Sirens at Night

An Alexis Parker novel

G.K. Parks

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other concepts are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, establishments, events, and locations is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author.

Copyright © 2026 G.K. Parks

A Modus Operandi imprint

All rights reserved.

Print ISBN: 1942710542

Print ISBN-13: 978-1-942710-54-7

One

“Why are you moving the couch?” I asked.

James Martin didn’t turn to look at me. Instead, he continued to inch the oversized grey sofa into the narrow opening.

“I don’t think it’s going to fit,” Marcal, Martin’s valet and personal furniture mover, said.

“It’ll fit. We measured.” Martin lifted his side a little higher, letting out a grunt before shifting it to the right and lowering it into place. “See, it fits.”

Marcal stepped back, examining the space and shaking his head. “What do you want me to do with the chairs?”

That’s when I realized a section of the reclining theater seats had been removed to make room for our couch.

“I don’t know yet.” Martin rubbed his shoulder before making a few rotations with his arm. “Let’s leave them in the guest room for now.”

“Is there anything else?” Marcal asked.

“That should be it for today.”

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Marcal nodded to me. “Good night, Ms. Parker.”

“Good night,” I said as he went past me.

Martin continued rubbing his shoulder as he took a few steps back to examine his handiwork. “I think this should work just fine here. What do you think, Alex?”

“We should have a movie night.”

“Funny, I had the same thought.” He closed the distance between us and kissed me. “I wasn’t expecting you home so soon. I wanted to have everything ready before you arrived. Why do you always have to spoil my surprises, sweetheart?”

“I told you I wouldn’t be gone long. I just had to finish my report so Lucien would have it by the morning.” I pointed to the couch. “Why did you move our couch in here?”

“We rarely use the theater room. We always end up watching movies in the living room. I thought if our couch,” he smiled as he said it, “was in here, we may get more use out of the big screen.”

“Every television you have in this house is a big screen.”

“Regardless of what they say, size matters, and this is the biggest.”

“Careful, an unsuspecting bystander may think you’re overcompensating for something.”

“I’m not worried about the unsuspecting. You know better. That’s all that matters. But in case you’ve forgotten in the last sixteen hours, I’d be happy to refresh your memory.”

“What are you going to do with the seats that were here?” I asked, returning to the matter at hand.

“I don’t know yet.”

“They’re going to keep the rest of our apartment furniture company, aren’t they?”

Martin sat down beside me. “We have the room. I can turn another suite into a little apartment, like I did on the second floor.”

“You mean my room?”

He gave me a confused look, unsure if I was teasing. “You can have every and any room in this house, sweetheart. Unless you were suggesting we get another apartment.”

“No.” I crawled onto his lap, straddling him. “I love you. I’ve proven it, so stop buying real estate.” I kissed him and ran my hands through his hair, down his neck, and to his shoulders. Gently, I rubbed the spot he’d been massaging. “Did you hurt your shoulder when you lifted the couch?”

“It gets aggravated sometimes. It’s no big deal.”

“Uh-huh.”  

“Hey.” He put his finger under my chin and forced me to look at him. “None of that. We’re not doing that tonight. Tonight, we are having movie night. You, me, and an empty movie theater with a couch conveniently placed for making out.”

“So that’s why you moved the couch in here.”

“The arms on the chairs get in the way.”

“We could skip the movie,” I said, but Martin wasn’t deterred.

“I made snacks.”

“You made snacks.” I gave him a sideways look. “Like popcorn? Because I’m not sure what other snacks you could possibly make. Snacks come premade. That’s why they’re called snacks.”

“I don’t think that’s why they’re called snacks.”

“Haven’t you ever seen an episode of Scooby-Doo? They come in a box. You rip it open. You get a snack.”

“Now you want dog treats?”

“They aren’t dog treats. Shaggy eats them too.”

Martin took my face in his hands and gave me a gentle kiss. “You can make popcorn and grab whatever snacks you find in the kitchen. I have…appetizers waiting for us.”

“You wanted to say snack, didn’t you?” I grinned evilly. “Were they frozen? Did they come in a box? Is that why you called them snacks?”

“Did Lucien offer you a double espresso while you were at the office?”

I held up my palms and climbed off Martin’s lap. “Message received. I’ll tone it down a little.”

“I don’t want that.” He followed me into the kitchen. “I like it when you’re giddy. Happy giddy, not anxiety-addled. Should I assume this happy giddiness has to do with the couch’s new location and all the fun we can have in there?”

“It’s not the couch. It’s you, handsome.” I winked before turning my attention to the pantry cabinets.

He opened the oven door and pulled out a baking sheet. “That’s a very good answer.”

“Does that mean I get a treat?” I pulled a container of popcorn from the cabinet.

He smiled, his green eyes giving away his x-rated thoughts.

“Don’t,” I warned.

“What?” He feigned innocence. “I was just going to say that I could have you panting.”

“Martin.” I tried not to smile or blush, failing miserably at both.

He grabbed a few plates from the cabinet and two sets of silverware. “How do you want to do this?”

“Martin, stop.”

He pointed to the tray he’d taken out of the oven. “I was talking about dinner. Honestly, you need to get your mind out of the gutter, Alexis.”

I smacked his good arm and left the popcorn on the counter while I examined the selections on the baking sheet. “You made these?”

“Why? Is there something wrong with them?”

“You made loaded potato skins, mozzarella sticks, chicken wings—”

“With a honey mustard glaze.”

“With a honey mustard glaze,” I repeated. “And,” I poked the other item on the baking sheet with my fork, “what is that?”

“Cheeseburger stuffed pretzel bites.”

“Ah ha. Those come from boxes.” I looked in the trash, but I didn’t find the evidence.

“These didn’t. I made the pretzel dough. Then I made a cheeseburger filling. And then I folded them over into little handheld meat pies or stuffed sliders or—”

I pressed my finger to his lips. “Did you also have a double espresso?”

“Triple.”

“And did you snort a few lines after that?”

“Shh. I have to keep my drug habit a secret. My girlfriend wouldn’t approve.”

“She might give you a pass if these taste as good as they smell.” I picked up one of the stuffed pretzels and took a bite. The filling oozed but was too thick to make a mess. Instead, it clung to the side of the bread. “That’s it. You’re taking Martin Tech in a new direction. Box these babies and you’ll make millions.” I took another bite. “Billions.”

Martin wiped the cheese sauce mixture from the side of my mouth with his thumb before licking it. “Damn, that is good. Too bad it’s someone else’s recipe.”

“Recipes aren’t subject to copyright.” I tried one of the wings, which was just as good. After grabbing a stack of napkins, we took the food and popcorn into the theater room. Martin set the food up on a tray table and placed it in front of us. I surveyed the spread before filling my plate. “You basically made the local movie theater’s menu. Well, an upgraded version, but still.” I stared at him in awe. “You didn’t have to go to the trouble. We could have gone to the movies instead.”

“We missed going to the movies the last three times we tried. I wanted tonight to be special.”

