got into her bloodstream through her mucus ducts. In through the eyes, nose, and mouth. It would have taken longer for her to die, but not long for her to be paralyzed. There are people in city hall overnight, so maybe the killer thought this was the best place to hide her."

"And she was dragged under there?" Sloane asked.

"That’s what it looks like so far. We’ve only checked around the car so far, but she was sprayed by her car and then dragged under it after that. We don't know if she was sprayed before that."

"Could there still be toxins on surfaces? Could there be a danger to the public?" Sloane asked.

"It’s unlikely," the forensic tech said. "It would need to be a high dose, and on surfaces that are likely to be touched a lot."

"You haven’t swept the interior of city hall yet?" Sloane asked.

"Officers are searching her office and talking to her assistant, but no, we haven’t done a sweep yet for toxins."

"I want you to do that now," Sloane said. "Treat everywhere between her office and her car as a possible contamination zone. This is city hall, and it’s unlikely we’ll be able to shut down any sections, so do it as quickly as possible without alarming anyone. We make sure there is no danger to anyone."

"I’ll get on it now," the tech said.

Sloane returned to Max. "Let’s go check out her office."

They strode through city hall together. It had been around twenty-four hours ago that they had ran through the building, searching for the man they thought was the killer, and now, they were back to investigate a third homicide.

"The killer must have used a spray bottle this time," Sloane said. "It looks like the same toxin but a different method."

"Why?" Max asked. "They could have used a needle again and injected it in the parking lot."

"I don't know," Sloane admitted. "There’s no reason that I can see. If anything, it makes it more dangerous. Is that why? They enjoy the thrill of it and want to put themselves at risk? Or to blend in? There would have been cleaners in here last night. An ideal disguise for the killer."

"Easier and safer to do it in the parking lot, though," Max said. "Then again, why do it here at all? They could have waited for the councilwoman to come home and killed her there. It really does feel as if the killer’s showing off. Why do that?"

"Why would they be driven to kill?" Sloane asked.

There was no answer to that. They entered Giselle Hernandez’s office to find two officers and a young woman.

Sloane looked directly at the young woman first, and the young woman smiled and held out her hand.

"My name’s Monica. I’m—I was Councilwoman Hernandez’s P.A.. If there is anything I can do to help your investigation, please let me know."

"Detective Riddle," Sloane introduced herself. "And my partner, Detective Callahan."

"What was the councilwoman like?" Sloane asked. "Did she have any enemies?"

"Almost certainly," Monica said with a sense of pride. "She was a hard woman and didn't suffer fools. She constantly stepped on people’s toes, took what she wanted, and discarded those who were not useful to her anymore."

Monica spoke as if she was glad she could finally tell the truth about her boss.

"So, there were lots of people who might hate her," Max noted.

"I’m sure there were," Monica said. "A lot of people hated her, including most of the people who worked for and around her."

"What about the cleaning staff and janitors?" Sloane asked.

"She hated them," Monica said. "I mean, not hated, but she had no time for anyone who wasn’t directly of use to her, and the janitors and cleaners were always getting in her way."

Sloane looked at Max. Was that the reason the killer posed as a cleaner? If they did, in fact, pose as a cleaner.

"What was the councilwoman working on?" Sloane asked. "Any new developments?"

Monica went to the desk and waved her hand toward the documents spread over it. "She was pushing for rezoning."

"This is desert land?" Max asked. "On the outskirts?"

Monica nodded tersely. "She wanted to use to create new space for entertainment, shopping, dining out, and she was planning to follow that up with similar developments within the city. It would have become a resort of some kind, and she would have followed that up with more areas within the city."

"Do you know much about the land being rezoned?" Sloane asked. "Do you know what grows there?

"Not off the top of my head, but I’m sure I can find the report for you if you give me a second."

“Has anyone mentioned water hemlock?”

Monica shrugged. “Let me get those papers for you.”

"I know that look," Max said. "What are you thinking?"

"The killer uses toxin found in the water hemlock plant, which can grow in the area," Sloane said in a hushed tone. "I’m wondering if we shouldn’t focus too finely on that one plant. We have a possible rezoning here that would convert desert land that likely has plant life, and Aiden Shaw threatened Marta Fieldstone for destroying plant life, but that doesn't mean he’s the only one who’s upset at her. Maybe someone else was of the same opinion, or they saw the video before it was taken down, and it inspired them. With Henry Tusk’s development, we focused on the pizza place because it’s Domingo-owned, but there were plant nurseries there, too. What if the killer is annoyed at plant life being destroyed and is using plants to fight back? That could be justice to them."

"Yeah, alright," Max said, thinking about it. "So, where does that leave us? If it’s about plant life being destroyed, it’s hard to rule anyone out."

"Here it is," Monica said, holding up a report. "There’s a lot of plant life and wildlife in the area, but the reports Giselle had commissioned showed that the rezoning would have minimal impact on the ecosystem."

"We need to look into that," Sloane said. "Even if the reports do not tell everything, they’ll at least add a layer to what we know. We can be reasonably sure that the planning and development angle is the key, and we will keep looking into that for now, with a focus on plant life and nature."

"Alright," Max said.

"See what else you can find here," Sloane said. "I want to check in with the forensic team and see if the councilwoman was attacked inside the building or if the killer waited for her to get to the parking lot."

Sloane left Max with Monica and returned the way they had come. In the hallway by the large glass windows looking out into the indoor garden, she found one of the forensic team members. Sloane watched the tech spray something on the floor and go over it with a blacklight.

Sloane looked through the glass once again, looking for water hemlock, but she knew she wouldn’t find it in a public garden.

"It’s faint here," he said.

"You found some of the toxin?" Sloane asked.

"I think so," the tech said. "Well, not the toxin, but ethanol, the carrier used for the toxin. It’s faint and spread apart as if it was misted from a spray bottle."

"Okay, so the killer is in here with a spray bottle; they’re dressed like a cleaner, and they spray her in the face as she’s walking? Maybe she thinks it’s water, and it starts to take effect as the councilwoman walks to the parking lot. Maybe it's a good way to attack her without screaming out. Give her a small dose to start the process, and by the time she knows something is wrong, she's lost the ability to scream out. I don't know. Maybe there wasn't a chance to get her alone."

"Detective Riddle?"

Sloane looked up to see the officer from the parking lot walking towards her with a janitor. They looked as if they had important information.

"Yeah?" Sloane called back.

The officer waited until they were closer before she said, "Tell Detective Riddle what you told me."

"I’m the night janitor here," the janitor said. "I obviously haven’t gone home yet, what with everything that’s happening."

"Did you see something?" Sloane asked.

"I don't know. Maybe," he replied. "We have a regular staff here, but when we are short or need extra help, we outsource the work. There’s a maintenance company we use."

"Which one?" Sloane asked.

"Maintain," the janitor said.

That’s the same company Oscar Almasi works for.

"They were here last night?" Sloane asked.

"They were," the janitor said. "I didn't think anything of it at the time, but we had three guys sign in last night, and they reported to me at the front desk when I arrived. Then, about ten minutes later, another guy shows up. I didn't get a good look at him, but he had the same uniform on, and he ran in, talking about being late. Now, at the time, I didn't think anything of it, but the three guys who signed in didn't mention anything about another guy on his way. They would have mentioned that, wouldn’t they?"

"Did you see him at all after that?" Sloane asked.

"I don't know," the janitor said. “There was so much to be done, and when I saw anyone from maintenance or the cleaning company we use, they were all working, so I didn't have any reason to question them."

"Alright," Sloane said. I want you to wait here until our sketch artist arrives. Give as good a description as you can, and we also need your help looking at the cameras. You have CCTV inside the building, right?"

"We do," the janitor confirmed.

"I want you to take a look at any footage and see if you can point out the three men who signed in and the one who didn’t, alright?"

The janitor nodded.

The same company had men at two crime scenes. Does that mean something, or is it a coincidence?

Sloane addressed the officer. "Can you help take care of that?"

"Of course," the officer said. "We also found this in the victim’s coat pocket. I thought you would want to take a look." The officer handed Sloane a business card.

Sloane looked at one side:

Claudia Sterling

Environmental Lawyer

Then the other that had words written on the blank space:

She’s trouble. We need to take care of her.

CHAPTER TWELVE

"She’s trouble. We need to take care of her," Max said. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Sloane admitted. "They found the card in the councilwoman’s pocket, which means she was carrying it around for a reason."

"And who is she?" Max asked

"Other than being an environmental lawyer, I don't know," Sloane said. "I’m waiting on them sending through a brief from the precinct. I don't know if it matters what the brief says; we find her and talk with her."

Sloane and Max sat in the City-View Grill, drinking coffee while waiting for the information to come through. The canteen was predominantly for the city hall staff, but it was currently being shared with everyone working the murder case. A couple of officers were in there, and the forensic team had been in and out.

"Do you really think this is about plant life?" Max asked. "Would someone really kill over that?"

"You’ve worked this job for as long as I have," Sloane said. "Just when we think we’ve seen it all, something new crops up. If someone is passionate enough about something, the removal of that something makes it personal. The murders are definitely personal. The killer got close to all their victims. They wanted to see them suffer. From what I know of the toxin, the victim is paralyzed before dying. I don't know if there’s pain, but there’s certainly helplessness, and the killer wanted to see that. That’s their revenge, for whatever it is the victims have done. In this case, I think, wiping out the wilderness, destroying habitats and harming plants."

"So, the connection is the planning and development, but the killer we’re looking for is someone who loves plants, maybe works with them?" Max asked.

"The profile would suggest that," Sloane said. "They are invested in some way. They care enough to kill."

"Or they’re just a complete psychopath," Max suggested.

"There is always that option," Sloane said with a smile. She took her phone out of her pocket and found an email from Sergeant Ramirez with the information they needed. "Okay, here we go."

"Hey, before we get into that, I needed to say something," Max said.

Sloane tried not to swallow too hard. "What’s up?" she asked, trying to sound casual and not sounding casual at all.

"We, uh… I was just thinking about…" Max chuckled. "I don't usually get this tongue-tied around a woman, but then you’re not any woman, are you? I wanted to say that when I dropped you off after our last case, we shared a moment, didn't we?"

Sloane wanted to burst into a smile at the hopeful, almost giddy look in Max’s eyes.

Instead, she nodded slightly. "Yeah, we did."

Max smiled and nodded. "I want to revisit that moment. You know, talk about what it might mean. When we’ve sorted out everything with Brendan, can we do that?"

Sloane nodded again. "Yeah, we can."

Max reached over the table and patted Sloane’s hand twice, hesitantly, before withdrawing it. Sloane looked at Max’s hand for a moment, wishing he would bring it back. She had almost told him previously about Brendan’s situation, but she had been interrupted and then lost her nerve. She thought about it again now but told herself it would be a distraction.

Instead, she opened the email and concentrated on that.

"She’s an environmental lawyer; cases like oil spills, loss of vegetation and habitats, animal deaths, unnecessary levies and taxes, all kinds of environmental concerns. Wipes the floor with the fat cats. For a fee, of course. Mainly deals with mid-level clients, those who can afford a good lawyer, but mostly individuals over companies. Recently, she filed multiple lawsuits on behalf of a non-profit environmentalist group, but the research suggests she didn't do this pro-bono."

"So, she, or her clients, would be in direct conflict with Councilwoman Hernandez, making them a problem the councilwoman needed to take care of," Max said.

"That definitely fits," Sloane said. "Okay, this is even more interesting. She's been arrested seven times, mainly when she was much younger, but once recently for extreme activism. There was vandalism involved, and it only states here that arrests were made when public safety became a concern. She's outspoken and describes herself as a freedom fighter activist who will do what it takes to protect the natural world."

"It's like two sides of a coin," Max said. "She's a lawyer who, I presume, interprets and uses the law for the benefit of her clients, but she's not afraid to break it when it suits her."

"Okay, this is more interesting," Sloane said. "One of her arrests, when she was twenty-two, was for poisoning her ex-boyfriend."

"With toxin from the water hemlock?" Max asked.

"It doesn't say, but why don't we go and ask her?" Sloane suggested.

***

Sloane answered her phone as she and Max walked out of city hall toward his car. It was still a scene of chaos, with many people on the street wanting to go inside and see what was happening, and those who had been inside wanting to be outside so they wouldn’t have to think about it.

"Hey, Sarge," Sloane said.

"I’ve sent over the address where Claudia Sterling should be right now," Sergeant Ramirez said. "I sent a media clip with it, too. Claudia was seen arguing with Councilwoman Hernandez at an event a month ago, and the story is that the camera only captured the tame end of it. Apparently, once the camera was off, they were both at each other’s throats, and not metaphorically."

"Alright, that’s good to know," Sloane said as she got into the car and buckled her seatbelt. "Hey, Sarge, can you call Maintain maintenance and see if you can get an employee log? I remember from Oscar Almasi that they had photo ID tags on their uniforms, so they must have those photos online somewhere."

"You think the killer works for them?" Sergeant Ramirez asked.

"He might," Sloane replied, "or he might be using them as cover. No one looks at the janitors, right?"

"I’ll see what I can get from them."

Sloane hung up. Max drove as fast as he could through the busy streets.

"Claudia and the councilwoman were seen going at each other at an event a month ago," Sloane told Max.

"Okay, so there’s some history there. The councilwoman was planning on doing what? Ruining Claudia’s career? Something like that? And Claudia fought back. If they went at it a month ago, then maybe that’s when this all started. Claudia gets the idea to kill the councilwoman, but not only her. Why stop at one person who is taking what they believe shouldn’t be taken? After all, city planning doesn't stop and end with Councilwoman Hernandez."

"Maybe," Sloane said.

"You don't like it," Max said. "I can hear it in your voice that you don't like it."

"I don't know yet. We’re looking for someone patient, calculated, maybe cold. Claudia seems to be the opposite of that. She is an activist, goes at people in public, protests. She’s fueled by passion, and while I do believe the murders are because of the killer’s passion, the kills themselves are not passionate."

"Yeah, I get that," Max said. "The kills are passionate, in a way, though. If you get up close and personal with someone, that needs some passion."

"Okay, maybe not entirely passion," Sloane said. "Maybe recklessness is more applicable. We’re looking for someone who isn’t in the public eye, who doesn't ever lose control."

"We’re headed to Desert Botanical Gardens," Max said. "That doesn't sound like a place someone goes to be reckless. That feels like a place to go when you need to calm and center yourself."

"Is that where you go when you need to calm and center yourself?" Sloane asked.

Max laughed. "Yeah, it’s either there or the bar for a beer, and with the bar being a lot closer, I usually find myself there."

They headed toward the outskirts of the city, but not to the edge. Sloane had never been to the botanical gardens before, and she didn't think Max had either, but she thought they might both go some time.

"Alright, so maybe Claudia didn’t come here to center herself," Max said.

They approached the botanical garden, driving straight toward the main entrance to find it partially blocked by protestors. They stood at the main gate between the main road and the parking lot, holding placards and shouting.

Max decided to park on the street so they could approach on foot. It was only once they were out of the vehicle that they could hear the shouts.

Down with city hall!

Growth, not destruction!

Screw the council, screw Hernandez!

"The news isn’t out yet," Sloane said when she heard mention of the councilwoman’s name. "Do you think the Sarge knew about this and deliberately didn’t tell us?"

"Who knows," Max replied.

"Do you see her?" Sloane asked.

Both she and Max scanned the group, trying to find her face in the crowd. It was a weekday, so the botanic gardens were not all that busy. Still, the protest at the front gate caused some destruction, and that was probably the plan.

Sloane respected it. She didn't mind people standing up for what they believed in as long as they didn't hurt anyone or break the law.

I’d need to research it all properly, but I feel like I’m on their side. There is a lot of destruction and tearing down of things nowadays.

Sloane and Max both pulled out their IDs when they approached the group, calling out who they were. There was a brief dip in the chanting and shouting as everyone became a little nervous they were being arrested, but then someone shouted something about a permit, and the protest returned to its previous volume.

"We only want to speak with Claudia Sterling!" Sloane called. "We’re not here for any other reason!"

Some of the protesters looked around a little, and others muttered among themselves.

One of them shouted out in protest. "We’re the Desert Guardians and we will not stand down!"

At the mention of the Desert Guardians, Sloane couldn’t help but wonder if the protest was Shaw’s doing.

"Claudia Sterling!" Max shouted. "Please make yourself known so we don't have to go through everyone."

Still, Claudia didn't make herself known, and no one pointed out where she was.

"There!" Sloane shouted, pointing past the protestors toward the entrance to their gardens.

A streak of blonde hair, attached to Claudia Sterling, floated in the air as she ran into the gardens.

Max and Sloane set off past the protesters at speed, chasing down someone who had an obvious reason to run. Sloane’s mind flashed back to Aiden Shaw. He had run, but not because he was guilty of murder. Did Claudia run because she was guilty?

The two detectives barged through the front doors, pulling out their badges to show to the people at the desk as they ran past. There was no sign of Claudia.

"Let’s split up," Sloane said.

There was a long path running directly ahead from the door, and it was open enough for them to see that Claudia was not on it, nor could she have had time to get far enough along it to hide behind one of the bushes or trees. So, Max went left, and Sloane went right.

There were a lot of places to hide. Large trees and bushes presented cover, but there were also small buildings and structures that obscured the view. Add to that the dozens of people to keep track of, and it was a game of speed more than anything else. If Sloane moved quickly, she would eventually find the target.

Sloane turned down a path to the right and stopped dead. Standing before her, a towering man by his side, was Vincent Mercado.

She almost reached for her gun when she saw the young child run up to Vincent and bump into his leg. Vincent held Sloane’s gaze, looking as puzzled as she was.

I already passed you the information. You can't be here to kill me.

Sloane saw another child and then a woman approach Vincent. He wasn’t there for Sloane; he was there for a day out. There was no time to say anything, and after standing in front of Vincent for five seconds without saying a word, Sloane ran past him and hoped she was going the same way as Claudia.

She took the next left, doubling back a little.

What are you doing, Claudia? Why did you run? There’s no escape through the gardens!

The people she ran past looked at her as if she were crazy, and she must have looked that way to them. A botanical garden was to be observed and experienced, and Sloane saw flashes of color in her periphery, but she didn’t have time to examine them. All she looked for was Claudia’s blonde hair.

Then, there it was. She turned the corner, and it was the speed at which Claudia moved that caught Sloane’s attention. Claudia looked over her shoulder, but not in Sloane’s direction. She carried something in her hands as she ran.

Sloane took off again, sprinting in Claudia’s direction, staying behind and off to the side. A path ran parallel to the one Claudia was on, providing cover for Sloane in case Claudia turned around.

Claudia didn't run now. She speed-walked, holding a small cardboard box before her. Sloane couldn't see it any better than that. There didn't look to be any markings or writing on it. Sloane looked up ahead and saw where Claudia was going.

The glass building looked like it housed plants, and a large fern was pressed against one of the glass panels. However, most of the windows were fogged up, and the climate inside was damp and warm. A sign at the door said that the building not only housed plants but also contained a cafe and restaurant along with the visitor information center.

Claudia ran toward the building with the box held out before her, and Sloane began to worry about what was in it.

Why in there, Claudia? Is there where most people are congregated?

Sloane knew she could reach her in time, and she couldn’t take a shot at her without knowing what was in the box. She tried to push her legs to move faster, but they already burned.

"Claudia, stop!" Sloane shouted in a last-ditch attempt to stop her from entering the building.

Claudia looked over her shoulder, still not spotting Sloane, before slipping into the building.

Sloane was there ten seconds later and burst through the door, her eyes scanning the place. Around fifteen people were in the restaurant and cafe, but Claudia wasn’t one of them. Sloane rushed to the right toward the plant area, the most likely place for Claudia to go. She spotted her right in the middle of the building, crouched down over the box, a knife in hand to cut the tape keeping it closed.

People walked around her, unaware that something was about to happen. Claudia slit the box and stuck her finger between the two pieces of cardboard on the top. Sloane wanted to pull her gun, but there were too many people around.

"Don't do it!" Sloane shouted at Claudia. "Another move, and I will take you down."

Claudia didn't look around to see who was behind her. She hesitated a moment and then pulled the box open as Sloane reached for her gun.

There was an explosion.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sloane’s heart stopped, and her finger touched the trigger.

Everything slowed down, the people coming to a standstill as Sloane realized she was too late to pull the trigger.

Butterflies exploded from the box, their wings providing the only sound in the large greenhouse before everything snapped, and time returned to normal.

Sloane’s heart thumped in her chest, her finger still close to the trigger. She quickly holstered her gun, running to Claudia to check inside the box. There was nothing else in there after all the butterflies had escaped. Sloane couldn’t help looking up at them fluttering about. They were dark with hints of brown and orange.

"Persius Duskywing," Claudia said in satisfaction. "They're native to the south-western States, and they need to be protected here like they are in other places."

Now that Claudia had done what she came to do, she didn't look like she wanted to flee.

"What are you doing here, Claudia?" Sloane asked.

"This," Claudia said with a smile, looking up and around at the butterflies.

"So, what?" Sloane asked. "You’re here to protest them closing down the botanic gardens, and you bring these butterflies in the hope that they can't close it now because they are a protected species or something?"

"Yeah, that’s about right," Claudia said.

"Did Aiden Shaw organize this event?" Sloane asked.

"Aiden Shaw?" Claudia spat. "He’s no Desert Guardian. He’s a traitor for accepting that government contract, and he still bandies our group’s name around to play both sides. He’s dead to us as we’re all concerned."

"Why did you run from us?" Sloane asked.

"So I could get this done," Claudia said. "And now that it is, you can't bring any legal action against me."

"We’re not here because you’re protesting," Sloane said. "We don't care about that unless what you are doing there is illegal, but even then, if you cooperate with our investigation, you can do whatever you want in the botanical gardens."

"What investigation?" Claudia asked.

"Councilwoman Hernandez is dead," Sloane said.

She watched Claudia for any subtle changes in her demeanor, and there was a brief twitch of her lips, but nothing else.

"It’s a tragedy when anyone dies, but I can't say I’ll miss her," Claudia said. "I’m assuming that if you’ve come to arrest me, it’s because we’ve had our run-ins in the past."

"She had your card in her coat pocket when she was found," Sloane said. "There was a note written on it about wanting to take care of you. Do you know what that means?" Sloane asked.

Max burst into the glass building, out of breath. He took a moment by the doors before walking toward them.

"It means she didn't like the trouble I caused for her," Claudia said. "She thought she had so much power and she could do what she wanted, but you can't pass things through city hall without public consultation. She wanted to move quickly on these projects and destroy entire sections of land without a second thought, and for what? Money?"

"What do you know about water hemlock?" Sloane asked.

"Water hemlock?" Claudia asked. "I know it’s poisonous."

Claudia spoke easily, and Sloane didn’t detect any deception, but that didn't mean there wasn’t any. It might mean that she was good at hiding it.

When Max caught up to them, he looked down at the box and found it empty. He then looked at Sloane.

"Butterflies," she said.

Max raised his eyebrows, but Sloane didn't have time to explain.

"What was your argument with the councilwoman about?" Sloane asked.

"I told you. She was only after money, and—"

"No, not generally," Sloane said. "The one that started on camera and continued once the camera stopped rolling. What were you fighting about?"

Claudia smiled at that. "I wanted to see how much I could rile her up. She threatened me at that event, telling me she would re-zone more land just to spite me, and I said some things that I don't regret to see how far I could push her. I was surprised that she actually grabbed me by the neck. In some ways, it was exhilarating."

"Where were you last night?" Sloane asked Claudia.

"Last night?" Claudia asked. "I was with some friends at a bar until around eleven, and then I went home to my husband."

"He’ll corroborate that for us?" Sloane asked.

"I was a little tipsy when I got home, so I am sure he will more than corroborate it. Do you need more information than that?"

"No," Sloane said. "We will need to talk to you again, so don't leave the city."

"I have no plans to," Claudia said.

Sloane looked at the empty box again. She didn't know the legalities of releasing butterflies in the botanic garden building, but she didn't care about it at that moment. There was a killer to find.

She and Max left the greenhouse, and she explained to Max what had happened.

"So, we’ve reached another dead end?" Max asked.

"Yeah," Sloane admitted.

***

Owen Marks stood in his kitchen, looking out the window at his backyard. When he moved into the house, he’d removed the stone slabs covering most of the yard and planted grass. He had big plans to do much more after that, and he was excited to sculpt and mold the yard but work and life got in the way. As he looked out on his backyard, it served as a disappointment. The yard looked fantastic, but it was not his doing. Perhaps it was for the best. He’d always struggled with manual labor, and while he could organize his thoughts, using his hands was not his specialty.

Still, one day, his children would run around in the yard, and it would be filled with the sound of their play. He only had to have some children first and then find a woman he could keep and convince her to marry him.

Unfortunately, since he was an investigative journalist, his time was limited. He didn’t work regular hours, and to make each article the best it could be, he was prone to editing and refining it indefinitely. That was after the field research, and all the various rabbit holes he could disappear down when exposing corruption.

The kettle clicked, and Owen was woken from his daydream. He poured hot water over the Earl Grey teabag in the cup and let it steep for five minutes. Then, he added a lot of sugar and a little cream and disposed of the teabag. He sipped the tea to make sure it was exactly right before he took the cup through to his home office.

He sat down in the large office chair, swiveling from side to side for a few seconds as he got his head back in the game. He laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles over his keyboard before he placed his fingers on the keys. He was about to start typing when he heard a noise from the kitchen.

He frowned, listening for more noise but wanting to get on with the article. He didn't hear anything else, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he got back up from the chair to investigate—after all, that’s what he did.

Owen went to the kitchen and found it empty, just as he had left it. He listened again but heard nothing. He was about to leave when he looked at the kitchen door and found it unlocked. He thought back, trying to remember if he had left it that way. He walked over and turned the lock.

Owen sighed and placed his hands on his hips. He moved from the kitchen, but not toward his home office this time. He walked through his single-level house, checking each room to ensure no one had snuck in. Each room was as empty as it had been that morning. He walked past his home office, checking inside to find it empty, and back to the kitchen. It was empty, and the door was still locked.

Owen shook his head and went back to his office. He repeated his procedure, swiveling on his chair and cracking his knuckles before getting to work. He entered the zone. His fingers flew over the keys, and he sipped at the tea between sentences and paragraphs.

He stopped suddenly. Something prickled on the back of his neck, and he turned around. Looking toward the empty doorway, the hairs on his neck stood up. A slight shiver ran down his spine. He thought about checking the house one more time, but he knew he was being ridiculous.

Owen turned, took another drink, and returned to the article about corruption in the decision-making process regarding the construction of roads in the city.

Five minutes later, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up again. He brought his hand up to rub his neck and then turned to look, but there was still no one behind him.

If I don't check it out, it will bother me.

As soon as Owen stood up, dizziness overtook him. He immediately fell back down into his chair. He would have tried again if the intense cramp hadn't disabled him. He bent over double, his head pressing into the keyboard and spraying unintelligible words onto the screen.

He grabbed his stomach, the pain unlike anything he had experienced before. He moaned. A long, wailing sound came from the pit of his stomach. Owen tried to sit up, but the pain only got worse when he did, and it was already excruciating. He gritted his teeth, trying to take deep breaths, but only succeeded in taking short ones.

His hands reached out for his keyboard, the article still in his mind. He thought that if he could start typing, it would take care of the pain. He had forgotten what the article was about, and he realized, dimly, that he needed urgent medical help. Owen reached into his pocket and took out his phone, fumbling and dropping it. He reached down for it, but the stretching only increased the pain in his stomach.

Owen opened his mouth and threw up, the expulsion of his stomach covering his phone. He stared down at it, not understanding why it was covered in soup.

The pain subsided slightly, and Owen sat back up, panting, his brow laden with sweat. He reached forward, touching the keyboard, and tried to figure out what to do next. His hands shook as they touched the keys, the tremor spreading to his forearms and upper arms.

He brought his hands to the arms of his office chair and gripped them tightly to stop the shaking. The pain in his stomach returned, almost cutting him in half again. He screamed this time, and the scream turned into a seizure. His body convulsed, almost throwing him from the chair. He opened his mouth to vomit again but only retched. His muscles vibrated together but independently of each other. Saliva dribbled from his mouth down his chin.

Owen sat back in his chair, his head flopping back, and he found the most comfort in that position. He looked up at the ceiling, waiting for the pain to go away. He focused on his breathing, knowing that if he did not, he wouldn’t breathe anymore.

He tried to tense his body as it convulsed again.

His senses were overwhelmed, but he still heard it. He heard the sound of the kitchen door being unlocked.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"I saw Vincent Mercado yesterday," Sloane admitted.

Brendan looked up from his breakfast, his face becoming pale. His hand shook, and he had to put down his fork before he dropped it.

"What happened? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" Brendan asked.

"I’m fine," Sloane said.

"Because if he hurt you, I’ll—"

"I’m fine," Sloane said, putting her cutlery down. "He wasn’t there for me."

"Wasn’t where?" Brendan asked. "Who was he there for?"

"I was at the botanic gardens to chase down a suspect, and I almost bumped into him." It wasn’t until after that Sloane felt the panic of the situation. "He was there with his family. I think he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him."

"What did he say?" Brendan asked.

"He didn't say anything," Sloane rolled her brother. "We just kind of stood and stared at each other for a few seconds before I left."

"How did he look?" Brendan asked. "I mean, you have given him some information, right? He should be off our backs now."

Sloane had passed on as much information as she could about Aiden Shaw’s relationship with the Domingo family. What Mercado did with it was his own business. That was what she kept on telling herself.

"I don't think it’s as simple as that," Sloane said. She picked up her cutlery again to eat her eggs.

"Well, it should be as simple as that," Brendan huffed.

"Stop it, Brendan!" Sloane snapped. "You know these people. You know what happens once they get their hooks into you."

Brendan looked down at his plate and shook his head. "So, what? He gets to keep demanding information from you, and we both have to keep looking over our shoulders?"

"No," Sloane said. "I have a plan—I’ll have a plan. I just need to figure out what that plan is first. I know this is hard, but I’ll figure a way out of this."

"It’s not hard, not for me," Brendan said. "All I have to do is stay inside and keep my head down, and you give me room and board. You have to be out there doing your job while looking over your shoulder for one of his guys and getting information for him. I shouldn’t have gotten you messed up in this. I shouldn’t have gotten messed up in this in the first place. When this is done, I’m gone, out of your life."

"Don’t say that," Sloane warned. She stirred her fork around in the egg yolk. "I know you like to be impulsive, Brendan, but you don't get to just leave. When this is done, I want a relationship with you. I want my brother back."

"I don't know where that guy went," Brendan admitted. "I don't know if I can ever get back to that guy."

"We all change," Sloane said. "I’ve seen you change, Brendan, and I know you will change again, but the one thing that won't change is the fact you are my brother. You’ll always be my brother, Brendan, and I hope you hang around. I want you to stay when this is done."

Brendan smiled and stabbed a piece of sausage. He picked it up and shoved it in his mouth. Then, he looked away. He had never been very good at being emotionally vulnerable.

Sloane went back to eating her breakfast, trying to enjoy the time with her brother, even if they didn't talk. She was almost done when Max called her.

"Hey, Max," Sloane answered. "I’m just finishing breakfast, and then I’m heading into the office."

"We need to head back to the university," Max said. "There’s a professor there, a botanist called Marcus LeGrande. He has some grants from the university and other private sources, but he does grow water hemlock. It’s not public knowledge, so it took some digging, but he does have contracts with various people around the city. He’s the only person we’ve found so far who grows the plant legally."

"Alright, send me the address, and I’ll meet you over there," Sloane said.

***

Sloane and Max walked back into the same university where they’d interviewed Dr. Cooper. This time, they were headed to an entirely different department.

They followed the signs for the botany department, and it wasn’t hard to find Professor LeGrande from there. Marcus LeGrande was in his sixties, with short grey hair on top and an inch-long beard. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt and looked like the kind of person who had become a fixture in the university. He had likely worked long and hard enough to warrant wearing what he wanted and, to a certain extent, researching what he wanted, too.

"What can I do for you?" Marcus asked after Sloane and Max had introduced themselves.

"We’d like to see your plant lab," Sloane said.