“Special? Did I miss a holiday? One of our anniversaries?” I checked my mental calendar. “I thought the next one was two months away. And for the record, it’s weird we have three.”

“When we first met, when we first got together, and when we got back together.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Three makes sense to me.” Now that I had filled my plate, he helped himself to a heaping assortment of appetizers. “Would you like a cocktail or a beer to go with it?”

“I’m thinking sparkling water. Something flavored. Maybe a soda.” I put my plate down on the side table and slid around the tray table. “I’ll get the drinks. What would you like?”

“A longneck from the fridge.”

When I returned, the fancy popcorn maker that looked like a miniature version of the kind at the movie theater was brimming with freshly popped kernels. Martin tucked something into his pocket and adjusted on the couch. He put the remote down in front of me.

“Are you sure about this?” I held up the remote. “You never know what I might pick.”

“Be gentle,” he said.

I gave him a look. “You’ve never once said that to me before.”

“Maybe we’ll try something a little different tonight.”

*        *       *

I climbed back into bed and pressed the ice pack against Martin’s shoulder. A prescription pill bottle sat on the nightstand beside him. “I didn’t know you had any pain meds left.”

“These are from when I twisted my knee.” He stretched his arm out, encouraging me to lie against his chest.

“They didn’t expire?”

“Not yet.” He kissed my forehead before brushing my hair behind my shoulder and wrapping his good arm around me. “I love you. I want you to remember that.”

The timing of that declaration made me twitchy. Had he said it because he was afraid I’d start dwelling on what had caused the original injury? I ran my fingers down the incision line. The surgeon had done a great job the second time around. The first time hadn’t gone so smoothly with the bullet and his artery, and damn, now I was dwelling.

“Hey,” he gave my side a squeeze, “are you okay?”

I gave the orange plastic pill bottle another look. “Yeah.” But now I felt a little anxious. “Bad memories, I guess.” I sat up, so I could look him in the eye. “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You cooked tonight. We stayed in. You moved the couch. Did you work today?”

“It’s Sunday, sweetheart. Only the obsessed work on Sundays.”

“My point exactly.” I had to go to the office, but Martin stayed home. Martin always went to work if I went to work. Most of the time, he went to work even when I stayed home. “We didn’t say we were taking a weekend. We didn’t even say we were taking the day.”

“Alex, I’m cutting you off from caffeine and sugar.” He rubbed his thumb against my cheek. “I had the day off. It happens every now and again. We used to make plans to coordinate our days off and hide away in hotel rooms and order room service. Remember that?”

I remembered him sneaking out while I was asleep to get a few hours of work done or to make calls, not that I hadn’t done the same, but we weren’t talking about me right now.

“Then things happened, like they always do.” He continued rubbing my cheek. “This is our break from that.”

“You didn’t want me to know you had the day off because you were afraid it would jinx us?”

He grinned, but the look in his eyes didn’t quite match the expression on his face. “I wanted to surprise you with the couch and snacks and everything else. I couldn’t do that if you spent the day with me.”

Martin’s logic may have made sense, but it wasn’t making a lot of sense to me. Then again, I’d been having an off night. Martin blamed the double espresso. I blamed the moved furniture. I didn’t process changes to my environment very well, but something told me the change wasn’t the couch. It was something else. Something Martin was intentionally keeping from me.

Two

“Ms. Parker, your four o’clock is here,” the receptionist said.

“Thanks, Janet.” I put the phone down and gave the basic background check one last look.

As a rule, Cross Security ran background checks on potential clients before agreeing to represent any of them. Lucien Cross, my boss, had been burned a few times by not performing his due diligence. So whenever possible, we were instructed to find out if we should trust our soon-to-be clients before they walked through the front door.

Leon Wallace had called to make an appointment a week ago. Since my schedule had a few holes, he’d been handed off to me. I wasn’t sure what his issue was, but his background came back boring. He wasn’t squeaky. But he didn’t have a criminal record and wasn’t in financial crisis. When asked why he wanted to hire a private investigator, he said he wanted someone to look into his wife. I hated working the scarlet letter brigade. But that was a staple of the private eye biz.

“Mr. Wallace,” I said as I stepped into the conference room, “I’m Alex Parker. Would you like to tell me what’s going on?”

Since he was already outfitted with a coffee cup and a bottle of water, I didn’t bother to ask if he wanted anything else. Janet had already handled that.

He swept a piece of light brown hair out of his eyes and leaned back. According to the records I found, he was in his late twenties. He had sharp hazel eyes and a dimple in the center of his chin. If it weren’t for his glasses and the way he wore his hair, he’d have movie star good looks.

“That is a good question. One that I would love to be able to answer.” He held up his hand before I could ask another question. “Sierra does this a lot. Well, not a lot, but let’s just say it’s not uncommon for her to disappear. We argue, and she leaves because she says she needs space.” He glanced at the legal pad I’d brought into the room, eyeing it as if confused why I hadn’t written anything down yet. “Sierra’s my wife. She’s…I don’t want to say missing. That implies something happened to her. I’m sure that’s not the case. But she won’t answer when I call.”

“Do you know where she is?” I asked.

“I have my suspicions.”

I waited, but he didn’t say anything else. Instead, he kept staring at me in a way that made me feel like a lab rat. I glanced at the clock on the wall and waited a full sixty seconds, but he didn’t say a word. All he did was stare. Most people didn’t like silence, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Jotting down Sierra’s name at the top of my sheet, I asked, “Do you think your wife is having an affair?”

“No, she’s not a cheater. She’s just fiery.”

“Where do you think she is?”

“Usually, when she disappears, she’ll do one of three things. She’ll go to a hotel, stay with her parents, or sleep on her best friend’s couch.” He glanced down at the paper. “Her parents told me she wasn’t there. But I wouldn’t put it past them to lie. They never thought I was good enough for their daughter, and they like to make that apparent every time I see them. But Mandy told me she hadn’t heard from her either.”

“Mandy?” I wrote the name down. “Is that Sierra’s friend?”

“Former college roommate, and yes.” He nodded at the legal pad. “Amanda Denning, that’s her full name.”

I wrote it down, which made Leon visibly relax.

He settled deeper into the chair and let out a sigh. “Mandy usually tells me when Sierra shows up at her place. She doesn’t want me to worry. She knows how dramatic Sierra can be. It’s kind of our system for dealing with her little tantrums.”

“You think your wife has tantrums?” I stared at him. “What was your fight about?”

“What color we should paint the kitchen.” He laughed. “It sounds stupid. But we’ve been wanting to remodel the kitchen for a while. We’ve been to every do-it-yourself hardware store to pick out cabinets and countertops and tile. The process has been a source of stress. We’ve been snapping at each other lately, and the paint argument was the last straw, so to speak. She marched out of the store, took the keys, and left me there.”

“I bet that made you mad.”

Leon brushed his hair back behind his ears. “Well, it didn’t make me happy. By the time I got home, she had packed a bag and left.”