The previous day, Sloane had watched Claudia Sterling to see how she reacted to learning that her enemy was dead, and she had caught nothing. She definitely caught something on the professor’s face, though, and that was without mentioning any murders. His features tightened, and he pushed a smile to his lips.

"My lab?" the professor asked. "What would you like to know?"

Sloane might have asked him a question there and then, but it was obvious he was hiding something.

"We’d like to see it," she repeated. "Can you take us there? You don't need a warrant, do you?"

"No, of course not," the professor said gruffly. "We can go there right now. Follow me."

Max looked at Sloane when the professor turned. He had also seen the look on the professor’s face. They followed the grey-haired man through the botany department to his personal lab.

"I have permits for everything," he volunteered.

Sloane wasn’t sure how it all worked, but permits were the least of her concerns.

The walls were white, and the lights were bright. Sloane wasn’t sure if the lights were for the plants, but they felt too bright to be only for aesthetics. Three workstations stood close to the door, and behind them were rows and rows of white plastic planter boxes. Sloane felt the temperature and humidity shift as they walked into the growing area.

The workstations were laden with microscopes, glassware, slides, and tools. A fourth workstation stood by the side wall. A computer sat on it.

"You grow water hemlock here," Sloane said as she looked around. "Can we see it?"

The question seemed to put the professor more at ease. He turned to them with a smile.

"Yes, a very interesting plant," the professor said. "Come on, it’s right over here."

He led them to one of the growth chambers, a tall enclosure with a light and heat source inside. Sloane saw the same plant within as she had seen on the coroner’s screen—the one with the toothed leaves, purple stripes, and clusters of white flowers. She started down on it, the source of death in their investigation.

"Don’t touch it," the professor said. "Contact can cause irritation."

"Why do you grow this?" Max asked.

"I have a number of research grants to investigate the toxicity of the plant," the professor said. "There are various ongoing studies on the toxicology itself and how it affects the body, which are helping us to better understand toxins themselves. The better we understand it, the more chance we have of finding a cure for all toxins."

"And you supply the plant to other people?" Sloane asked.

"Yes, to other labs only," the professor said. "I have all my documentation in place for that, and all plants are accounted for."

"What do they do with the plants?" Max asked.

"They study them, too," Professor LeGrande said. "They look at the same things as we do here. General studies, toxic studies, all manner of things. The toxin causes paralysis, and that can be a useful attribute if isolated."

"Why don't they grow it themselves?" Sloane asked.

“It’s not easy to cultivate it, and it can be a costly operation if you’re doing it on any kind of scale. It makes sense for smaller labs to buy it in, meanwhile the university can make a small profit on sales and plough that back into our own research.”

"But someone could buy some plants and cultivate them themselves," Sloane noted.

"It’s possible,” Professor LeGrande said. “But it’s highly dangerous if you don't fully know what you’re doing."

Sloane looked around the lab. There were numerous other growing pods, and she wondered how many others contained poisonous plants. There were many doors leading from the lab, but only two of them had locks. The door they had come through, which Sloane assumed by the layout, was the only way in and out of the lab, and one other door.

"Who else has access to the lab?" Sloane asked.

"Some students," the professor admitted. "For safety reasons, there’s no access for the other staff here, even in the botany department. I can bring people in under my supervision, and I have to be here when a student is in here."

"Have any of your plants ever gone missing?" Sloane asked.

"No, never," the professor replied.

"Is it possible that someone could have taken a plant or even some of the leaves?" Max asked.

"Some of the leaves, maybe," the professor said. "As for a whole plant, it’s not possible. We have paperwork for all of the plants and seeds that come in, and a running inventory is completed every day. A plant couldn’t have been taken."

Unless you were the one to take it.

"Could someone use the leaves to make an injectable toxin that could kill someone?" Sloane asked.

"The leaves?" the professor asked. "Maybe. You would need a lot, and it might not be enough. If you want to kill someone with the toxin, the roots are what you want. You’ll need to evaporate the poison in a carrier oil, but it wouldn’t be all that hard."

"So, you wouldn’t need any special equipment or knowledge?" Max asked.

"Not special equipment, but you’d need to know what you were doing," Professor LeGrande said. “And as I said, no-one could take enough leaves from this lab without it being noticed.”

"We’d like to look at all the documentation regarding the water hemlock plants," Sloane said. "Including the contact information of anyone you supply plants to."

"Of course," the professor said. He was far more at ease now that he was in his lab and talking about what was probably his favorite topic. He seemed eager to help, too, and pass on information on who the plants were supplied to.

Is that because you want to shift blame, or are you really being helpful?

"If there is anything I can do to help, you only have to ask," the professor said.

"I want to see what’s behind the locked door," Sloane said, pointing to it.

The professor’s face changed immediately, and he looked for a moment like he might pass out. He touched a hand to his belt and then looked around the room as if help was about to burst in.

"Um, I might… I might need a warrant for that."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Do we have a problem here?" Max asked.

Professor LeGrande looked at Max and swallowed. "No, no problem. It’s just that there are some projects and experiments here that are top secret, and I can't let everyone into every part of the lab without the proper documentation. I always follow protocol and ensure the right paperwork and permissions are in place."

The professor had turned on a dime. Sloane knew Max could easily force the door, and she was tempted to ask him to, but they were in a university, and it didn't feel right. There was also the problem that after breaking the rules, they wouldn’t have to answer to an individual, but an educational organization.

"How about you just tell us," Sloane said. "What do you have in the locked room?"

"I don't have anything."

"You have nothing?" Max scoffed. "We need a warrant to look at nothing."

Professor LeGrande became more uncomfortable and moved away from the detectives, taking two steps back.

"Do you have more water hemlock in there?" Sloane asked. "Water hemlock that no one knows about?"

"No, no," the professor replied.

"Then give us a look, and we can be on our way," Sloane said.

It looked for a second like Marcus LeGrande would acquiesce, but his face hardened again.

"I would need the proper documentation," Marcus said.

"We need to talk to the Dean," Max said.

"No, the Dean doesn't need to know about this," the professor said. He wrung his hands together, all his earlier confidence gone.

"Because he doesn't know what’s in there either, does he?" Sloane asked. "Whatever’s in there, you’re hiding it from him, too."

"Did you hear that?" Max asked. "I thought I heard a noise from the cupboard. Are you hiding someone in there, Professor LeGrande?"

"What?" the professor spat.

"That gives us probable cause to go in," Max said. "There could be someone in trouble."

"There is no one in there," Marcus stammered. "Please, just get the warrant if you have to and come back, and I’ll be happy to show you inside. It’s just… there are some very sensitive experiments. And as I said, I can't be showing restricted research to just anyone."

"Not even the Dean," Max pointed out.

"Where were you two nights ago?" Sloane asked.

"What? Two nights ago?" the professor replied.

"Two nights ago, Professor LeGrande," Sloane pushed. "Where were you?"

"I don’t… I mean, I don't know off the top of my head, but I’m sure I can find out. Two nights ago? No, yes, I know where I was. I must have been here. I’ve been here every night this week. Yes, I must have been here all night."

"Working on your special project?" Max asked.

"You must have been here?" Sloane asked. "Were you here, Professor LeGrande? You said that no one else is allowed in the lab without you being here, so were you here alone or with someone?"

"No, I come in here alone in the night to complete my work. I would have been here by myself, but what is this all about? You ask about my toxic plant, and you want to snoop around everywhere, and now, you want to know where I was two nights ago. How many more questions do you have? Should I call my lawyer? Will you please just tell me what you want?"

"A woman was murdered at city hall," Max said. "She’s the third killed with the toxin you grow in this lab."

"No, no, no," Marcus said, stumbling over his words. "I grow the plants, but I don’t process the toxins. I can show you all the paperwork if you like, and that will prove everything."

"But you don't deny killing three people?" Max asked.

"Killing people?" The professor’s eyes swam, and he looked around for somewhere to place his hands. "What are you talking about? Of course, I didn't kill anyone. I wouldn’t kill someone."

"But you can't prove you were here two nights ago," Max said. "How about two days before that? And three weeks before that? What are you hiding in the locked room, Professor LeGrande?"

"Nothing," he claimed. "No, no, no, I know exactly what I need to show you. Come right with me."

"Stop!" Max ordered as Marcus moved. "We’re investigating a triple homicide, and you have done nothing to aid our investigation. We will come with you, but I want us all to move nice and slowly, and I need you to keep your hands where I can see them, okay?"

The professor held his hands up as if Max had a gun pointed at him. "Yes, of course. Whatever you say. I’ll do whatever you need."

"Except open the locked door," Sloane said.

When Marcus didn't reply to that, Max said, "Alright, let’s go."

Max stepped close to the professor and walked closely behind him. Sloane followed a few paces behind. She looked back at the locked door as they left the plant lab. Marcus took them back through the botany department and into a cramped office. It wasn’t cramped because of the size—the office was generously proportioned—but due to its contents.

The office has an old, weathered desk and leather chair and one bookshelf on the right-hand wall. A pot of soil stood in the corner with a withered plant in it. Sloane did a double take of the pot. The professor could grow all manner of plants, including toxic ones, but he hadn’t managed to keep a simple pot plant alive.

The bookshelf was filled with rows of books, each shelf two books deep and high, locking in the ones at the backs of the shelf. The desk was also covered with books and documents surrounding the old computer monitor. It looked like the professor had brought much of his lab into his office. A microscope sat on the desk, almost covered with documents, along with a centrifugal mixer and a row of test tubes in a wooden stand.

The professor went straight to his chair and sat down. He booted up the computer and smiled at Sloane as it booted up. It took a full minute for the computer to be operational.

"Alright, I have all the documentation on here"—Marcus riffled through some papers—"and on my desk somewhere. You can take a look at them now, and I will send digital copies over to your email addresses. The documents show that my handling of the plants has been impeccable and that no extra seeds have entered the building."

"You could have spliced the plants," Sloane said. "You don't need to grow the plants from seed, do you?"

"No, that is true, and it is a valid point, but I have no reason to grow more of those plants, nor do I have any reason to kill anyone. Ah, here it is." Marcus manipulated the mouse and double-clicked. "Have a look."

Sloane came around to the other side of the desk to find an image of the plant lab.

"What are we looking at?" Sloane asked.

"It’s not an image, is it?" Max asked, thinking out loud. "It’s a live feed."

"Yes, exactly," the professor said. "This is a live feed, available at the moment, only to me, but I do hook it up to the internet at certain times for the public to view us in the lab when we are doing something fun. There is no sound, of course, but they get the gist of it. Those who watch. We only ever get one or two. Still, it’s nice to know someone is interested."

"Okay, but how does this help us?" Sloane asked.

"I capture all of the footage," the professor said. "This is not only a live feed, but a security camera. The students aren’t allowed to go in there by themselves, but that doesn't mean they might not try. With the plants we have in the lab, we can't be too careful. If you go to here"—he clicked on some boxes—"you can find the feed from wherever you like. You wanted to know where I was two nights ago, right?"

"That’s correct," Sloane said.

"So, let’s search for that night, and we can move through it, and I know it will prove my innocence."

"Let me have the seat," Max said. "I can see how it works."

"Good, good. Yes, yes. I can get back to work, and I will check in on you later."

"No, you’re not going anywhere until we’re sure you were in your lab," Sloane said.

She wanted to keep him around until she discovered what was in the cupboard, but she might have to wait on that.

"Yes, yes, no problem,’ the professor said. "Look at whatever you like."

Max took a few seconds to get acquainted with how the system worked, and then he typed in the date. He opened the recorded footage and dragged the slider to move the footage forward in time. The lab was empty at 7:00 p.m. on the night Giselle Hernandez was murdered. Max found the controls to play the footage at double speed and beyond.

"There," Sloane said, pointing to the screen.

Max stopped the footage to show the professor on the feed. He walked into the lab, added some water to one enclosure, and picked a leaf with his bare hands—not one of the poisonous plants. He left the lab with the leaves. Max sped up the footage again until the professor was spotted again. Max continued moving through the footage, showing the professor in and out of the lab all night.

He couldn’t have killed the councilwoman.

Max looked at Sloane, and she nodded back. Max checked the footage for the two nights previously. The professor was also in the lab that night. He couldn't have killed Henry Tusk. Max took the footage way back to the morning of Martha Fieldstone’s death. There was no footage of the professor, but they had enough to rule him out.

"Okay," Sloane said. "I want to take a look at more footage and see if anyone has been in without your permission, Professor."

"Yes, of course," the professor said eagerly. "Anything you need. Can I go now?"

"One more question first," Sloane said. "If we are looking for someone growing water hemlock and processing the toxin, is there anything we can look for to find them? Will they need specialized equipment or chemicals?"

"Perhaps, but it’s not necessary," the professor said. "You have seen my lab here, but water hemlock grows in the wild, too. They wouldn’t need any equipment if they knew where to find it. And when it comes to the processing, we have centrifugal machines and specialized carriers, but it could be done by hand. If you know what you’re doing, it’s not all that difficult, but it is time consuming."

"Where can it be found around here?" Sloane asked.

"You wouldn’t find it in the immediate area outside the city," Professor LeGrande said. "You would need to go quite a ways north to a more elevated area with a lot more moisture."

"Alright, thank you," Sloane said.

The professor showed some relief as he was finally allowed to leave.

"Okay, let’s go through as much of this as we can and see if we can find anyone entering the lab without the professor," Sloane said.

"And check if he unlocks the door," Max said with a twinkle in his eye. "It’s visible on the screen."

"Mm, so it is," Sloane agreed. She wasn’t sure if the primary goal was to find someone taking the water hemlock plants without the professor’s knowledge or to see him open the door to the locked room.

It didn't take long for them to spot the professor entering the room. Sloane chuckled to herself: for all his caution, LeGrande obviously hadn’t considered that they’d be able to see all his movements on the footage. Sloane and Max leaned in as the door opened and closed behind the Professor. Max tried to freeze the footage when the door was open, but it was too blurry. Even in motion, the footage was grainy and showed nothing. The professor came back out and locked the door.

Max sat back in the chair, frustrated they hadn’t seen what they wanted to see, even if they knew he was not their killer.

"Wait, there," Sloane said, freezing the footage.

The professor walked from the room back toward the camera, but with the footage paused, it looked blurry again. Sloane wound the footage back and played it.

"Do you think that is…?" Sloane asked.

"Yeah, it looks like it," Max said. "So, that was what he was worried about. He has a little grow-op in there."

"I still want to check it out to be sure, but maybe we can tell him we have him on camera with his cannabis plantation, and he’ll let us see the whole thing instead of requesting a warrant."

"Don’t we have three murders to solve?" Max asked.

They went back to looking for someone going into the lab. Two hours later, Sloane’s phone rang. They had gone through the last two months and found nothing.

"Sarge?" she answered. "Do you have something on Maintain?"

"No, I don’t," he said mournfully. "We have a fourth, and unless you and Callahan make progress soon, I’ll have to put someone else on the case."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Sloane and Max arrived at the crime scene as a light rain began to fall. Like the first murder, this one was at the victim’s home.

Sloane didn't get out of the car immediately. "Three weeks between the first two murders," she said. "Then two days between them. It feels like the killer is on a tight timeframe now. Almost like they killed Martha to test out how it would work and then waited. Now they’re ready, they’ve started moving quickly. The more bodies we’ve got, the more connections we’re going to make, and the killer knows that. He’s going to be moving even faster, and we’ve got to keep ahead of him."

They exited the car and moved under the yellow and black police tape that surrounded the front yard. It was unlikely they would need to keep anyone out. At the moment, the only interested parties were the neighbors looking at Owen’s house from their front windows.

Officer Leighton was waiting for them just inside the door.

"What are we looking at?" Sloane asked.

"He had groceries delivered, an order he made a couple of days ago, but no one answered the door. They couldn’t get a hold of him, but it’s company policy to notify the police in situations like that. So, they left the groceries at the door and called us. We could see the knocked-over chair from the side window, so we went in. He was lying on the floor of his home office, vomit everywhere. We called you in because of everything going on, but we don't know for sure yet if it’s the same toxin or any toxin at all."

"Let’s take a look," Max said.

"Who was he?" Sloane asked as they walked through the house.

"Owen Marks," the officer said. "Lived here alone, no family in the immediate area. He worked from home, too, mostly. He was an investigative journalist—he shares an office in the downtown core, but they reported that he hasn’t been in for a month. He submits all his work online."