I made a few notes. “When was this?”

“About two weeks ago.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Why would I bother them with this? They have real emergencies to handle. I’m sure Sierra is perfectly fine. She usually cools off and comes back in a few days. But it’s been more than a few days. I just want to talk it out with her so we can move on.”

“Move on? Do you mean divorce?”

He glared at me. “No.”

I slid the paper toward him. “I need to know what hardware store you were in when this happened. I’m also going to need the make, model, and license plate for the car she’s driving.”

“She left the car,” he said.

“I thought you said she took the keys and left you at the store.”

“She did. Then she went home, packed her things, and left the car.”

That made my radar buzz. “Does Sierra suffer from any medical or psychological conditions?”

He snorted, smiling a little. “I’ve made her sound like a crazy person. She’s not crazy. She just doesn’t have the best coping mechanisms for stress. She likes to avoid conflict. By leaving, she is literally walking away from the argument.”

“Has there ever been any verbal or physical abuse?”

“We may name call when we fight, but it’s not anything spectacular. I’m sure you must be familiar. Do you have a wife or husband, Ms. Parker?”

“No.”

“That’s a shame.” He stared at me a moment longer than necessary, and I wondered if the engagement ring I wore on a chain around my neck was visible. But I didn’t look down or make a move to touch it. “Look at all these fun things you’re missing out on.”

“So she’s never been violent?”

“No.”

“What about you?” This was the perfect scenario for a person to flee an abuser. By leaving him at the store, Sierra would have had time to go home, grab whatever she needed, and get out.

He cocked his head to the side. “Do you think I’d hurt my wife?”

“I don’t know. Did you?”

“No.” He eyed the legal pad, but I didn’t make a note of that.

“Do you have a joint account? Access to her credit cards? A shared phone plan?”

“She turned off the location sharing on her cell phone, which is what she usually does when she needs space. And she won’t answer my calls or texts.”

“Write down her number.”

“She’s not the type to answer if she doesn’t recognize the caller.” But he wrote her phone number down anyway. “As far as our finances go, everything is comingled. We have the same credit card and bank account. She has a separate savings account, which she had from before we met. That’s the only account that I don’t have access to. But none of our accounts show any hotel charges. I don’t think she’d spend that kind of money to stay at a hotel this long. We’re doing okay, but Sierra’s always been frugal.”

Again, I wondered if she had run away from an abusive marriage. Nothing in the background check indicated Leon Wallace was hurting his wife. There hadn’t been any reports of domestic disturbances. But I’d only conducted a basic background check. I’d have to see if any of the neighbors had made a complaint or placed a call.

“Do you or your wife own a gun?” I asked.

“No. What are you thinking?”

“Do you think Sierra would try to hurt herself?”

He chewed on his bottom lip, as if the thought had never struck him until now. “I don’t think she would. I don’t know why she would. We were fighting over a paint color. That’s not reason enough to do anything drastic.”

I resisted the urge to remind him that he hadn’t seen or spoken to his wife in two weeks, which felt a little drastic. More than likely, I wasn’t getting the whole story. “She may have already been overwhelmed with other things and that was—”

“The last straw.” He nodded a few times, considering it. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. Sierra always has a lot going on.”

“What does she do for a living?”

“She’s a data analyst for a streaming service.”

“That sounds like it could be a high-stress job. Corporate work always is.”

Leon smirked. “I’d imagine your job is high-stress. You have the corporate side, as well as dealing with life and death matters.”

I didn’t see any reason to respond to that. Instead, I nodded at the legal pad. “Write down her work information while you’re at it, along with a list of any friends or relatives who may be in contact with her. Make sure you put down her parents’ information.”

While he wrote, I wondered why no one else had reported her missing. Was she missing? Could something have happened to her?

“What’s your theory?” I asked.

“Theory?”

“You said you had your suspicions, but you never said what they were. Instead, we played this guessing game. Where do you think Sierra is?”

“With her parents.” He wrote down their address and phone number. “That’s where I would suggest you start your search.”

“Cross Security hasn’t agreed to take your case yet. I have to discuss the matter with my boss and get his approval. This is just a consultation.”

Leon looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost five. “How long will that take?”

“You should have an answer tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? I thought you were going to talk to him now.”

“No.”

Leon folded his arms over his chest. “What are the reasons Cross Security wouldn’t be interested in my case?”

“It would have to do with time constraints and we’d have to make sure there was no conflict of interest.”

“Give me an example of a conflict of interest. I’m positive Sierra hasn’t hired you.”

Most potential clients didn’t ask why they would be rejected. Though, I’d recently worked a case that Cross had declined to take that I had taken anyway. The woman in that instance refused to take no for an answer, but Leon wasn’t giving me the same desperate vibe. His was more indignant, like we may not think his situation was serious enough or his money was good enough. Given the number of A-listers on retainer, his money may not have been good enough in Cross’s opinion. But that wasn’t grounds for us to turn him away.

“We don’t disclose our clients. We respect their privacy, but a conflict can be something as miniscule as we represent the company where she works or where you work.” I tried to distract him. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Wallace?”

“I’m a freelancer, specializing in on-site tech support.”

“What does that entail?”

“A lot of helping little old ladies download videos of their grandchildren.” He looked at the clock. “Is there anything else? Any other questions I can answer?”

“What are you hoping Cross Security will do for you exactly?”

“I want you to find Sierra and tell her I want to talk it out. If she doesn’t want to talk to me directly, I’ll write her a letter that you can give her. She can get dramatic at times. But she always melts over little love notes.”

“Do you want photographic proof that we located her? Or an address of where she is? Anything like that?”

He cocked his head to the side. “That won’t be necessary. Cross Security has a reputation as the best. I trust you wouldn’t lie about finding her if you didn’t.” He gave the clock another look and stood. “I don’t want to keep you. I’m sure you have places to be. I’ll expect a call tomorrow regarding your decision.” He pushed his chair in and backed toward the door. “Who knows, maybe Sierra will be waiting for me when I get home and I won’t need your services after all.” He nodded. “Have a good night.” He gave my naked ring finger one last look. “It may not always look like it, especially in my case, but marriage is a wonderful thing. You really ought to give it a try.”

Three

After returning to my office, I made a few calls and performed a more thorough check. Leon Wallace hadn’t acted like any client I’d ever met. He didn’t seem concerned or particularly distraught. He insisted he had no reason to be, but if he wasn’t worried about his wife, why hire private investigators to find her? That’s where I kept getting stuck.

“I don’t know what to make of this guy. He isn’t concerned about his wife. It’s more like this situation is an inconvenience, like he can’t finish the kitchen until she gets back.” I paced in front of my boss’s desk.

“Do you think he’s abusive?” Cross asked.

“I don’t know.” I hadn’t found any reports. There had been no 9-1-1 calls from their house or made by the neighbors. The hospital hadn’t treated Sierra Wallace for any injuries, suspicious or otherwise. I’d had Jen O’Connell check for me, off the record.

“All right, here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll call him back in to the office tomorrow and have a face-to-face.”

“You don’t trust my judgment?”

“It’s not that. I want to look this guy in the eye before letting him sign on the dotted line.”

“So we’re taking his case?”

“We are,” Cross said. “But until we know the situation, we keep our investigation airtight. I don’t want him to have any idea where we’re looking or what we’re doing.”

“He thinks Sierra is staying with her parents.”

“And they won’t let him near her. That says a lot.” Cross rubbed a hand through his hair. “His record’s clean. But I’ll see if anyone at the precinct knows something the files don’t say. Maybe he has an ex who changed her mind about filing a report.”

“Do you want me to check? That is why you hired me. I have friends in blue.”

“I can handle it.” He pointed to the clock. “Don’t you have dinner plans?”

Martin was usually fashionably late, but since I was meeting him at his office, I didn’t want him to be any later on my account. “Are you going to the same charity dinner tonight?”

“Not this time.”

“Lucky you.”

Cross snickered. “They have an open bar. My suggestion, skip dinner and have a few drinks instead.”

“I’m just glad this one’s not black tie.”

His eyes traveled. “Tell me you aren’t wearing that.”

“You’re starting to sound like Martin.” I gave him a look. “I don’t like it.”

“I figured you would.”

Shaking my head, I made my way out of his office.

Justin, Cross’s assistant, heard the tail-end of the conversation. “I don’t like most of the things he does or says either. But the more I tell him that, the more he does it anyway. It’s a spite thing. I thought you should be aware.”

I smiled. “Good night, Justin.”

“Good night, Ms. Parker.”

“You still can’t call me Alex?”

“It’ll make Lucien more spiteful. I don’t think I could handle that.”

“I can hear you,” Cross bellowed from his office.

“That’s the point,” Justin hollered back.

We exchanged looks while I waited for the elevator. When the doors closed, a terrifying thought struck me. I liked this job. These people were my friends. Honestly, they had been for a while, but it hadn’t been smooth sailing at first, so I didn’t notice when it finally happened.

Normal people would be pleased, but I always tried to avoid getting close to people. Now I was closer to more people than ever before. I had formed my own family, made friends, had work friends, and found my soulmate. I cringed, hating that term. But that’s the only way I could describe Martin. He filled the void, replacing the parts of me that I had lost. We’d both been broken, but together, we were whole.

Taking the company car, I drove the two and a half blocks to the Martin Technologies building. After entering through the monogrammed glass doors, I smiled at Jeffrey Myers, head of security, and pointed to the elevator bank on the other side of the lobby.

“The boss should be expecting me,” I said.

Jeffrey tossed a keycard in my direction. I caught it by the lanyard before it hit the ground. “You know, this would be easier if you would let me reactivate your old employee badge,” he said.

“I don’t work here.”

“Mr. Martin wouldn’t mind.”

“I would. Plus, we’d miss out on these fun exchanges, and I wouldn’t set the metal detectors off every time I forget to leave the hardware at home.”

“You have an odd definition of fun.”

I pressed the button for the elevator and stepped inside. “Tell me about it.”

The doors didn’t open again until I reached the seventeenth floor. Since it was almost seven, the building was empty. Most of the Martin Tech employees cleared out hours ago. A few stragglers would hang around until five. But anyone who remained after that had a project deadline or ran the company.

I knocked against the door to Martin’s office. The glass wall was set to opaque instead of clear, so I couldn’t see inside. But Jeffrey would have told me if Martin was in a meeting. I waited a few seconds and knocked again, figuring he may be on the phone.

When the lock didn’t release, I tried his cell. After five rings, it went to voicemail. I tried the direct line to his office, but he’d already switched it so I was rerouted to the main switchboard.

I went further down the hall, but Luc Guillot, MT’s vice president, had already left for the day. The same was true of Luc’s assistant. No one else had an office on the top floor, and I didn’t feel like going back to the lobby to ask Jeffrey if he had any idea where Martin had gone.

Instead, I bypassed the biometrics and entered the code to Martin’s office. Being his former security consultant came with a few perks. Not having to wait in the hallway for him to return was one of them.

Martin’s desk was cluttered. He had a stack of mail which he’d been in the process of opening when he abandoned his seat. The shiny silver letter opener remained atop a bunch of stapled papers. A glass sat beside the desk. The ice cubes hadn’t even melted yet. The sound of running water caught my attention.

The door to the washroom remained open. “Martin?” I called, approaching the door. If he’d been in the bathroom, that would explain why he hadn’t heard me knocking and why he hadn’t answered his phone.

No response.

“Martin?” I moved toward the doorway, shocked at the sight in front of me. “Martin.” I knelt beside him. “Hey.” I shook him, but he didn’t open his eyes. Automatically, I checked his pulse while I assessed him for signs of injury. I didn’t see any blood. But what I did see made my world turn upside down. An opened prescription pill bottle was on the ground beside him. A few pills were scattered on the floor.

I picked up the bottle. It was the pain medication he’d taken last night. How many pills had he taken? The glass on his desk made me want to shake him harder. If I wasn’t terrified, I may have.

Instead, I paid more attention to the thumping beneath my fingers. His pulse was weak and slow, but it was there.

“James, open your eyes. I need you to look at me.” I gripped his face in my hands, finding his skin clammy but somehow too warm at the same time. “Don’t do this. I need you. C’mon, talk to me.” I grabbed the towel from beside the sink and shoved it under the cold running water. Then I pressed it against his forehead, his cheeks, and the back of his neck. He didn’t respond.

Cursing, I pulled my phone from my pocket. I was more than halfway through dialing 9-1-1, when I spotted the two other clear orange plastic pill bottles on the vanity. Unlike the one rolling around on the floor, these didn’t have labels and they were empty.

What I was seeing and what I knew were at odds with one another. Martin wasn’t an addict. He didn’t have a drug problem. He didn’t use drugs, except everything in this room said he did. His father committed suicide. And while I knew it wasn’t a hereditary ailment, I couldn’t shake the thought that this looked like he’d made an attempt. What was I seeing?

Moments from last night flashed through my mind, but I didn’t have time to analyze them. While I’d been having this internal debate, my fingers had dialed another number on their own accord. My body knew what to do even if my brain was busy fighting with my heart.

“I need a medical team to the Martin Technologies building,” I said. Cross Security had its own doctors and medics on staff to deal specifically with issues like this. Rich clients often had a lot of things they needed to conceal. Drug abuse being one of them. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but it looks like a possible overdose. The patient is unresponsive.”

“Did you administer naloxone?”

“I don’t have any.” Since I was driving the company car, there would be some in the glove box, but I wasn’t sure I should leave him to go get it, especially since I wasn’t sure why he was unconscious on the ground.

“A team will be there in two and a half minutes,” the tech said. “Will building security be a problem? Should I dispatch a second team to deal with fallout and perform damage control?”