Sloane noticed the mess as they walked through the house. Maybe not strictly a mess, but the untidiness of a man who lived alone and didn't get around to organizing and tidying as often as he should.

They stopped at the door to the study. The smell inside reminded Sloane of the conference room where Henry Tusk was found.

"What does he investigate?" Sloane asked.

"I don't know for sure, but mainly government, politics, justice, that kind of stuff," the officer said. "His office told us that. There’s an article on his computer in there that looks like he was in the middle of. Something about bribery in new road-building contracts."

"Corruption?" Sloane asked. "That doesn't fit the pattern. Every other victim has been pro-business, pro-development, an obvious target for the eco-activist crowd. How does this guy fit in?”

"We’ll go through his articles," Max said. "Maybe we'll find something in there."

Sloane nodded and looked into the small work office. It was cramped, and only two of the forensic team had enough room to move around. Sloane recognized one of the forensic techs from the two other crime scenes they had investigated. Sloane caught the tech’s eye, and she stood up, came to the door, and lowered the mask covering her mouth and nose.

"Are we looking at the same killer?" Sloane asked.

The tech nodded. "I know we always say we can't be sure until we get the body back to the lab, but I would say it is."

Sloane had to cover her nose as she scanned the room. The smell was bad enough, but the sight of the vomit made it worse. Owen Marks lay on his side, the office chair half on him. He had fallen to the side at some point, taking the chair with him. There was vomit on the desk, on Owen, and on the floor. The screen showed an article in process, then gobledegook as if he had bashed the keys over and over.

"What’s different with this one?" Sloane asked. "They all threw up, but not this much."

"Good eye," the forensic tech said. "He had a half-finished cup of Earl Grey tea on the desk. Thankfully, he didn't knock it over. We think he ingested the poison, and that’s why he threw up so much. My guess is it was in the tea."

"In the tea?" Sloane asked. "Would the killer be able to do that without being in the room with him? Do you think the killer forced Owen Marks to drink it?"

"There was no sign of a struggle," the forensic tech said. "The rest is down to you."

"Alright, thank you," Sloane said. She turned back to the officer. "Was there any forced entry?"

"No, but we did find the back door in the kitchen unlocked."

"Show me," Sloane said.

They moved through the house, going to the back door.

"We came through this door," the officer said. "We tried the front door locked, and Mr. Marks wasn’t answering any phone calls. When we tried the back door, it opened. That’s when we found him."

Sloane looked at the lock on the kitchen side of the door before opening it and examining it from the other side.

Max joined her, looking at the small scrapes on the metal around the lock.

"I would bet someone picked the lock," Max said.

Sloane stared out into the backyard as she thought. "So, the killer comes to the house and picks the lock. They enter to kill Owen and find him in his office. They force him to drink the poison? It’s not the killer’s style, is it? What if they came into the house with a syringe, but when they got inside, they found the tea left alone somewhere? Instead of injecting the victim, they squirt it into the tea just to see what would happen. Maybe they have another dose with them, just in case? Owen drinks the tea and dies. The killer leaves, leaving the back door unlocked."

"All possible but impossible to prove," Max said. "All we know for sure is that Owen Marks is dead, and he was likely poisoned. We also know that we don't have a connection this time. If anything, Owen Marks was on the opposite side of the equation. So, could this be the work of a different killer?"

"Maybe," Sloane agreed.

She was about to close the back door when something tugged her outside. She stepped down the two steps onto the lawn and walked over the soft green grass toward the shed at the end. Yet, it wasn’t the shed her subconscious was interested in. She stopped and looked to one side, approaching one of the bushes.

"What do you see?" Max asked from right behind her.

Sloane reached out and touched the bush. "Look at this. It’s been freshly cut."

"What does that mean?"

Sloane stepped back. "Not just freshly cut, but perfectly manicured. The bushes are finely trimmed, the grass neat, and the shed is gleaming as if it’s been sprayed down with a power washer. Everything in the garden is well taken care of and neat. The house is the opposite. Did you see it when we were walking through? The person who takes care of the garden is not the same person who takes care of the house."

"What does that mean?" Max asked.

"I don't know, but I want to talk with the neighbors," Sloane said. "Come on."

They went back through the house and out through the front. Then, they went left to the house next door and knocked on the door. It was answered almost immediately by a man who had obviously been watching out of his front window.

"Detective Riddle," Sloane said, showing her badge. "Do you have a view into Mr. Marks' yard from yours?"

"What happened to him?" the man asked. "Is he dead?"

"Do you have a view?" Max pressed.

"Yeah, I can see into it from my back window," he said.

"Have you seen any gardeners in there recently?" Sloane asked. "Trimming the bushes, mowing the lawn, anything else?"

"No, I can't say I have," the man said. "What happened over there?"

"Just go back inside, please," Max told him.

The man was disappointed but did what he was asked. Sloane and Max then went to the house on the other side, asking the exact same questions.

"Well, Owen pays someone to do it for him. I like to take care of my garden, and I have quite a green finger, but Owen showed no interest in taking care of his yard from the moment he moved in," the old woman said. "No, that’s not true. I remember when he first moved in, he pulled up some slabs and put down grass, but that was it. It’s a condition of our lease, you know. We have to take care of our yards, or we face fines. I suppose some people have the money to outsource that sort of thing."

"So, Mark paid someone to tend to his yard for him?" Sloane asked.

"Yes," the woman replied. "There was a man who came around a couple of times and did some work for Owen."

"Can you tell us what he looked like?" Sloane asked.

"Well, he was just regular height with dark hair," the woman said. "I never saw him close up."

The cogs in Sloane’s mind began to turn. The neat garden, the hired help, the poison.

She pulled out her phone and brought up a picture from Maintain’s website. She showed the woman. "Was he dressed like this?"

"Yes, that looks like the uniform," the woman replied.

Bingo!

"Alright, thank you," Sloane said. "Go back inside for now."

The woman did as asked.

"So, he does work for Maintain?" Max asked.

"I don't know," Sloane admitted. "Oscar Almasi was called out to the building where Henry Tusk was murdered, but no other call was made, and the call that Oscar answered ended up being a secret job. I don't think someone at Maintain waits for a call to that very building and then tags along. It’s more likely to be a coincidence. Then we have Maintain at city hall, and a fourth person wearing the same coveralls, but there were only three people scheduled to work that night. Someone working at Maintain would know about the job, but would they risk tagging along and being spotted by their colleagues? Sarge talked to them over there, and no one knew anything. After a murder, someone would talk if a fellow employee was there when they were not supposed to be. We can check in with them again, but something tells me Maintain wasn’t hired for this. I believe this was the killer’s doing. I think the killer is using the uniform to try and blend in. It wouldn’t be hard to get a uniform or replicate one. We already knew they knew horticulture, but if he was here trimming the bushes while watching Owen, then he really did know his stuff. It also means there is a connection there somewhere. That’s where we need to go next. We look more into horticulture in the city, someone with passion for it, and we look into Owen’s published stories, discover who might have a vendetta against him."

"Alright," Max said.

"And we do it quickly," Sloane said. "Sarge was serious about tossing us from the case. I really don't want that."

"Yeah, me neither," Max admitted.

It felt like three ticking time bombs in Sloane’s head. It would only be a matter of time before Vincent Mercado demanded more information or came after them. It was a matter of far less time until the killer killed again; Sloane was sure of that. And, when he did, Sloane and Max were off the case.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sloane and Max were back in the office. They didn't know anything for sure about the Owen Marks murder, but Sloane was sure of her assumptions. She was also sure that Sergeant Ramirez was watching their every move. She swiped her arm to move everything they had on the case across the table.

"Alright, let's take it all in together," Sloane said. "We have four dead bodies and a connection between three of them. I'm sure we'll find a connection with the fourth. From the deaths so far, we can be sure that the killer knows horticulture. We're confident he's male from the city hall and most recent murders. He's methodical and careful. We can see that in the way he kills, but also in the way he trimmed the bushes. We must assume that he's growing the water hemlock plants. If he's cared for Owen Marks' garden like we witnessed, then he knows how to grow plants. We also know he is upset about recent developments in the city. Anything that destroys plant life upsets him. Could he be using somewhere like that?"

"Like what?" Max asked.

"He knows about horticulture, but he also knows about city projects. We have to believe he researches them and knows where developments will be happening. If he needs a place to grow the plants, then why not in one of the places destined for redevelopment? When he’s done, the area is revitalized, and there’s no evidence he ever grew anything there."

"It’s worth a shot," Max said. "I can look into that."

"Okay," Sloane said. "Be sure to look for a place that receives plenty of light, and he has access to a water source. The area should be secluded so he won't be discovered, and it should have buildings to provide cover. He’ll need some infrastructure to grow the plants."

Max nodded and took some notes.

"He's male, but we don't know exactly what he looks like. We didn't get much detail from the neighbor or from the night janitor at city hall. We know he is a white male of average height and has brown or black hair. He wears Maintain coveralls, or replicas of them."

"And we have the employee list from Maintain," Max added. "They sent over photographs, names, addresses, and phone numbers. We can cross out any woman and people of color, and even though it’s unlikely that he works there, I can start cross-referencing any potential suspects. If someone has a horticulture background, we look into that. If we don't find anything initially, we have our officers call the employees and establish alibis."

"What did Sarge say he got from the night janitor at city hall about the footage throughout the night?" Sloane asked.

"The janitor spotted our mystery guy on the camera multiple times, but he must have known where all the cameras were because he didn't look at one once. So, we know he’s been in city hall before. He was also seen with a spray bottle, which is presumably what he used to kill the councilwoman. Sarge spoke to the three guys from Maintain working that night, and none of them remember seeing a fourth guy, so he obviously avoided them, too."

"Okay," Sloane said, placing her hands on her desk. We are getting closer, Max. We just need the final push."

"Alright, then let’s get to work so we still have a job in the morning."

Max went to work on locating a potential grow site in the city and assigning tasks to the officers on their team related to Maintain. Sloane went through any articles Owen Marks had written that might have angered their killer.

It was getting late in the day when Sloane looked up to see Max placing a mug of coffee down on her desk.

"Anything?" he asked.

"No, not yet," Sloane complained. "There’s one article about a development ten years ago that was blocked because of a rare species of coyote living in the area, but Marks wasn’t against the development. He sounded pretty neutral about it, and there’s nothing inflammatory."

"It’ll come," Max said. "I feel weird drinking from mugs now."

"Why’s that?" Sloane asked.

"After hearing about Owen Marks might have died, it freaked me out a little. Can you imagine that? One minute you’re fine, and the next, you’re throwing up because you ingested poison. I mean, it must have been relatively quick because he wasn’t able to seek out any help before he died, but what a way to go."

"Well, Max, now, you’re freaking me out. Have you done something to my coffee?"

Max raised and lowered his eyebrows quickly before taking a noisy sip from his mug. He sat back down, stretched, and got back to work.

Sloane smiled as she brought the cup to her lips and also got back to work. The cup didn’t make it to her lips, but not because of any poison fears. It was because of the subject of the article written by Owen Marks. There was nothing to connect it to Owen’s murder, but it still gained her attention.

Corruption at Thornwood Prison

Sloane sat back in her chair. She had worked there a decade ago, and it had not been the best experience. She still had bad dreams about it, but she was thankful to be away from it.

She started reading it. The corruption in question occurred after she had left the company. Her old mentor, Ritchie Cameron, who had trained and looked after her, would have been still working there at the time.

"Hey, you two!" Sergeant Ramirez called from the door. "It might just be your lucky day."

"What happened?" Max asked.

"Some officers from the twenty-fourth precinct just raided a grow op, and they found some of the plants your guy has been using."

"Water Hemlock?" Sloane asked.

"That’s what they said," Sergeant Ramirez replied. "Everyone’s talking about it, apparently."

"Wait, was this at the university?" Max asked.

"No," the Sergeant said. "Someone was growing the stuff in on the edge of the city in some abandoned warehouse."

"Who?" Sloane asked.

"Victor Hollis," the Sergeant replied. "That’s all I know right now."

Sloane and Max looked at each other. It sounded too good to be true, but they were due a break.

The harder you work, the luckier you get.

"Where is he now?" Sloane asked.

"They're holding him at their precinct," the Sergeant said. "I told them you would be there five minutes ago to talk with him."

"Let’s go," Max said.

"Hey, Max? Divide and conquer, right?" Sloane asked.

"Yeah, alright," Max said. "I’ll take the location, and you take the suspect."

***

Sloane walked into the twenty-fourth precinct, and before she could even locate the front desk, a man in an old, navy blue suit was by her side.

"Detective Riddle?" he asked.

Sloane nodded.

The man held out his hand. "Detective Olsen. Do you think we have him?"

Sloane could hear the detective's excitement. The case was hers and Max’s, but Olsen had arrested him, and now he wanted the glory that came with busting the most wanted man in Phoenix. Heck, the state. Sloane didn't grudge him that; she only wanted the killer off the streets.

"I hope so," Sloane said. "Who is he?"

Detective Olsen gestured with his head for Sloane to follow him through the door and into the back.

"Victor Hollis," the detective said. "He’s a botanist. We’ve been watching him for some time."

"Why?" Sloane asked.

"We thought he was running an illegal grow-op and supplying the Domingos with cannabis to sell. It took time, but we were right. It’s one of the largest grow-ops we’ve seen in the city, and when we went in there, it was one of my officers, Hardcastle, who spotted those other plants. He knew not to touch them, and it’s a good thing, too. That’s the poison he’s been using, right?"

The two detectives stopped outside an interview room.

"It is," Sloane said. "He would have to process it to extract the toxins. What’s the connection?"

"What do you mean?" Detective Olsen asked.

"Ok, he’s a serial killer, with a beef against developers and anyone else who threatens plant life. But he’s growing weed for the Domingos on the side? Why do that? Why risk getting busted for a few pounds of Mary Jane when you’re on the ride of your life?”

"Well, you’re looking at it the wrong way round," Detective Olsen said. "He’s an ‘A’ Class weed-grower, with a big, big client. Now he’s got to worry that these developers are going to come in and destroy his grow-op. What’s he going to do? Go to the Domingos and say, sorry, I can’t supply you any more because my patch has turned into a Walmart? They’d just kill him. And that could drive a man to do just about anything."

Sloane wasn’t convinced. In any case, she didn't want to debate it anymore with the detective. She would rather hear it from the man himself.

Sloane assured him, "I’ll share any information I get from him, and this will be your collar."

Detective Olsen nodded. "Come and find me when you’re done, and I can share photos from his operation. It’s quite something."

Sloane waited a beat and then went into the room. Victor Hollis sat with his back to Sloane. He didn't have a lawyer sitting with him. Sloane didn’t doubt that Detective Olsen was right about Victor supplying the Domingos, but they would be happy to cut him loose. He wasn’t as important to them as Aiden Shaw.

"Mr. Hollis, I’m Detective Riddle," Sloan said. "Were you offered a lawyer?"

"I was," Victor said.

"You don't want one?"

"No," Victor replied.

Sloane sat down opposite him. She looked at the man who was currently suspected of killing four people. He was short, bald, and wore round, horn-rimmed spectacles. He looked like a botanist, but that didn’t mean anything. Serial killers came in all shapes and sizes. There was not a look that applied to all of them.

"You’re a botanist," Sloane pointed out.

"I am," Victor replied, continuing his record of giving curt answers.

"But you grow cannabis to supply to dealers?" Sloane asked.

"How far we fall sometimes," Victor said. "Listen, I know I’m going away for this, and I knew going into it that I would eventually pay the price, so you don't need to ask me anything apart from my plea, and I can tell you now I’m pleading guilty. Guilty to all charges of growing cannabis."

"But not who you supply it to, I'm guessing," Sloane said.

"I don't supply it to anyone," Victor said.

"So, we won't find any accounts under your name or extravagant purchases or anything like that?" Sloane asked.

"No, you won't. Let’s just say that I owed a debt, and that debt is now paid."

"So, you’re not going to testify against anyone from the Domingo family?" Sloane asked.

"I have no idea what they are," Victor said.

"Mmm-hmm," Sloane replied.

She looked at Victor again, and his eyes matched the plea he would give. He looked guilty, but there was more than that. There was relief. As if getting caught was the end of everything. Sloane didn't know what the debt was or what the terms were, but she had to imagine that it was paid off when the operation came to a close."