“I’ll take care of that. Just get someone here to help him.” I sucked in some air, my lungs burning since I’d forgotten how to breathe. “The patient is in his late thirties. No known pre-existing conditions. There’s a glass of scotch on his desk and a bottle of,” I read the name from the label, “rolling around on the floor. There are two other bottles of pills, but they aren’t labeled, and they’re empty.”

“How about his vitals?”

I pressed my fingers to his neck. “Weak.”

“Is he breathing?”

“Barely.”

“Help will be there in ninety seconds.”

I disconnected the call and dialed Jeffrey downstairs. The person I’d spoken to at Cross Security reminded me our clients valued discretion. Some part of me must have realized Martin wouldn’t want to have to deal with the bad publicity and fallout from a scandal if word spread about this, whatever this was, so I forced my voice not to betray me.

“Hey, Jeffrey. Mr. Martin decided to conduct a safety exercise. A team from Cross Security will be entering the building any second now. Let them up to his office. I’m also going to need access to the camera footage and security logs from today. You know how much he likes to create fake crisis situations.”

Jeffrey laughed, which made me wince. “He’s doing that again?”

“Yeah, I think so. He likes to keep me on my toes,” I choked out, hoping he hadn’t heard my voice catch. “Just keep everyone away and stay out of Cross Security’s way. That’s who he’s testing.”

“No problem. The building’s nearly empty as it is.”

I splashed water on Martin’s face, but even that didn’t earn me so much as an eye flutter. “James, please.” I leaned closer. “Please, wake up.”

The pill bottle rolled back and forth over one of the tiles, the sound grating on my nerves and threatening to make my brain explode. How could he do this?

I hit the speed dial on my phone. “Mark, it’s Martin,” I said as soon as he answered. “He’s on the ground. I found him like this. There are pills and bottles. Did you know?”

“Alex?” Supervisory Special Agent Mark Jablonsky was used to receiving frantic calls. “Where are you?”

“The MT building. Martin’s office.”

“Is help on the way?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Heavy footsteps sounded a few feet away. Somehow, I’d had the foresight to leave the door to Martin’s office ajar. A team of four medics entered. I recognized two of them from my previous scrapes.

“Parker, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know. I found him like this.”

“We’ll take it from here.”

They pushed me out of the tiny washroom which barely had enough floor space to accommodate Martin’s body. Martin’s body.

I took another step back, keeping my eyes on them and reaching blindly for the back of the leather couch. Once my hand came into contact with it, I gripped it tightly, as if it were my only tether to reality.

One of the medics administered naloxone while another hooked Martin up to some monitors. Another one outfitted him with a c-collar and checked for head injuries. Then they slid him onto a backboard and pulled him out of the bathroom. He still hadn’t woken up, so they pushed another Narcan.

“What happened?” Cross asked from behind.

I jumped, trembling.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” My boss watched the medics work, spotting the pill bottles in the other room. “Has this happened before?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know. I didn’t know.” I froze when Martin emitted a grunt. His eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t keep his eyes open long.

“All right. His stats are rising. We can transport him now.” The medic looked at Cross, who nodded.

“Keep it quiet.” Cross turned to me. “How do we get him out without using the front door?”

I rattled off the alternative route, the same one I’d given to Martin when I’d been in trouble and couldn’t risk the authorities seeing him leave the building. Now he was in trouble. A different kind of trouble. One I should have known about.

“You heard the lady. Take good care of him. We’ll meet you there,” Cross said.

“I want to go with him,” I said.

“I’ll drive you. You know what the mobile medical units look like inside. They need to work on him. You don’t want to get in the way.”

That sounded rational, even though I didn’t think that was the reason Cross wanted me to hang back.

“Lucien—”

By now, the room had cleared. It was just the two of us in Martin’s office.

“How long has this been going on? When did it become a problem?” he asked.

“It wasn’t. It isn’t.” The entire world was spinning the wrong way. Nothing made sense. “I—” I looked at the evidence staring at me from the washroom floor with more evidence gleaming on the vanity. “I didn’t know he was taking pills. Not like this. Last night, he aggravated an old injury. He took one of the leftover pain pills from when he hurt his knee. I didn’t think much of it. But I should have.”

There were a lot of things I should have paid more attention to. Martin always had mood swings. I thought that was a personality trait, but maybe there was more to it than that. He worked long hours. He didn’t spend a lot of time at home. He could be secretive. He knew how to manipulate me.

Cross put on a pair of gloves and picked the pill bottle up off the floor. He read the label. “Is this what he took last night?”

I nodded.

“No refills.” He put the bottle back where he found it, eyeing one of the pills which had somehow been crushed against the tile. After carefully examining the vanity near the sink, he shut off the water and gave the two empty pill bottles a look.

“Alex?” Mark’s panicked voice echoed in the hallway. Jeffrey was behind him.

“I told him it was a drill,” Jeffrey said, giving me an uncertain look. “Is everything okay?”

Cross stepped out of the washroom, all business. “Everything’s perfectly fine. We’re conducting an exercise. Agent Jablonsky was called to assist.” He held out his hand, his business card materializing in his palm. “I’m Lucien Cross of Cross Security. We’ve met a few times. I asked James if he would allow me to put my people to the test, and he graciously agreed. I’ll meet you in the security office to collect the surveillance footage so I can review my team’s performance.”

“I already mentioned that to Jeffrey,” I said. Regardless of anything, Martin had enough problems. More than I knew. He didn’t need anything else to worry about. “Thanks.” I said to Jeffrey. “If we think of anything else we need, we’ll let you know.”

“All right. You know where to find me.” Jeffrey left, and Mark closed the door behind him.

“Where is he?” Mark asked.

“My people have him,” Cross said. “He’s getting treated.”

“Treated for what?”

Cross indicated the bathroom. “What appears to be a drug overdose.”

Mark looked like he wanted to punch someone. “Drug overdose?”

“How long has this been going on?” I asked Mark. “You should know. You’re his best friend. He tells you things. You see things I don’t. You—”

Mark grabbed my shoulders. “Breathe. I’m sure Marty’s in good hands.”

“Did you know he was taking pills?” I asked.

“No way. Marty’s not that guy. Sure, he drinks. And I wouldn’t put it past him to party, but that isn’t his style.”

“Are you sure?” I felt sick. “What about when we broke up? Could it have started then?”

“I’m not sure he had a single sober day for weeks, but he didn’t mess around with that shit. If he had, he would have put himself in the ground.”

Mark’s words made me shiver. “Then what did I walk in on?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” Mark joined Cross in the washroom while I looked around Martin’s office.

Nothing seemed off. Everything looked like it always did. There were no broken glasses or empty bottles. His desk indicated he’d been in the middle of work. What would possess him to leave his desk and down who knows how many pills?

“Is there any chance he could have been saving pills to off himself?” Cross asked.

“Marty wouldn’t do that,” Mark snapped. “He wasn’t depressed. He had a lot going for him. A lot of plans for the future.”

That thought had run through my mind, but it didn’t make sense now that I had time to think. “No,” I said from the main room, “this isn’t what a suicide looks like. There’s no note. Suicides don’t stop in the middle of opening their mail because they got an alert on their phone saying it’s six o’clock, time to kill yourself.”

Cross snorted, possibly from nerves or because he found my gallows humor funny. Once I had a little more time to process, my humor would get even darker. That’s when I should record my comedy special.

I stood over Martin’s desk, skimming the documents from the recently opened envelope. Legalese was always hard to comprehend, but in my current state, it was making even less sense. All I could tell was he wasn’t getting sued and hadn’t been served. No one had blackmailed or threatened him.

“Someone did this to him,” Mark said. “Marty isn’t an addict. And he sure as shit wouldn’t try to kill himself.”

I wanted to believe it, but I couldn’t figure out how that would be possible given the scene I walked in on. “I’ll pull the security footage and access the logs. Jeffrey can tell us if Martin had any visitors.”

“We should get a forensics team to check the place,” Mark said. “I can call Moretti.”

“Or,” Cross interjected, “I get my people to perform evidence collection. We keep a lid on this in case we’re wrong, in case Martin wouldn’t want this getting out.”

“Lucien’s right. Martin Tech can’t handle more bad press. A scandal like this could kill him, if he’s struggling.” Memories of Martin drunk and upset, worried about the future of his company came to mind. Something must have happened at work. That’s why he had taken yesterday off, why he wanted to make it nice for me, why we had movie night and snacks, and why he told me he loved me. Maybe he did intend to harm himself.

“Alex,” Mark moved closer, “what is it?”

“I don’t know, but I missed it. I should have been paying more attention.”

Cross tapped his wrist against mine. “I’ll have a team perform evidence collection in case we missed something. We’ll keep it quiet. Nothing will leak. We’ll make sure MT is insulated and Martin gets the help he needs. Okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

Four

Every bit of it played through my head. Every odd comment. Every strange look. “I felt it last night. I thought he was hiding something from me. He does it a lot. Usually, it’s some big work trip he has to take or plans to buy a condo, shit like that. But maybe, this time, it wasn’t. Maybe this time…” I bit my bottom lip to keep my chin from trembling. “Maybe last night was good bye.”

“You sound psychotic,” Mark said. “This is Marty we’re talking about.”

“I know.”

“And you believe what you just said?”

I let out a frustrated grunt. “I don’t know what to believe. Nothing about this makes any sense, so I’m trying to figure out how to make it make sense. You saw the security footage and the visitor logs. No one entered or left Martin’s office yesterday without him being there. Luc was the last person who stopped by to see him, and that was at 4:45 when he was on his way out. Security cams didn’t see anyone else enter or leave after that.”

“So we know Marty was alive and well at 4:45,” Mark said.

“Luc didn’t drag Martin into the washroom and force pills down his throat. Luc didn’t try to kill him.”

“I didn’t say he did.”

“So what happened between 4:45 and 6:45? Sure, I get it. Charity dinners suck. But there are easier ways to get out of going. This is extreme. Even I wouldn’t pull a stunt like this.” I rubbed my face. “Those were his pills, Mark. I recognized the bottle. He had it out last night.”

“Someone could have tampered with it.”

“How?” No one had been left unsupervised inside Martin’s office. “The only people who had access were Marcal and me.”

“What if something else got dropped into the bottle and Marty’s just been lucky up until this point?”

“That sounds ridiculous, like some crazy coincidence, and you do not believe in coincidences.”

Mark let out a huff. “I’m going to contact the pharmacy and manufacturer anyway. It never hurts to double-check.”

“It’s your dime.” I approached the open doorway to the medical suite. Most of Cross Security’s medical services were mobile with the equipment, tools, and personnel contained inside the vehicles, but two rooms had been reserved in the office for medical emergencies. Usually, this is where I came for band-aids or stitches, but today, that familiar room was keeping Martin stable.

My beloved was unconscious on the bed. A million different monitors were hooked to him to make sure nothing went wrong. If things started heading south, they’d transport him to a real hospital. But the medics and doctors on staff were no slouches. I’d been told they’d sedated him for his own comfort while they flushed what they could from his system. That meant a lot of IVs and monitoring intake and output. But I was told he’d be okay and he’d be able to go home in a few hours.

“Once he wakes up, we’ll have a better idea of what happened,” Mark said.

I turned away from the door. “Let’s run through it.”

“Alex—” Mark’s expression told me he didn’t think this was a good idea, but I didn’t care.

“The victim was found alone in his office. At least one pill bottle came from his home. The two empties,” I glanced down the hallway in the direction of Cross’s private crime lab, wondering if they’d pulled prints off the other two bottles yet, “may have also come from Martin’s house. Even if they didn’t, one would have to assume he was aware they were there since that’s his private washroom in his private, locked office.”

“You’re missing a few key facts.”

“No, I’m not, which is why I don’t think this was an accidental overdose.”

“Alex—”

“One,” I ticked it off on my finger, “most addicts wouldn’t still have prescription pain meds from two years ago. That’s not typically how addiction works. Two,” I added another finger, “if Martin was using to any serious extent, Marcal would have known.”

Mark snorted, amusement in his eyes. “I don’t even want to know how you came to that conclusion, but sure, we’ll go with that.”

“Martin has an addictive personality.”

“So do you,” Mark said, “but I’m not worried about you popping pills either. And I don’t think it’s addictive so much as driven.”

“Fine line.” I went back to pacing in front of the doorway. “The thing is, I don’t think this was an accident.”

“Neither do I. That’s what I said from the beginning. It was intentional.”

“No one else was there,” I hissed. “Intentional means self-harm.”

Anger burned in Mark’s eyes. He blocked my path and grabbed my shoulders. “Why do you think Marty would hurt himself? Did you break up with him again?”

“No, but something happened yesterday. I don’t know what. But he was moving furniture and making junk food, gourmet junk food, but junk food. He wanted everything to be perfect.”

“That doesn’t sound like—”

“It was too perfect.”

“That’s your insecurity talking.” Mark searched my eyes before hugging me. But I’d seen something in his. Something that made me think he had some idea what Martin was hiding. “You didn’t miss anything. You didn’t screw up. Whatever happened to Marty is not your fault. There’s no reason you should think it is. But I know you, and I know you need to hear it before you will believe it.” He let go. “All that matters is he’s going to be okay. And he is.”

“You keep saying someone else is responsible. Do you have any idea who would want to hurt him?” I asked.

“He hasn’t mentioned anything to me.”

“Me neither. But things have been hard lately. We had just gotten back to normal, or so I thought, but—”

“Stop.” Mark shook me. “Why are you willing to believe this? When he was accused of murder and the evidence suggested he was the only possible suspect, you didn’t believe that. Why is this different?”

“I don’t believe this.” I shook my head, knowing I was making no sense. “I don’t. Not a single part of me believes he would do this if for no other reason than he would never hurt me like that. He knew I was supposed to show up at his office. If he…” I swallowed. “He wouldn’t have wanted me to be the one who found him. So no, I don’t think he’d do this.”