Sloane’s phone rang, and although she didn’t usually check it, she suspected it was Max, so she excused herself to answer it.

"Max, what do you have for me?" Sloane asked.

"Not much that we didn't already know," Max admitted. "The grow-op is really big. This is a good collar for the twenty-fourth precinct. I sent pictures over of the water hemlock plants. He had eleven of them growing with the cannabis plants. They look just like the ones Professor LaGrande was growing in his lab."

"Is there any processing equipment there?" Sloane asked. "Anything that suggests he was extracting the toxin from the plants?"

"No, there’s nothing here, so he must have been transferred to them somewhere else for processing."

"Alright, Sloane said. "Anything else of note there?"

"Nothing that stands out," Max said.

"I’m finishing up with Victor Hollis, and he fully admits to the grow-op, but we haven’t spoken about the water hemlock yet, and he’s not giving up anyone from the Domingo family. He had some debt to them that he’s paid off."

"Alright, let’s meet back at the station when you are done. We weren’t the ones to get him, but he’s been got."

Sloane hung up the phone. Officer Olsen and Max were convinced they had the killer, but Sloane was not convinced—not yet. She tapped her finger against the wall and then went back into the interview room.

"Victor, I don't care about the cannabis plants," Sloane said as she sat back down. "I want to know about the water hemlock plants you were growing. You had eleven of them."

"Yes," Victor replied.

"What were they for, Victor?" Sloane asked.

"I thought they were pretty," Victor said.

"And you know that a deadly toxin can be derived from them, right?"

"Yes, of course," Victor said. "I’m a botanist."

"Do you know how to extract the toxin?" Sloane asked.

"I’ve never done it, but I assume it can’t be that hard. I know the largest concentrate is in the roots."

"But you’ve never extracted it? You grew them because they looked pretty," Sloane said.

Victor smiled. "They're pretty, and they're also dangerous. Did you know, humans aren't the only species to enjoy cannabis? Birds and coyotes… they really dig it. Which is where the water hemlock comes in."

“So you poison the local wildlife to… what? To protect your crop?”

Victor shot her an aggrieved look. “I don’t poison anything. Water hemlock has a strong smell, which the local wildlife don’t like, so they stay away from my crops and my profits.”

“Who else was making a profit, Victor? Was it the Domingo family?" Sloane asked.

"As I said, I have no idea who that is."

Victor smiled, and the relief filled his eyes. It was over for him, and he was happy to be caught. Whatever he had been threatened with, a spell in prison was a far better option.

"Just give me whatever it is you need me to sign, and I’ll sign it," Victor said.

"Victor, do you want to go to jail for killing four people?" Sloane asked.

"I haven’t killed anyone," Victor said.

Sloane got up from the table. "Someone else will be in shortly to take your statement and process you. I hope it was all worth it, Victor."

Sloane left the interview room and went off in search of Officer Olsen. She didn't need to see the photos from the grow-op. Max had been there and taken photos.

"He’s all yours," Sloane said.

"Good," Detective Olsen replied. "Information is coming in thick and fast. Have you seen this?" He held up a file. ‘Victor Hollis had his life’s work come to an end because his funding was cut and the labs he worked in were repurposed as luxury housing. So there’s your serial-killer motive, Detective Sloane. I wish I could say I was sorry, but this is a double whammy for us."

Sloane gave a tight smile and said goodbye to the detective. Olsen obviously had Victor Hollis as the killer, and there'd be others across the department who'd be equally happy to declare the case closed. But Sloane had looked Hollis in the eye, and she just didn't see it. The only way to convince everyone they were wrong was to find the real killer.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

When Sloane returned to the station, Max was chatting with Sergeant Ramirez. They both looked in good spirits, so she left them to it and returned to her office. She sat down at her workstation and took a deep breath.

If I’m right, the killer is still out there, and he will kill again. They have Victor Hollis, who has already been arrested for a cannabis grow-op, who everyone suspected is probably working for the Domingo Family, who was growing eleven water hemlock plants, and had the know-how to extract the poison, and a motive to want revenge on land developers, but he’s not a killer. He’s scared, and he’s paid off his debt, but he’s not a killer.

"Hey," Max said from the office doorway. "It’s late, and I want to get some rest, but how about hitting the bar tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Sloane said. "I'm going to finish up some stuff here."

"Don't take it too hard," Max said. "They brought him in, and it was sheer luck, but we have everything put together to put him away for a long time."

"Yeah," Sloane said. "I’ll see you in the morning."

"Alright, don't work too late," Max said.

She watched Max go, and then Sergeant Ramirez walked past the office and looked in. He had a look on his face that asked: What are you up to, Riddle? He didn’t follow that look with any words, but maybe he suspected what she was up to and wasn’t about to try and talk her out of it.

Sloane picked up where she had left off. She went back to the articles Owen Marks had written. Three of the murders seemed to be linked, but the fourth… There was no clear reason for the murder of Owen Marks. Sloane went to the most recent and worked her way back. She kept Victor Hollis in mind. If he were the killer, then maybe Marks had written an article that had enraged him.

Sloane read every word of each article, trying to find something similar to the developments and rezoning or something that wouldn't damage plants or wildlife. She read the article about Thornwood Prison, her old workplace, and went back years. There was nothing. Owen was neither vigorously in favor of preserving habitats, nor pro-development; he was an unbiased journalist.

Sloane stopped reading and stretched. She realized that the only light on in the entire building was the one on her desk. She looked at her phone. It was almost three.

She knew she should go home and get some rest, but there was something to be found. Sloane looked away from her laptop screen and blinked. Her eyes were dry, her stomach empty, and she was worn down.

"What am I doing?" she muttered.

The nagging feeling returned. The same one had taken her out into the backyard of Owen Mark's house to see the neatly pruned bushes. Something told her to go back to the articles to find the breadcrumbs that were there.

The article that had stuck out was the one about Thornwood Prison, and that was because she had worked there. Sloane pulled it back up on the screen. It had been written a year ago and documented perceived corruption. She read it through and went back to one paragraph.

The prisoners at Thornwood might believe they are on a taxpayer-funded vacation. They play pool, throw darts, engage in board games, captivate, fabricate, cultivate, replicate, and who knows if they fornicate. Yet, the truth is much harder to swallow. The money that goes to these programs seems to be a lot less than what is sent. I spent a week going through the files, and—

Sloane tapped her fingers on the desk. Then, she took a deep breath and looked at the word again, trying to figure out how it all fit together.

It can't be, can it?

Sloane picked up the phone and called Ritchie Cameron, the one person who might know. He had been her mentor at Thornwood, and he would know if something happened there.

"What’s wrong?" Ritchie asked when he answered the phone.

"It’s fine. I’m fine," Sloane said. "Hey, I’m sorry I called you so early, but this can't wait. I need information."

"Yeah, go for it," Ritchie said before yawning.

"I just read an article written by someone who was murdered yesterday," Sloane said. "This word stuck out at me with everything that has to do with this murder and three others: Cultivate. When you were at the prison, were the prisoners ever growing plants or flowers or anything like that?"

"Yeah, for a while," Ritchie said.

Sloane’s heart pounded. "Tell me about it?"

"I don't really know what it was," Ritchie said. "The prisoners learned how to grow stuff, and that was about it. It wasn’t all that big. I think it got scrapped last year when there was another round of budget cuts. I know some of the guys lost their jobs from what they told me. I’m glad I wasn’t there for that."

"Do you know its name or any prisoners or prison guards who might have been involved?" Sloane asked.

"No, sorry," he replied. "That’s the extent of my knowledge of it."

"Alright, thanks," Sloane said. "If this pans out, I owe you a beer."

"I’ll hold you to that," Ritchie said.

Sloane played her phone down on the desk.

It can't be just a coincidence. I’ve read every article he wrote, and that’s the only one that mentions plant life. If his article led to the program being shut down, someone might have been angry about it. This could be what kick-started everything. But for who?

Now that the prison was involved, the suspect list included everyone who had recently been released and who had been involved in the program.

Sloane felt the hunger and tiredness slip away. She got back to work with renewed vigor.

She searched the web for articles about the prison system and the programs closed when the budget was cut, but it led to nothing. She looked for any mention of plant life or cultivation or even water hemlock connected to the prison. It was only when she searched horticulture in connection with Thornwood prison that she got a hit. She found an article in a small Phoenix newspaper about a horticulture program starting in the prison three years ago.

The program, run by an ex-prisoner of Thornwood Prison (who requests anonymity), hopes to bring something new to the prison. The ex-horticulture student was incarcerated in the prison himself for three years for assault and left Thornwood Prison with no prospects. A botany degree changed his life, and he found a new calling in horticulture. He hopes that he can aid in the rehabilitation of the current prisoners with a botany program in the prison, stating that ‘plants saved his life.’

Sloane called the prison next and spoke to the administration assistant.

"Hello," Sloane said. "I’m looking for any information about a botany or horticulture program run in Thornwood. It would have ended around a year ago and was run by an ex-inmate of the prison. Do you have any information on that?"

"Let me see," the administrative assistant said.

There was some back-and-forth between Sloane and the prison employee. Many prison programs had been canceled over the years, and if they were volunteer programs, there wasn’t much documentation on them to start with. The administration assistant also said that files didn’t always end up the right place. If there’d been any corruption to cover up, Sloane suspected that many of the allegedly misplaced files could have been destroyed.

"I'm Sorry. I wish I could help you more," the woman said. I don't have any information on a program like that, although I can't see the inmates here tending to flowers. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Yeah, there is something else," Sloane said. "I’m going to need you to send me over a list of inmate files from the past… let’s say… thirty years. I want the file for anyone who was in there for assault and was sentenced to between two and six years." She needed to account for good behavior and bad behavior.

"Alright, Detective," the woman said. "I’ll have them sent across as soon as possible."

Sloane hung up the phone but didn't stop. Adrenaline pumped through her as she searched for information about horticulture and botany programs in the state. She would start there, and if it didn't give her anything, she would move outward from Arizona until she got a match.

Information on graduates was not readily available, and the university and colleges would not yet be staffed so early in the morning. Sloane would call them as soon as she could, but in the interim, she went through any online yearbooks she could find dating back thirty years, typing in the name of each white male into a spreadsheet.

When that was done, she finally took a breath and went to make herself some coffee. She filled her mug, once again thinking about the poison Owen Marks had consumed.

Are you the key to all of this? Were you killed because you started his descent?

Sloane took a large mouthful of coffee before grinding more beans and adding the ground coffee to the coffee maker to make a fresh batch for those who would be arriving soon. She then went back to her desk and waited. Ten minutes passed before she received the prison files, and then she got to work again.

Applying the filters for assault, and sentences between two and six years, the list was forty names long. Sloane cross-referenced those names against the list she had compiled from the online yearbooks. When she was done, she was left with one name.

Calvin Rhodes.

Sloane looked at his prison mugshot, trying to imagine him in coveralls.

Do you look like a killer?

Someone entered the office, and Sloane looked up to see Sergeant Ramirez pass her office and look in. He didn't say anything, not even good morning. He and Sloane didn't have to say it. She had been in the office all night, and they both knew what she was doing. The case was supposed to be closed, but if she hadn’t gone home yet, then she didn't believe it was closed.

She could imagine what was going through his mind. He wanted the case closed so he could report back to the Captain. He also wanted them to get the right guy. If Sloane was unsure, he was willing to give her some leeway for now.

Sloane looked at her phone again. It was a little after five.

She dove into Calvin Rhodes, scouring the internet and their internal systems for any information on him.

His early life had been plagued with arrests for petty crimes, and whilst committing the last one, he'd assaulted a police officer. That was what he spent time in prison for. Once he was released, he didn't seem to do anything for a period of time, but he didn't re-offend. He signed up for a Horticulture degree at Arizona State University.

Once you graduated, you must have started the program at the prison.

Sloane found a record of a business registered in Calvin’s name—a plant nursery in the Phoenix suburbs. Calvin Rhodes filed for bankruptcy eight months later. Sloane could have stopped there, but the same nagging feeling pulled at her. She took another look at the business he had run, unsuccessfully by the looks of it, and the building used. It was demolished a month after Calvin went bankrupt, and condos were being built in its place.

Sloane went through the property records. Calvin Rhodes had bought the business and its building for a dollar. Henry Tusk, the developer, took over the business.

Sloane’s heart beat even quicker, thumping in her chest. She knew now she was on the right path. The document was a direct link to one of the deceased.

Alright, so let’s put it together. Calvin Rhodes was a criminal, went to prison, became rehabilitated either through that or by studying horticulture, and likely gained a deep passion for plant life. He wants to give back, so he starts a program in the prison, and it runs for a while, so it is, in some way, successful.

Owen Marks details the corruption in the prison, and several programs are shut down, including the one started by Calvin Rhodes. Calvin initially blames Owen, but his feelings are not strong enough yet. Calvin decides to start his own business to use his skills and passion, but that business is short-lived.

Who did you hate the most at first, Calvin? Was it Owen Marks for kicking off your descent or Henry Tusk? Did he force you out, pressure you, take what you built, and raze it to the ground for a quick buck? You hate them both; you hate everyone who wants to destroy what you could build, so you go on a crusade. Is that it?

You hatch a plan to kill Owen, Henry, and whoever else is to blame. Giselle Hernandez for rezoning and killing plant life, and Marta Fieldstone for her planning and development in the city? Do you think you are making the city a better place, or are you just bitter, Calvin?

So, you grow the plants yourself, don't you? You know how to do it, and it’s karma, right? They took everything from you, and your passion is extinguished, so you end their lives with the very thing they were destroying. You fight back with nature against those who are killing it. Is that it, Calvin? Do I have it all right?

Sloane sat back in her chair again and rewarded herself with some more coffee. It was still early, dark, and quiet. Sloane thought about waiting for Max to come in so they could go together, but she was stubborn and she needed to get out there now to prove to everyone they had the wrong guy.

I need to visit Calvin Rhodes before he kills again.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Calvin Rhodes was upset and exhilarated at the same time. The thoughts swirled in his mind. At the start, he hadn’t been sure of the exact route or destination of his quest, but he knew now. He sat in his car across the street from the graffiti-covered warehouse and waited.

Butterflies flapped furiously in his stomach, and he imagined what species of butterfly they might be. Were some butterflies better for flapping in stomachs? Which species would survive? None, of course, but some would survive longer than others. They would all die. Everyone and everything died under the right conditions.

Calvin felt the butterflies flap a little stronger when he saw her across the street. Fiona Bell walked from the right, having gotten off the bus two blocks from where she created her art. He had been following her for some time and appreciated some of her artworks. She championed the protection of local habitats and native species, a woman after his own heart. And it wasn't only art; it was activism, too. She was willing to get her hands dirty with more than just paint.

It was unfortunate she was the daughter of Congressman Bell. It was especially unfortunate that Congressman Bell was safely holed up in DC for the foreseeable future. The congressman had made it his mission to end the prison program, so Calvin would make it his mission to end his daughter's life.

If your father lived in the city, it wouldn’t have to be like this, so you only have him to blame, Fiona.

She would be the Congressman’s surrogate.

Are you fortunate or unfortunate, Congressman Bell? How much do you love your daughter?

He watched her unlock the warehouse door and enter, then placed a hand on his heart and took a breath. It was always the same before he killed someone. There was a mix of dread and exhilaration. He didn't want to kill the person themselves. Everyone deserved a second chance—if anyone knew that, it was him—but to give them a second chance meant forgetting the harm they or their father’s had done.

Calvin got out of his car and crossed the street. Deep down, he knew he was killing those who had wronged him, who had led to his downfall, but if he told himself enough that it was about protecting the plants, he could make himself believe it. Especially when he had to resort to killing family members. The bitterness deep in the pit of his stomach helped him to kill, and he couldn’t let go of that. The best way forward was to mask it with justice.

She will change it all.

Killing Fiona Bell would set him free; he was sure of it.

When Calvin reached the door, he reached for the handle and stopped for a second to collect his thoughts.

He was still in contact with a lot of people from his prison days, both when he was incarcerated and while he ran the botany program. The word on the street was that the authorities had caught the killer. He’d felt some disappointment on hearing that. He’d killed spectacularly, and now, someone else would get the credit. On the other hand, it meant he was in the clear.