“So why are you arguing that he did?”

“You know why.”

“Because if you dismiss this and we’re wrong we may not get another chance to save him.” Mark sighed. “Fuck.”

“That’s why we run it. We discuss the likelihood based on the evidence and facts we have, but I can’t see any of this clearly. I don’t think you can either. We’re too close.”

Mark glanced in the direction of the elevator. “You know I despise Lucien, but his judgment isn’t nearly as clouded. Maybe he should weigh in on this.”

“Let’s see what kinds of theories he has now that he’s had time to review whatever evidence collection found.” I wasn’t sure letting Cross Security go through Martin’s personal effects had been a good idea. I hadn’t touched any of the items on his desk, but they all looked like sensitive internal documents. Martin wouldn’t want Cross having access, but if someone had circumvented the cameras and gained entry to his office or threatened him, searching for clues would be the fastest way to figure that out.

I was halfway to the elevator when I spotted Cross talking to Amir, the head of the lab. Pushing open the door, I held it for Mark who followed me inside. Amir nodded to Mark, and I wondered if they knew one another.

Cross met my eyes. “How are you holding up?”

“That depends. Did you find anything?”

“Security footage is clean. No one’s tampered with it,” Amir said. “No one entered that office that we don’t know about.”

“The pill bottle on the floor had two sets of prints. Yours and Martin’s. The two on the counter only had his prints,” Cross said.

“I picked up the bottle on the floor,” I said.

Cross nodded. “I know. We’re not accusing you of anything.”

“Do you think it was self-inflicted?”

Cross and Amir exchanged a look.

“We’re testing everything in his office. The liquor bottles and drinkware weren’t laced. When I spoke to Mr. Myers, he didn’t mention any recent threats. We’re going through Martin’s mail to make sure we didn’t miss anything. But right now, we don’t have anything conclusive,” Cross said.

Mark pulled Amir aside to discuss the analysis while Cross led me out of the room. I didn’t like the divide and conquer routine.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Martin tested positive for opiates. The medics didn’t find anything else in his system.”

“Great.” The sarcasm was not lost on my boss.

“It could have been an accident. You said he hurt his shoulder. Maybe he forgot he took a pill, took another, lost track of time, and took a third.”

“Would that be enough to make him comatose?” That would have been enough to put me on the ground, but Martin wasn’t as sensitive.

“It’s not beyond the realm of possibility.”

Cross’s words made me relax. That made more sense than the conclusions I’d jumped to. But nothing was ever that simple. I didn’t think Martin would lose track like that. The barely touched glass of scotch on his desk made me pause. I distinctly remembered having a conversation with him, multiple conversations with him, about not mixing pills with booze. Last night, he had one beer, which was pushing it, but he knew my stance on the matter. He knew how dangerous it was to mix hard liquor with painkillers.

“Do we have his stomach contents?” I asked.

“I don’t think they pumped his stomach.” Cross arched an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure.” I had no theory. His bloodwork proved he’d been exposed to opiates. “What was his blood alcohol level?”

“It didn’t show on his bloodwork.”  

“But he had a glass on his desk. He poured a glass and didn’t drink it. Instead, he went into the bathroom to take a pill and immediately ended up on the floor.” I cocked my head to the side. “Does that make sense to you?”

“It doesn’t.” Cross went to the nearest terminal and brought up the photos his techs had taken. “There was no powder on the vanity. No residue anywhere. The only crushed pill was on the floor, and I do not believe that James Martin was snorting crushed up oxy off the bathroom floor. He’d use the counter or a mirror like everyone else.”

“So he’s waiting for me to show up. He’s going through some reports and reading his mail. He pours a glass of scotch but doesn’t drink it.” I closed my eyes, picturing the room before all hell broke loose. “The ice wasn’t melted. There was no condensation. It couldn’t have been sitting there that long. He couldn’t have been down more than a few minutes by the time I showed up.”

“Pills usually don’t work that fast.”

“There was something else in his office. Something else he came into contact with that caused this,” I said.

“I’ll have the medics check for punctures.” Cross picked up the phone.

Mark moved closer. “What’s going on?”

“We’re exploring other avenues,” I said.

“I told you Marty wouldn’t do this to himself.”

My heart agreed. It always had, but my head remained confused.

Cross put the phone down. “No punctures.”

“Mr. Cross,” Amir called from where he stood beside a lab tech, “it was inside the envelope.”

“What?” I asked.

The tech held up a swab which was a bright purplish-blue. “Drugs.”

Amir put on a mask and double-gloved before picking up the document with a set of tweezers. I recognized it as the one on top of the stack, the one I’d skimmed but hadn’t touched. He held it up to the light before placing it on another section of the table and dusting it for prints. “I’m guessing Martin touched this and whatever is on the paper was absorbed through his skin. Give me a few hours to determine the chemical compound.”

I moved closer to the table, Mark at my side like a conjoined twin. “Where did it come from?” I asked.

The envelope the letter had been in had a foil interior to prevent the chemical inside from leaching out and harming an unintended bystander. The return address was for a law firm in Philadelphia, but the postmark was local. That made no sense.

“What does the letter say?” I asked.

Amir grabbed a handheld scanner and waved it over the document. Cross brought it up on the terminal he’d been using. Mark and I read over his shoulder. It was formatted like most legal documents. Martin Technologies was named as a plaintiff in a case, but once I read past the opening paragraph, the text sounded like nonsense a computer spat out when asked to mimic how most documents of this type would start.

“I can have Almeada take a look,” Cross said, “but this doesn’t read like any contract or legal document I’ve ever seen.”

“The document isn’t real.” I pointed to the envelope. “I doubt that’s even a real firm, but even if it is, I bet they don’t know about this.” I pointed to the postmark. “We need to find out who sent it. Whoever did tried to kill Martin.”

Five

An attempted murder meant the police had to get involved. Cross had rules about homicide investigations. But since Martin wasn’t dead, Cross wasn’t willing to completely hand over the reins.

Mark called Lt. Dominic Moretti of major crimes and filled him in on the situation. Regardless, word did not need to spread. We’d contained the situation, believing it had been what it appeared. There was no reason to broadcast to the world someone wanted James Martin dead again. That would have a negative impact on his company and his investors, and it could be the catalyst for another attack.

“Dom said he’ll take over the investigation. He’s on his way to claim the evidence you collected and maintain chain of custody. He’ll want to make sure you followed procedure,” Mark said. “You’ll have to provide statements.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Cross rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. But we’re handing this to him on a silver platter. He should be grateful.”

I gave Mark a sharp look before he and Cross went to war. Mark tilted his head ever so slightly. I could read his thoughts. He was keeping his mouth shut this one time as a favor to me.

From the other room, Martin let out a groan. I went to the doorway, afraid to go in but wanting to be close. The medic who had patched me up the last time I’d gotten hurt was checking his vitals.