His initial thought was to stop. He had gotten away with it, and he would not face the consequences. It felt as if some higher power was watching over him. Then, a more powerful thought came. If a higher power was watching over him, then it meant he was on the right track, and he couldn't stop now. He had to continue with his mission to bring justice to the world.

Calvin grabbed the handle and opened the door. He stepped into the large interior and felt the air change. It was a subtle change in the pressure from outside to inside. The smell of oil paints hung thick in the air, along with the smell of sawdust and some other chemicals he couldn't place. It was not the sort of place where he could work. There was no plant life.

"Hello?" Calvin called into the large space, not wanting to frighten Fiona by his presence.

"Hello?" Fiona called back from behind a makeshift wall.

"I’m looking for Fiona Bell!" Calvin called.

"Who are you? The police?" Fiona asked as she appeared from behind the wall with a rag to wipe her hands.

Calvin held his hands up and laughed. "No, far from it. Wait, that makes it sound like I’m a criminal. I mean, I was in the past, but rehabilitation is a wonderful thing."

Fiona finished wiping her hands and tossed the rag to the floor. "What do you want?"

"I’m a botanist," Calvin said, making sure not to step closer and worry her. "I’ve been following your work for a while, and your activism on the development within the city limits is inspiring. Your art, of course, is amazing, too."

Fiona still eyed him suspiciously. "As I said, what do you want?"

"Sorry, I should have called first. I’ve tried to establish programs across the city with a focus on botany and how it can bring some balance to lives. I had some success with the prison system before the budget cuts, and I know how hard it can be to establish yourself in this city when most people are just out to make money. No one really understands art anymore."

"But you do?" She was confrontational and clearly didn't like having him in her space.

"No, I don’t," he said, "but I know plants. I know this might sound weird, but are you interested in some sort of collaboration?"

"Look, no offense, but I don't know you. I have enough work to do."

Calvin raised his hands again. "That’s fair enough. I have one more question. You do a lot of activism and art, but have you ever thought of doing something really big? Like, what is your dream for all of this? How do you combine your art and activism to really talk to people? How do you get their attention?"

"Honestly, I have a lot of work to do, and I would prefer to get on with it," Fiona said. "I don't want to be rude, but you did walk into my studio. Do you mind leaving?"

"Yes, no problem," Calvin said. "I didn't mean to cause you any trouble. Thanks for taking the time to talk to me."

Fiona gave a tight smile and nodded as Calvin turned to leave. He made his way outside and closed the door behind him, looking up and down the street.

He would have liked an answer from her, but he understood her hesitation. He would kill her, after all. And in doing so, he would create a piece of art that would truly talk to people. She would not be around to see it, but he knew she would understand it. Her death and her sacrifice would get people’s attention. When he strung her up in the botanic gardens and killed her, everyone would see. It would be reported statewide and nationwide. They would finally have to pay attention.

There was no toxin this time. It was to be his grand finale, and that deserved something a little more special. He would create a tableau of horror and beauty with Fiona’s help, whether she wanted to give it or not. It was not only about revenge on Congressman Bell; it was also about showing the world the harm being done to the planet. When he was done, everyone would be aware. They would all be educated.

Calvin smiled and took a deep breath. He checked the street one more time before quietly opening the door, hoping he didn't have to rush her. Fiona was nowhere to be seen. Calvin walked stealthily to the wall she had appeared from behind before. He could hear some noise coming from the other side of the wall but couldn't work out what it was.

Calving crept to the edge of the wall, moving a centimeter at a time to look around it. He caught sight of her rolling paint cans on the ground to stir them.

She was breathtaking up close, and he felt bad taking her life. However, he knew it would bring more exposure. She was young and beautiful, and once he was done, her picture would be plastered all over the newspapers.

He waited until she was turned slightly away, and then he moved at speed. She didn't see or hear him coming until it was too late. Fiona screamed out into his hand as he covered her mouth and nose. He wrapped his other arm around her waist as she kicked and flailed her arms, trying to hit him.

He breathed her in. Even her aroma was perfectly intoxicating. For a brief moment, he saw himself with his arms wrapped around her, kissing her neck, and Fiona turning around to kiss him.

"I’m sorry," he whispered.

Another image flared into his mind—the one he would recreate in the botanic gardens.

"You won't ever see it," he said as her body began to shut down with the lack of oxygen. "I’ll crucify you in the middle of the gardens, blood dripping from your body into the soil, a comment on the harm we’re doing the world. It’ll be your greatest artwork, and you won't ever get to see it, but the world will, and together, we’ll make them see."

Fiona convulsed and fell unconscious. Calvin quickly removed his hand from her mouth and laid her down for a second to collect his breath. He needed her alive for now, for her blood to be pumping until the very end.

Knocking her out was easy, and the end product in the gardens would be easy. The only hard part in the entire operation would be what came next: getting her out onto the street and into his car. As long as he wasn’t spotted, everything would run smoothly. He would take her to his greenhouse and then to the Botanics when it got dark.

By tomorrow morning, nothing will ever be the same again.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Where are you?

Sloane stared at the message on her phone as she sat in her car outside Calvin Rhodes' house. The tiredness had finally hit her after she had stayed up so late. Max had arrived at the office early and must have spoken to the Sergeant and found out she had been in all night. She typed out a message in reply.

I’m looking into Calvin Rhodes. I’ll explain later.

She put her phone back in her pocket and looked at the house. It was still early, but the sun was coming up, so it was hard to see if someone was in the house. There was no car parked in the driveway on the side of the house, but that didn't mean his vehicle wasn’t parked on the street. She hadn’t found out what he drove yet. It was also light enough that no lights needed to be on inside the house to indicate someone was inside.

From what she had gathered about Calvin Rhodes, she knew that he had no family and lived alone.

Sloane got out of her car.

Do you know I’m still after you? Will you see me coming?

Sloane walked up the path through the front yard. There were lots of plants and bushes, along with one tree. The gardens were perfectly manicured and taken care of, and it was obvious that Calvin spent a lot of time tending to his garden. Sloane took a cursory look, scanning for water hemlock and not expecting to find any. She didn't.

She went to the door and looked in the front window to watch for movement. The low angle of the sun reflected in the glass, making it difficult to see much. Sloane knocked before placing her hand on her gun in its holster.

Until that moment, she hadn’t known what the plan was. Sloane was confident she had the right person, and she was prepared to go in all guns blazing. Literally. As soon as he opened the door, she would draw her gun and get the cuffs on him as quickly as possible. There was a small chance it would end badly for her and she would lose her job, but Sloane was confident in her assessment of the situation.

When there was no answer, she knocked again. Sloane placed her ear to the door, trying to hear anyone inside, but there was nothing. She moved to the front window, cupping her hands over her forehead to look in. She didn’t care if the neighbors saw her and called the police. She didn't care if the police found her inside the house.

Through the front window, Sloane saw nothing except a lot of plants in the living room. The place was immaculate, and his careful tending to the plants extended to the interior of his home.

Sloane moved around the building, looking for any sign of life and a way in. There were no windows on the side of the building, but there was a window on the rear, looking into the kitchen. The kitchen presented a similar scene to the living room: lots of plants and nothing out of place. She went to the back door and tried it.

Locked.

Sloane looked around, seeing the manicured backyard, reminiscent of what she’d seen at Owen Marks’ residence. When she was sure she wouldn’t be seen, she took her gun from her holster, covered it with the sleeve of her jacket, and slammed it into one of the small glass panes in the kitchen door. The glass cracked and shattered. Sloane used her gun to poke out the remaining pieces and ran the muzzle around the wooden frame to remove any shards of glass. Then, she reached her hand inside and unlocked the door.

Sloane didn’t holster her gun. She held it in one hand and opened the door with the other. She pointed the gun into the kitchen, moving to target each plant as if they were an extension of him.

At least there’s no alarm system.

Sloane moved first from the kitchen into the living room, finding them both as empty as they were when she looked through the windows. Sloane followed her gun through the hose, investigating one perfectly kept room after the other. She found a bedroom, bathroom, and study, all of them empty and pristine as if no one lived there. She might have thought that if she didn't know anything about Calvin Rhodes.

There was one door she hadn’t looked behind, and Sloane was sure it led down to a basement. She went to it, gun in hand, and slowly pulled it open. She pointed the gun down into the darkness, unable to see what or who was down there. Sloane flicked the light switch on the wall to her right, but it did nothing.

Is that where you are? Do you want me to come down into the darkness with you?

Sloane tried the switch again, but there was no light. Sloane could see the stars but nothing else.

I’m coming for you, Calvin.

Sloane moved slowly, trying not to make a sound, but the first stairs creaked under her weight. If he hadn’t known she was coming, he did now.

There was no time to hesitate and give him the upper hand. Sloane moved quickly down the stairs, keeping her body tight and her gun pointed at chest level. She reached the concrete floor and pointed the gun into the darkness, spinning around, looking for any movement. She listened to his footsteps as he came at her.

If he had a gun and was standing there in the darkness, he would see her a lot better than she would see him.

Sloane’s heart beat so loudly she could feel it in her ears. She spun in a slow circle, trying to pinpoint something. A sliver of light caught her attention on the far wall, and she pushed forward toward it, waiting for something to come at her. Sloane reached up and tore the cardboard from over the small window, and the room was flooded with light.

Sloane spun and pointed her gun. A flash of movement as something lunged at her. Sloane gasped and almost pressed the trigger. She brought her other arm up, swiping the cat away.

It fell on its feet and scurried away toward the stairs.

There was enough light to see the entire basement, and Sloane didn't have to search for him anymore. He was not there, but his touch was. Plastic shelving lined the four walls, and they were laden with what looked like growing and lab equipment. Everything was neat and had its place, and they all belonged to someone who was a botanist, but there was a lot of equipment.

From your days running the program? Your plant nursery? For extracting poison?

Sloane would have someone go through it later. For now, the place was empty, and Calvin Rhodes was not there. She quickly surveyed the room, but nothing obvious would help.

One thought was to stake out the house and wait for him to come home, but that could take too long. He might have already known she was after him and not returned to the home. He could have seen her coming and escaped.

Sloane went back upstairs to look there, heading for the study first. It was a world away from her workstation at the precinct. She was not messy by any means, but the study looked untouched. Sloane sat in the large leather armchair and looked around. Two large bookshelves housed books about botany, horticulture, plants, you name it. None of the books stuck out as titles a killer would use.

She went through his desk and filing cabinet. There, she found information on the prison program, the nursery's business plan, and its finances. Sloane stopped when she saw the article. It had been printed off and filed away, and while it didn't prove anything, it confirmed what she knew. It was the article written by Owen Marks about Thornwood Prison. However, that wasn’t enough to convince anyone except herself.

Sloane kept searching, looking for the proof she needed to shift the focus from Victor Hollis.

It didn't take long for her to find what she was looking for—not proof that Calvin was the killer, but his possible location. She pulled out the mat and unfolded it onto the table. It showed the city of Phoenix and the surrounding area. Sections were marked out in red pen, with red stripes through the shapes.

These are the developments you have issues with, right? But that’s not all they are. Which one are you using, Calvin?

Sloane pulled out her phone and went to the cloud storage, where all the current case files were. There, she downloaded Max's list of possible growing locations. She cross-referenced that against the map, narrowing the areas down to six spots. If they were still looking for the killer, she would send a unit to each location.

Sloane looked them over, trying to figure out the best place to start. An area on the outskirts of the city, most likely, a group of buildings, good sunlight, easy access, but would it be found.

Where are you, Calvin?

Sloane took all the available information, went with her gut, and dropped her finger on one of the marked areas.

"Here?"

Sloane texted Max to let her know where she was headed and that she would check in later. When Calvin Rhodes was in cuffs, she would have a team come to the house and properly search it.

Sloane left the study, exited the house, climbed into her car, and set off in pursuit of Calvin Rhodes alone.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Sloane saw the cluster of buildings from the highway, but she didn't see any sign of Calvin or his vehicle.  For now, it didn't matter if he was there or not.  It only mattered that she found where he was growing the plant because that would confirm that the killer was still out there.

Sloane pulled off the highway and onto the dirt road that led past the buildings.  She still didn't see a vehicle, but she didn't want to lose him if he was there.  She stopped the car when she was still a few hundred yards from the buildings and got out.

The sun was high in the sky, and it beat down on her from above.  Her brow had a fresh glean of sweat on it.  She wiped it off with the back of her sleeve.  Part of her wanted to call Max and ask him to come down and have her back, but another part of her wanted to go in alone to prove that she could.

She walked to the old farm buildings, moving swiftly but not breaking into a run.

The farm looked like it was small enough to be a family farm but large enough for it to be a supplier.  One thing was for sure: it hadn't been operational for some time, and the occupants were long gone.

The windows in the buildings were smashed, broken, or nonexistent.  A wooden shed was angled so much that it looked more horizontal than vertical.  A tree had grown in a small shed and was poking through a roof, and the large barn was missing most of its roof.  Add to that the flaking paint, rusted metal, holes in walls, vines creeping up walls, and overgrown grass and shrubs, and it was a place that would never be operational again.

It was scheduled to be demolished, but not for a few years.  There were zoning issues and other hoops to jump through, and investors to gain, and plans to be made, and then development issues, and everything that came with that.  The legacy of a family farm would one day be destroyed, but not for years.

Sloane made it to the newest building, one with no windows on the side that faced her and the highway.  She took a moment to place her back to it to have peripheral vision in both directions, and she listened to the traffic.  It could be heard from the farm, which was to her benefit in sneaking into the facility, but also made it hard to hear if anyone was still there.

Sloane focused on the traffic to better zone it out of her hearing.  She listened for any sound that wasn't cars whizzing by.  She couldn't hear anything.

Sloane took out her gun for the first time.  She looked in both directions and then took the shorter path down the building to the end of the wall.  She peeked around, seeing nothing and no one.  She had five more properties to visit after this one and wouldn't rest until she had visited them all.  Sloane moved around the side of the building and halfway down it, to where she came upon a door.

She looked ahead at the other buildings before slowly opening the door.  She had to be systematic, searching each building and working her way through them so she didn't miss anything or let the killer get behind her.

There was a sliver of doubt in Sloane's heart.  The evidence she found at his house wasn't conclusive, and there was no sign of anyone at the location.

Sloane pointed her gun into the large building, a wave of excrement hitting her nose.  Inside, the floor was covered in years-old hay and animal excrement.  The parts that weren't covered in dung were covered in the remains of an upper floor that had seemingly collapsed a long time ago.  Sloane spent ten seconds surveying the inside, but it wasn't a place to grow anything or hide out.

Sloane backed out and closed the door again.  She moved down to the end of the building and looked around.  A hundred yards down the small dirt path, the old farmhouse stood.  It looked in bad shape, but it would be a great place to hide out.  She moved slowly, walking with her gun pointed toward the farmhouse, scanning for any movement in the windows, and looking to her left at the other buildings in case he was hiding in one of them.

With the large, excrement-filled building to her right, the sound of the highway was muted.  It was far too quiet for Sloane's liking.  The feel of the place, the smell of it, told of animals and growth, and it would have calmed her heart to hear the mooing of a cow or bleating of a sheep, but it sounded like death—like nothing.

She was almost at the house when a flickering light caught her eye.  She looked down between two buildings to see the edge of a third.  It appeared that windows had been stacked together, but her mind made sense of the pattern instantly.  There was some rhyme and reason to it.  They had been stacked a certain way.  Sloane could only see the corner of the building, but she knew it was the edge of a greenhouse.

And with that thought, she knew she had found the lair of Calvin Rhodes.

Sloane swung her gun at the greenhouse.  The farmhouse, now to her right, still felt oppressive.  She ignored it for now but would double back when she checked out the greenhouse.  She was certain Calvin had built it to grow his poisonous plants.

Sloane moved slowly, her gun still pointed.  She stayed in the shadow of the building to her right, trying to see into the greenhouse, but she only saw the reflection of the sky and sun.  She got to the end of the building and craned her neck, looking for a vehicle parked by it.  There wasn't one.  She could see better into the greenhouse but couldn't see what was inside.  She stood still, looking for movement, but there was not any.  He wasn't in there.

Time to move.  Come on.  You were right.

Sloane was still afraid.  She didn't see movement, but he had not been in his house, and there were plenty of places to hide a vehicle.  She was unsure if she hoped he was there or not.  On the one hand, if this was his hideout, she could bring him in and end this.  On the other hand, he might overpower her, and he would be the one putting an end to the matter.

Sloane took a breath and looked behind her before she strode purposefully and confidently toward the greenhouse.  When she got closer, she saw that it was not at all what she expected.  It was much larger than she'd initially thought, and it was filled with vegetation: vegetables were being grown, there were plants, flowers, and small fruit trees.  It was a mini paradise; not just beautiful but somewhere she could survive for some time without needing food.

Sloane moved around to the end of the building and found the door.  It was also glass, and she could look in and down to the other end.  The plants started small by the door but increased in height to bushes and small trees at the opposite end.  There was a small screen near the back of the greenhouse, partially transparent, and small shapes were visible behind.

Sloane didn't need to see behind the screen to know they were the water hemlock flowers.  She opened the door, stepping through the gap when it was big enough, and took it one step at a time as she moved through the greenhouse.  It was hot inside—the outside was already hot—but the glass multiplied the heat.  Sloane kept her gun pointed as she wiped the sweat with her free arm.

Root vegetables, tomatoes, corn, and kale, followed by flowers of all colors.  The beds then housed green bushes and small trees with apples and plums hanging from them.  Sloane could scarcely believe it.

She reached the small screen and maneuvered around the edge of it.  She couldn't help but smile when she saw the toothed leaves and clusters of white flowers.

"Water hemlock," she whispered.

"Mmm."

The moan came from behind, and Sloane's heart skipped a beat as she spun around to see whoever it was who had snuck up behind her.  She saw the movement within the small clump of bushes and stepped towards it, finger hovering on the trigger.

Sloane gasped.  She found a young woman chained to the wall, her mouth gagged.  Fear struck Sloane's heart.  The young woman was there to be killed; she had to be.  But Sloane had saved her, and if she had been kidnapped, she would have seen Rhodes' face and could ID him; it was all the proof she needed.

Sloane's heart didn't just skip a beat this time; it stopped completely when she saw the look in the woman's eyes.  She had been overcome with relief for just a moment and stopped paying attention.  She spun around, but it was already too late.  Sloane didn't have time to point the gun and take the shot, but he didn't have time either to stab her with the syringe.

He did, however, have the opportunity to push down on the plunger and spurt the toxin right at her.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Sloane reacted in instinct.  She spun with the gun in her head, using her momentum and raising both arms to protect her eyes, nose, and mouth.  She turned her head, looking back to the chained woman, closing her eyes and mouth tight.

The liquid hit her arms and the back of her neck.  She felt it soak through the sleeves of her shirt, and her neck became numb.  The toxin hadn't had time to take effect; this was her body responding to the attack—the fear showing itself.  Sloane knew it was on her skin but didn't know how long before it started working.

She spun back around to shoot him, but he lashed out at her, striking her on the shoulder and sending her spinning to the side and then to the ground.  Sloane hit the hard earth, landing in the flower beds with a thump, the wind knocked from her.  The gun was knocked from her hand and skidded across the floor.

She gasped and wanted to stay on the ground and curl up onto a ball, but he would kill her, and then, he would kill the woman.  Sloane pushed herself up, but a kick was aimed at her.  She managed to get to her knees and raise her arms in front of her face before the kick connected.  His large boot slammed into her forearms, bringing instant pain, and she was knocked to the ground again.

It invigorated her.  The closer she came to death, the more desperate she became, and the last of her adrenaline coursed through her body.  Sloane reached out with her hand and swiped Calvin's foot as he ran past her to retrieve the gun.  His foot collided with the other, and he shouted out as he tripped over his own foot and went down face-first into the dirt.

He didn't stay down.  Calvin pushed both palms into the dirt and shot up.  But Sloane was quick.  She was after him and kicked one foot in the dirt to launch herself before he moved.  She slammed into his back, bringing one hand around his neck.  Calvin moved with her on his back, lunging for the gun and grabbing it.

She felt an unsettling tingle on the back of her neck, reminding her that he'd soaked her shirt with the toxin.  She brought her arm up, pressing her sleeve into his eyes and rubbing it.  She wrapped the other arm around his neck and tightened her grip as much as she could.

He was strong.  He grabbed the arm around his neck and pulled it away.  Sloane almost fell but readjusted the arm facing from his eyes to replace the arm that had been taken from his neck.  He grabbed that arm this time, wrenching it away while simultaneously bringing the gun up and pointing it over his shoulder to shoot her.  Sloane let go of his neck and dropped to the ground.

Calvin turned and pointed the gun at the ground toward Sloane.  She pushed herself half up with one hand, slamming her elbow into the side of his knee.  Calvin cried out and grunted, almost falling.  Sloane pushed herself fully up to tackle him, but he was quick again and threw out an arm to toss Sloane to the side before pointing the gun at the bound woman.

Sloane shrieked and kicked into the ground, planting her foot to stop from falling over, and she pushed with all her strength, going back the way she came and slamming her shoulder into Calvin as a shot rang out.  Sloane felt something crack in her shoulder, but no pain came.  The back of her neck itched and tingled.  The gunshot enraged her, and she didn't have time to see if she had thrown him off balance enough.  Sloane planted her foot again and repeated the maneuver, getting low this time and slamming her shoulder into Calvin's chest.  Pain racked through her, and she was sure she had dislocated her left shoulder.

Calvin stumbled back but still raised the gun to shoot her.  Sloane dived to the side as another shot rang out, the bullet whistling past her ear.  She hit the ground on the dislocated shoulder, a wave of pain passing through her, causing her to almost blackout.  She grabbed a handful of earth in her good hand and tossed it his way as he prepared to fire again.

Calvin raised his arms up before his face instinctually to shield himself from the dirt and turned his head to the side.  Sloane was quickly on her feet, looking for a weapon, and she found a wooden handle with nothing attached to the end.  She swung it, slamming it into the arm holding the gun, and it splintered and broke in two.  The crack was so loud that she couldn't be sure if she'd broken his bone, too.  She held the splintered half of the handle in her hand

"Sloane!"

It was Max.  His voice had come from outside the greenhouse.  If he had a shot, he would take it, but Sloane didn't know which direction the shout had come from, so she didn't know which direction to move to get out of his way.

Calvin pointed the gun but hesitated and grunted.  He brought a sleeve to his eyes to wipe them, the toxin taking effect.  He removed his arms, looking for Sloane, blinking hard as he tried to focus.  He pointed the gun, but not at her, and fired.  Glass shattered behind her.

Then another shot, but not from Calvin.  Glass shattered as the bullet came from outside, and Calvin ducked as the bullet came close.  It gave Sloane time to get closer, and she hoped Max could see her.  Calvin spun, hearing her more than seeing her, and pointed the gun, but Sloane was right there.  She batted his arms to the side with her one good hand, the one still holding the stake, and then drove the stake into his shoulder.

Calvin immediately screamed out and dropped the gun.  The half of the wooden handle stuck out from his torso, but he didn't evaporate into a cloud of dust like a vampire.  He fell to his knees, grabbing the stake, but was unable to pull it out because of the pain.  His eyes were red and bulging, and he closed them tight to stave off the pain.  He held on tight to the stake as if it were the only thing keeping him up.

Then his head slumped forward in defeat.  His chest still rose and fell.  The toxin and the wooden stake were not enough to kill him, but they were enough to stop him.  He looked like he was deep in prayer as the blood from his shoulder wound stained his shirt.

Sloane ran for the gun on the ground, picking it up and pointing it at Calvin, ready to take a shot if he made a move.

The door at the end of the greenhouse opened, and Max burst in.

Sloane kept the gun aimed at Calvin and pointed with her free hand to the bushes.  "There's a woman in there, chained up."

Max ran to the bushes and found her.  "It's all right; you're safe now.  I'm making a call, and then backup will arrive, and we will have you out of here, alright?  Just hang in there a little longer.  He can't hurt you anymore."

Max remained by her side as he made the call.

Ten minutes later, the first patrol car arrived.  Ten minutes after that, an entire fleet of emergency vehicles followed.  Sloane kept her gun pointed at Calvin the entire time, but he didn't move an inch.  Her neck and arms burned, but she wasn't worried about paralysis or death.  She would wash her skin as best as she could, but she wasn't moving until Calvin was secured.  He would be taken to the hospital first, but he was still breathing, and he would survive the encounter and return to prison.

Sloane smiled and let out a breath when she realized she had done it.  She knew the killer was still out there and had gone out and hit him.

Max spoke to the restrained woman the entire time, but Sloane didn't hear what he said.  Wherever it was, it sounded comforting.

The only time Calvin spoke was when he was lifted to his feet by two officers.

"It would have been beautiful," he muttered in pain.

Sloane didn't need to know what that meant.  She didn't care what he had to say, only that he had been caught.

She watched the ambulance leave with Calvin inside before she allowed them to treat her.  Her clothing was removed in the back of an ambulance, her skin scrubbed, and she was given a shirt.  It was recommended she seek further help, but Sloane didn't want it.  She would be in pain for a while, but the effects were currently at their worst.

Her name was Fiona Bell, the daughter of Congressman Bell.  While they were waiting for the emergency vehicles to arrive, Fiona had explained to Max what the killer meant to do with his victim.  He was planning on taking her that night to the botanic gardens to crucify her by attacking her to the side of a building and then cutting her until she bled out.  It was to draw attention to his cause.

Sloane was in pain, but she hadn't felt so good for a long time.  She walked with Max through the old farm, not wanting to go home just yet.  Professor LeGrande had been called to take care of the water hemlocks, and Sloane wanted to see them taken away before she thought of leaving.  She needed to know what else was at the farm to bring the case to a close.

And in the meantime, it was just nice to be with Max.

"I worried about you at the time, but it's kind of cool to think about it now, seeing you in there, taking him on," Max said.  "You can take care of yourself.  "

"I almost died," Sloane admitted.  "Your shot at him helped, even though you missed."

"It was calculated," Max said.  "I wanted to help you, but I didn't want to take all the glory for myself."

"Yeah, is that right?" Sloane asked.  "You're so considerate, Max."

"I do what I can," Max admitted.  "You know how I am."

"Yeah, I do, and I wouldn’t change it for the world."

"So, the case is done," Max said.  "We'll likely have another murder to investigate soon, but we should celebrate.  I'd like to spend some time with you."

Sloane could hear it in his voice.  He wanted to be more than just friends or partners.  Sloane wanted that, too, but her problems were not completely solved yet.

"It's tradition for us to get drinks at the bar after a case," Sloane said.  She was dead tired, but her body wasn't ready for sleep yet.  She could do with a beer and a dose of listening to Max as he got drunker.  He might be silly at times, but he was a good man and made the best out of life.

"The bar it is," Max announced.  "We can get drunk together, make out, and then have an awkward interaction tomorrow."

Sloane laughed.  She wanted to feel happy, but she couldn't just yet.

"Hey, Max, there’s something I need to tell you," Sloane said.

"Anything," Max replied.

"I would tell you not to be angry at me, but that's not realistic," Sloane said.  "You can be angry at me if you like, but I only did it to protect you."

"The longer you go without saying what it is you’ve done, the more worried I get, Sloane," Max said.

They took a few more paces in silence, Sloane reaching her hand out to touch the tops of the long grass, before she spoke again.

"After our previous case, the one before this, you dropped me at home, and it was when we early… well, you know."

"Yeah, I do," Max said with a smile.

"When I went upstairs after that, I found Brendan in my apartment."

"What?" Max said.

"He was sitting in the dark waiting for me," Sloane explained.  "He'd finally come to his senses or something.  He was in too much danger, and he needed my help."

"You should have told me," Max said angrily.

"Maybe, but I didn't," Sloane said.  "If I could do it all again, I wouldn't tell you.  I didn't want you to get involved, and I knew you would want to step in, and that would lead to more trouble.  I don't want you to step in now, Max, but I want you to know the situation and how I'm handling it, and if you want to run from me, you can."

"Let me hear it first," Max said.

"Brendan is in debt to Vincent Mercado, or that's what Vincent thinks, but we both know you don't walk away from him.  I visited Vincent, and—"

"What did you do?" Max asked.

"He would have killed Brendan if not, Max," Sloane said, needing him to understand.  "I had to make a deal, so I passed him some information."

"What?" Max asked, his voice getting louder.

"What would you have done, Max?  Vincent Mercado threatened to kill everyone from the arms deal that we broke up, and that included Brendan.  If Brendan were to show his face, he would be killed.  What was I supposed to do?  Vincent can't be brought in.  He's been brought in multiple times, and we have nothing on him.  I had to do something, and if you have any better ideas, then I'd like to hear them."

Max was silent for a moment, then rubbed his face.  "I don't know what I would have done," he admitted.  "And if you had told me, I would have gone to see him, and it wouldn't have ended well, so maybe you are right.  Are you still feeding him information?"

"Yeah," Sloane admitted.  "I mean - I don't know, but I don't imagine a guy like Mercado's going to let me off the hook.  Whatever happens, I'm in it with Brendan now."

"What do you mean you’re in with Brendan now?" Max asked.

"I mean, Mercado was targeting Brendan, and now, I have a target on my back until Mercado’s satisfied."

He sighed.  "No," he said softly, shaking his head.  "I'll kill him."

"You won't," Sloane said.  "That's not how this ends."

"Then how does it end?" Max asked.

"I don't know yet," Sloane admitted.  "I can't think straight right now.  I really want to grab that beer with you, Max.  I need to wash my neck and arms again, and I want to let Brendan know that you know.  After that, I'll meet you in the bar and we can talk about it.  Can we please do that?"

"Okay," Max said.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Sloane felt like her muscles were becoming heavier.  She was weighed down with the case, her fight with Calvin, and the toxin still on her skin.  All of that would go away in time, and it should be a time to rest and celebrate, but there was still the issue with Brendan.  Until she solved that, she couldn't fully rest.

Sloane took out her key and unlocked the door, going in and closing it before announcing herself.

"I'm back.  You won't believe the day I've had."

She was met by silence, and it instantly chilled her.  She balled her fist before grabbing her gun and taking it out.  She pointed it forward and moved quickly through her apartment, afraid she would find her brother's dead body.  She didn't find his body, but she did find a folded note on the kitchen table with her name on it.

Sloane opened and read it.

Sister, thank you for taking me in and helping me, but I have to solve my own problems for once in my life.  You are out there every day making the city a safer place, and I come to your apartment and only make your life more dangerous.  You put your neck on the chopping block for me, and that's not fair.  I have to face up to my problems and take care of them, so that's what I'm doing.  Don't come after me.

Brendan.

Sloane dropped the note and ran to the door, exiting her apartment.  Her muscles burned before she ran, but she still sprinted as quickly as she could, down the hallway, the stairs, and out onto the street.  Her feet hit the sidewalk hard, and tremors ran up her body.  She ran four blocks, barely stopping for the cars to stop before she crossed the streets.  She made it to the bar and burst in, hoping Max had made it there before her.  She needed his help, but more than that, she needed his calming influence.

Her head moved wildly as she scanned the bar, and she spotted him in their usual booth by the window.  She ran to him, almost crashing into the table.  Everyone, the four-bar patrons and the servers gawked at her as she moved like a hurricane.  Sloane placed her hands on the table, panting to collect her breath.

"I didn't know you needed a beer that bad," Max said.

"Brendan," Sloane gasped.  "It's Brendan!"

"Alright, just take a breath," Max said.  He stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder.  "What's happened to him?"

"He's gone, Max, and I think he's about to do something stupid.  He's either going to kill Vincent or be killed by him.  Either way, it doesn't end well.  He left me a note telling me not to follow him.  I don't know where he's gone!"

"Take a seat," Max ordered.  He held up a finger to get the server's attention. "Two bourbons, doubles!" He sat down opposite Sloane.  "Just for the calming effect.  We have one each, then we go find Brendan, okay?"

"How do we"—she took a large involuntary breath in—"find him?"

"I have a contact at the FBI," Max said.  "Does Brendan have a phone?"

"Yeah," Sloane said.

"Then let's hope he has it on him," Max said.  "What's his number?"

The server appeared with the two bourbons and set them on the table as Sloane gave Max the number.  She looked like she wanted to ask what the problem was, but a life of tending bars had taught her that other people's problems were not her business.  She left them to it.

"Drink," Max ordered as he dialed the number.

Sloane downed half the glass, the bourbon burning her throat much like the water hemlock toxin still burned her arms and neck.

 Max picked up his glass and downed it as the phone rang.  "Hey, Ollie, I need a favor.  I need you to trace a number immediately.  This is critical, okay?"

Max held Sloane’s gaze as he relayed the number to his FBI contact.

"Yeah, I'll hold," Max said.  He tightened his lips, a concerned look in his eyes that only made Sloane feel more worried.  "Yeah, thanks.  I owe you one, Ollie."

Max hung up and tapped the screen on his phone.

"What did he say?" Sloane asked.

"He's got a location, and he's sending it over now.  He's close." Max turned the phone to show Sloane.  "He's only a few blocks from here.  He hasn't had time to do anything yet."

"No, that's the Whisky Lounge," Sloane said.  "If he's there, then he's with Vincent already.  We need to get there now."

"My car is outside," Max said as he got up and threw a twenty on the table.  "I was planning on getting a cab home and picking it up tomorrow.  Come on."

Sloane followed him out of the bar and into his car.  Max didn't waste any time.  Before Sloane had her seatbelt on, he was screeching away from the curb and entering traffic.  Sloane clicked her seatbelt in and might have been afraid of the driving if it weren't for where they were heading.

Max was annoyed at her for not telling him about Brendan, but he wanted to stop her brother from doing something stupid.

They wove in and out of traffic, Max in control of the car but driving dangerously and too fast.  If a cop saw them, they would be stopped.  Sloane wondered if Max would stop if they were pursued by flashing lights.

 Five minutes after leaving the bar, Max skidded the car to a stop.  They both lurched forward and then back into the seats.  They unbuckled and were out, running toward the Whisky Lounge.  Sloane pushed ahead of Max.  She was glad he was along for the ride, but he shouldn't be the one to put himself in the firing line.  She didn't want him to get hurt.

They went in through the front door, and Sloane found the same woman at the desk and security guard on the door.

"We’re not open yet," the security guard said.

Sloane and Max pulled out their IDs.

"Do you have a warrant?" the security guard asked, not moving aside.

Max pulled his gun, not pointing it at the large man.  "We're going in," he stated.  "This is nothing against you.  Please call the police.  I have a feeling we're going to need them when this is done."

The security guard looked annoyed but stepped aside without saying a word.  Sloane rushed in first again, followed by Max and his gun.  She drew hers when she entered the main bar area, which looked the same as before, but without the people and cigar smoke.

"We’re not open yet," the barman said, not seeing the guns.

Max held his finger to his lips as he ran to the bar, taking out his ID with his free hand.

The barman stepped back and almost knocked the bottles from the shelf.  He raised his hands in surrender.

"Vincent Mercado," Max whispered.

The barman was shaking but managed to point to a velvet curtain on the other side of the room.

Sloane and Max took off together toward the curtain.  Sloane pulled it aside as Max pointed his gun into the next room and moved through the doorway.  Sloane followed him.  They both had guns [pointed, arms extended, moving down the dark corridor.  Max pointed his gun into the open room on the right, and then Sloane pointed hers into the open room on the left.  Both were empty, which left the door at the end of the hallway.

The door had the word ‘Talent’ written on it.

The backstage area for the performers.

Max half turned as he walked the hallway, with Sloane just behind and to his right.  He put his finger to his lips, then pointed at the door.  Sloane nodded.  They were going in, and they would come up with whatever plan was needed on the spot.

When they got close to the door, Sloane heard her brother's voice.  She couldn't make it out from the other side of the door, but it sounded like he was pleading.  She instantly ran past Max and opened the door herself, foolish in her haste, but she needed to save him.

As soon as she opened the door, everything froze.  She saw the scene before her in perfect clarity.  Brendan was on his knees, his head down, tears in his eyes.  Behind him, Vincent stood, his gun pointed at the back of her brother's head.  A frightened young woman sat in a chair facing a makeup table, her head in her hands, a tight silver dress clinging to her body, and to her right, a large man in a black suit.

It was an execution.

There was a zipping sound in her ear as time sped up and returned to normal, and it all happened so fast that it must have been barely three seconds from start to finish.

Vincent was the target, but he wasn't the threat.  The man in the black suit immediately drew his gun and pointed it at Sloane as she entered, but Sloane was quicker, and she shot him in the chest.  The suited man managed to get a shot off, and it whistled past Sloane's left ear.

Taking out the suited man left her vulnerable, and Vincent raised his gun, taking it from her brother's head and pointing it toward her.  She didn't have time to turn and shoot.  The shot was fired, then another a split second later.  Max slammed into Sloane, throwing her forward as his bullet hit Vincent in the chest.  Vincent's bullet fizzled past Sloane's right ear.

Sloane collapsed to the ground with a thud, Max pushing her out of the way just in time.  Two more thuds came a second later.  Sloane leaped to her feet, but the danger was over.  Vincent and his man lay on the ground, face-down, blood pooling under each of them,

"He was going to kill him," the woman muttered.  "He was going to kill him right in front of me."

"It's okay," Max said.  "It's done.  It's over."

Brendan looked up, still on his knees, and he found Sloane.  "I'm… Thank you.  He would have killed me.  You saved my life."

"We are similar in a lot of ways, aren't we?" Sloane said.  "We both have a tendency to do stupid things."

Sloane looked around the room.  It was a mini slice of carnage.  She couldn't tell if Vincent Mercado was still breathing or not.  She took a deep breath and turned to Max.  He didn't have to come along with her, but he had saved her life and Brendan's life.  He had done more for her than she could ever thank him for.

"Max, I’m…" She didn’t have the words that would tell him just how sorry she was.

Max took a step toward her.

"I don't know what I’d do without you," Sloane said.

Max didn't respond with words but actions.  He stepped forward, took Sloane in his arms, and finally kissed her.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right with the world.

EPILOGUE

One Week Later

Sloane picked up her beer bottle and clinked it against Max's before she swiveled slightly and clinked it against Brendan's bottle.  It was not the first time she had been in the bar with Max since the incident in the Whisky Lounge, but it was the first time she had convinced Brendan to come along.  They still had to be careful, but it looked like he was in the clear.

"Vincent Mercado is making a good recovery," Max said.  "He'll be in hospital for a while, but he'll face trial for what he did.  This is the first time we've ever had more on him than just suspicions.  He was about to execute a civilian and almost killed a detective, and it's not only our word for it, but we had a witness to the entire thing, too.  I'd say we have him bang to rights this time."

"Is she okay to testify against him?" Sloane asked.

"As far as I know," Max said.  "Word is that now people know we have him, others are coming out of the woodwork to testify against him as well in exchange for immunity from past crimes.  Sounds like there are enough people offering to testify, that the District Attorney's office can pick and choose their witnesses."

"He's going away for a long time," Sloane said to Brendan.  "You're finally safe, and you don't have to testify.  You don't even have to be involved in the trial."

"Yeah, but you do," Brendan pointed out.

"I do, but he's finished.  He doesn't have the power to come after us anymore if people are turning against him." Sloane patted Brendan on the shoulder before reaching across the table to take Max's hand.  "And it's all because of you.  I'd be dead if not for you, Max."

"I couldn’t let someone so beautiful die," Max admitted.

"I know I promised this, but the drinks are really on me this time."

"No, the drinks are on me," Brendan said.  "I owe the two of you big time."

"Well, look at that," Max said in a teasing voice.  "You managed to get out paying again."

"But this counts as me paying because I offered, right?"

"We’ll talk about it later," Max said.

Brendan raised his hand to ask the server to bring them more drinks.

"How about Calvin Rhodes?" Sloane asked.  "How's his recovery going?"

"Well," Max replied.  "He'll be fit to face trial in a month.  He'll be in jail for the rest of his life.  You're in the DA's good books right now, not least because you made sure they got the right guy.  I've also been told that Fiona Bell is doing a public artwork based on her experiences.  A 'work of catharsis' or something like that."

"Who do you talk to?" Sloane asked, shaking her head and smiling.  "How come you always know everything that is happening?"

"I don't know, but people love talking to me.  I must have one of those faces, I guess."

"Hey, we need a toast," Brendan said.  "We're all still alive, as my sister has met someone who can make her happy and hopefully stop her from doing stupid things."

Sloane nudged her brother with her elbow before she picked up her beer and drank.  Her whole body filled with happiness as she saw the two people she loved most in the world.  She looked over at Max, and she flashed the smile that made her heart melt.

She was happy.

NOW AVAILABLE!

COME CLOSE

(A Hannah Mercy FBI Suspense Thriller—Book One)

“A brilliant book. I couldn’t put it down and I never guessed who the murderer was!”

—Reader review for Only Murder

When FBI Agent Hannah Mercy transfers back home to Lincoln, Nebraska to care for her ailing father, she expects a quiet life—but finds herself embroiled in solving mysteries from the past, and hunting down diabolical killers….

As indie musicians are gruesomely picked off with shattered dreams and broken strings, Hannah Mercy must tune into a killer's twisted melody. It's up to her to stop the music—and the murders—before the final note is played.

COME CLOSE is book #1 in a new series by #1 bestselling and critically acclaimed mystery and suspense author Rylie Dark, whose books have received over 2,000 five-star reviews and ratings.

The HANNAH MERCY series offers a captivating take on the mystery genre, filled with unexpected twists and intense suspense. Its cleverly-crafted lead character, a brilliant but flawed heroine, will win your affection and keep you turning pages long into the night. Fans of Robert Dugoni, Melinda Leigh, Lisa Gardner, and Teresa Driscoll are sure to fall in love.

Future books in the series are also available!

“I loved this thriller, read it in one sitting. Lots of twists and turns and I didn’t guess the

culprit at all… Already pre-ordered the second!”

—Reader review for Only Murder

“This book takes off with a bang… An excellent read, and I'm looking forward to the next book!”

—Reader review for SEE HER RUN

“Fantastic book! It was hard to put down. I can’t wait to see what happens next!”

—Reader review for SEE HER RUN

“The twists and turns kept coming. Can't wait to read the next book!”

—Reader review for SEE HER RUN

“A must-read if you enjoy action-packed stories with good plots!”

—Reader review for SEE HER RUN

“I really like this author and this series starts with a bang. It will keep you turning the pages till the end of the book and wanting more.”

—Reader review for SEE HER RUN

“I can't say enough about this author! How about ‘out of this world’! This author is going to go far!”

—Reader review for ONLY MURDER

“I really enjoyed this book… The characters were alive, and the twists and turns were great. It will keep you reading till the end and leave you wanting more.”

—Reader review for NO WAY OUT

“This is an author that I highly recommend. Her books will have you begging for more.”

—Reader review for NO WAY OUT

COME CLOSE

(A Hannah Mercy FBI Suspense Thriller—Book One)

Rylie Dark

Bestselling author Rylie Dark is author of the SADIE PRICE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising ten books (and counting); of the CARLY SEE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books; of the MIA NORTH FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books; of the MORGAN STARK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books; of the HAILEY ROCK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising sixteen books (and counting); of the TARA STRONG MYSTERY series, comprising six books; of the ALEX QUINN FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books; of the MAEVE SHARP FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the KELLY CRUZ FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the JESSIE REACH FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising seven books; of the BECCA THORN FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the CASEY FAITH SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the ARIA BRANDT SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the HAYDEN SMART SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the SLOANE RIDDLE SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; and of the new HANNAH MERCY SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books (and counting).

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Rylie loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.ryliedark.com to learn more and stay in touch.

BOOKS BY RYLIE DARK

HANNAH MERCY MYSTERY

COME CLOSE (Book #1)

COME HOME (Book #2)

COME BACK (Book #3)

COME HELP (Book #4)

COME HERE (Book #4)

COME INSIDE (Book #5)

COME WITH (Book #7)

COME PRETEND (Book #8)

COME STAY (Book #9)

COME WATCH (Book #10)

COME WISH (Book #11)

COME FORGET (Book #12)

SLOANE RIDDLE MYSTERY

AFTER HE TOOK (Book #1)

AFTER HE STRUCK (Book #2)

AFTER HE SNAPPED (Book #3)

AFTER HE WAITED (Book #4)

AFTER HE WATCHED (Book #5)

HAYDEN SMART MYSTERY

ALL FOR ME (Book #1)

ALL FOR NOTHING (Book #2)

ALL FOR VENGEANCE (Book #3)

ALL FOR YOU (Book #4)

ALL FOREVER (Book #5)

ARIA BRANDT MYSTERY

THE UNKNOWN WOMAN (Book #1)

THE UNKNOWN WIFE (Book #2)

THE UNKNOWN NEIGHBOR (Book #3)

THE UNKNOWN GUEST (Book #4)

THE UNKNOWN PAST (Book #5)

CASEY FAITH MYSTERY

BEHIND HIS EYES (Book #1)

BEHIND HIS SMILE (Book #2)

BEHIND HIS MASK (Book #3)

BEHIND HIS LIES (Book #4)

BEHIND HIS THOUGHTS (Book #5)

BECCA THORN MYSTERY

GONE COLD (Book #1)

GONE DARK (Book #2)

GONE SILENT (Book #3)

GONE HOLLOW (Book #4)

GONE FOREVER (Book #5)

JESSIE REACH MYSTERY

HIS OTHER SIDE (Book #1)

HIS OTHER SELF (Book #2)

HIS OTHER SECRET (Book #3)

HIS OTHER WISH (Book #4)

HIS OTHER PLAN (Book #5)

KELLY CRUZ MYSTERY

WHERE YOU GO (Book #1)

WHERE YOU HIDE (Book #2)

WHERE YOU SLEEP (Book #3)

WHERE YOU RUN (Book #4)

WHERE YOU FEAR (Book #5)

MAEVE SHARP FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

WITH MALICE (Book #1)

WITH ENVY (Book #2)

WITH VENGEANCE (Book #3)

WITH RAGE (Book #4)

WITH YOU (Book #5)

ALEX QUINN SUSPENSE THRILLER

FIRST, MURDER (Book #1)

SECOND, DEATH (Book #2)

THIRD, ENVY (Book #3)

FOURTH, LUST (Book #4)

FIFTH, WRATH (Book #5)

TARA STRONG MYSTERY

GIRL WITHOUT A CHANCE (Book #1)

GIRL WITHOUT A HOME (Book #2)

GIRL WITHOUT A TRACE (Book #3)

GIRL WITHOUT A NAME (Book #4)

GIRL WITHOUT A PRAYER (Book #5)

GIRL WITHOUT A PAST (Book #6)

HAILEY ROCK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

BEHIND YOU (Book #1)

BESIDE YOU (Book #2)

AFTER YOU (Book #3)

WATCHING YOU (Book #4)

JUDGING YOU (Book #5)

FOLLOWING YOU (Book #6)

NEEDING YOU (Book #7)

TAKING YOU (Book #8)

AMONG YOU (Book #9)

AGAINST YOU (Book #10)

BEYOND YOU (Book #11)

NEAR YOU (Book #12)

HAUNTING YOU (Book #13)

CHOOSING YOU (Book #14)

FINDING YOU (Book #15)

CLAIMING YOU (Book #16)

SADIE PRICE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

ONLY MURDER (Book #1)

ONLY RAGE (Book #2)

ONLY HIS (Book #3)

ONLY ONCE (Book #4)

ONLY SPITE (Book #5)

ONLY MADNESS (Book #6)

ONLY DARKNESS (Book #7)

ONLY SILENCE (Book #8)

ONLY VENGEANCE (Book #9)

ONLY SOLITUDE (Book #10)

MIA NORTH FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

SEE HER RUN (Book #1)

SEE HER HIDE (Book #2)

SEE HER SCREAM (Book #3)

SEE HER VANISH (Book #4)

SEE HER GONE (Book #5)

SEE HER DEAD (Book #6)

CARLY SEE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

NO WAY OUT (Book #1)

NO WAY BACK (Book #2)

NO WAY HOME (Book #3)

NO WAY LEFT (Book #4)

NO WAY UP (Book #5)

NO WAY TO DIE (Book #6)

MORGAN STARK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

TOO LATE (Book #1)

TOO CLOSE (Book #2)

TOO FAR GONE (Book #3)

TOO LOST (Book #4)

TOO BROKEN (Book #5)