“Welcome back, Mr. Martin,” the medic said. “You gave Ms. Parker quite the scare.”

“Alex?”

The medic turned with a smile, gesturing that I could enter. “She’s been waiting for you to wake up.”

I slipped into the room, forcing myself to hold it together. “Hey, handsome. How are you feeling?”

Martin squinted, possibly from pain or confusion. “Where—”

“Cross Security.” I sat on the edge of the bed and ran my hand against the side of his face. “We can talk about what happened later.”

“Did you get the number of the bus?”

“What?”

Martin stared at me, his eyes a little unfocused. “The one that ran me over.” I laughed, realizing he was making a joke, and he gave me a weak smile. “Are you okay?” he asked. “You look a little pale.”

“Me? I’m not the one who passed out on the bathroom floor.”

Martin winced, struggling to sit up, but the action made him dizzy. “Bathroom floor?”

“That’s where I found you. The details aren’t important right now.”

“We need to avoid bathrooms at all costs.” He closed his eyes and drifted off again.

The monitors showed his vitals were steady and normal. But since my hand was against his face, I didn’t want to move it away and wake him, so I stayed in that position for another twenty-three minutes until he let out a little snort and shifted in his sleep.

Silently, I left my perch and stepped into the hallway. Mark was waiting anxiously. If he hugged me, I’d lose it. Thankfully, he didn’t touch me.

“How’s Marty doing?” he asked.

“He’s still out of it.”

“It was morphine,” Cross said from where he’d been speaking to the medic. “Amir finished running his tests. Every sheet of paper that came out of that envelope was drenched in it.”

“You’re sure it came from that envelope?” I asked.

“Yeah, we found plenty lining the inside. Whoever did this made sure it’d get absorbed through his skin. There was so much, we even found traces on the letter opener he used.”

“How is that possible?” I asked.

“Whoever did this liquified it, soaked the papers in it, and shoved them into the envelope,” Cross said.

“You know how pain patches work,” Mark said. “This was like that, but on steroids.”

“Killers should not be this creative,” I said.

“Tell me about it.” Detective Nick O’Connell emerged from the lab with Moretti in tow.

“Nick.” My voice cracked.

“Since you were first on the scene, I’m going to need to take your statement. Then I’ll question the rest of these knuckleheads and let you get back to it.” O’Connell peered into Martin’s room. “I’m glad he’s going to be okay.”

Moretti carried a box filled with the evidence Cross Security had collected from Martin’s office. “Parker, you should have called us first.”

“There were reasons,” I said.

“He knows.” Mark pushed past me. “I’ll keep an eye on Marty while you take care of business.”

Cross cleared his throat. “Since you have this situation handled, I’ll make myself scarce.” He looked at O’Connell. “You already have my statement. I provided it when I handed over everything we had.”

“Stay near your phone, just in case,” O’Connell said.

Cross gave him a sideways look. “We’ll see.”

“Lucien, can I have a word?” I gave O’Connell an apologetic smile. “I’ll only be a minute. Do you want to wait for me in my office?”

“Yeah, sure.” O’Connell followed Moretti to the waiting elevator.

Cross led me to the stairwell and made sure no one was on any of the flights above or below before he said, “All right. It’s safe to talk. What’s going on?”

“I’m sure you already put together a file on Martin before you went into business together, but I need you to dig deeper. I want to know who did this to him.”

“Planning on getting revenge?”

“No.” Though, the thought did hold some appeal.

“All right.” His eyebrows lifted in confusion. “Honestly, I thought you were going to ask me to stay out of this and let you handle it. Is there any reason you don’t want to do this yourself?”

“I’ve always gone to great lengths to avoid investigating Martin. If he doesn’t want me to know something, there’s a reason. But we’ve done this too many times. And it keeps happening. It won’t fucking stop.” I took a breath. “I want to know who or what is coming down the pike.”

Cross rubbed his mouth, attempting to hide the smug grin. “It sounds like you want to hire me as Martin’s security consultant. Didn’t we have this conversation when I hired you the first time? Wasn’t that one of my terms? One that you adamantly denied?”

I was already regretting my request. But tonight proved Cross would keep Martin’s best interests at heart. “Lucien, do you want me to change my mind?”

“Fine. I’ll take care of it.”

“You,” I said. “No one else.”

“You have my word.”

With that weight now off my chest but weighing heavily on my conscience, I went down the stairs to my office where I found O’Connell waiting outside the locked door. He peered around, but the floor was empty. Everyone else had gone home for the night.

I opened the door and flipped on the lights. Normally, I’d ask if he wanted coffee, sit behind my desk, and act like a professional. Instead, I climbed onto the couch, curled up in the corner, and laid my head against the pillow propped against the arm. I hugged the other pillow to my chest and stared at the glass coffee table.

O’Connell sat in the chair across from me. “Everyone said he’ll be okay. He will be okay, right?”

“Yeah, he’s going to be fine.”

“Are you?”

“Maybe.” And then everything spewed out. The thoughts I had before I got to the MT building, waiting in the hallway while Martin could have been dying, letting myself in, finding him on the floor, and everything that happened afterward.

“Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?”

“I didn’t know how Martin came to be in that position, but my body went on autopilot.”

O’Connell closed his notepad and scratched his eyebrow. “It’s just us. Whatever you say doesn’t leave this room. Did he give you a reason to worry, to think like that?”

“I told you about last night.”

“Besides that.”

I shook my head. “I worry about everything all the time.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve met you. I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t depressed or partying too much. The last couple of double date nights we’ve had, he’s been drinking a bit more. I wondered if that had gotten out of control. Maybe you thought he branched out into something else to take the edge off.”

“The drinking started after I got stabbed. That fucked with his head more than he’ll admit. Mine too. But it’s getting better. Well, it was. Now, all bets are off.”

O’Connell took his notepad out again, indicating we were back on the record. “Do you have any idea who would do this?”

“Not a clue.”

“Have you received any recent threats?”

“Not really. I have plenty of enemies, but it’s been quiet.”

“Jablonsky said he’d look into that and let me know if he comes up with any leads or suspects. But I’m guessing this attack was aimed at Martin or Martin Technologies. The same as the last time someone tried to kill him.”

“Look into Luc Guillot, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure he didn’t do it.”

O’Connell looked at the time. “As soon as Martin’s up to talking, I’ll question him.”

“I’m guessing that will be sometime tomorrow.” I yawned, realizing it was almost two a.m. “Later today. Tonight. Something like that.”

“You look beat. Are you going to sleep here? Or are you going home?”

“I’ll take him home as soon as the medical staff says he can go. I already notified Marcal and Bruiser of the situation. Marcal will handle Martin’s absence from work.”

“Do you want a protection detail?”

“I want a moat and alligators. But Mark and Lucien have already worked out the security details. If I’m not happy with their plans or something changes, I’ll let you know.”

“All right. If you need anything, call. Jenny and I are here for you, day or night.”

“Thanks, Nick.”

“Always.”

I remained on the couch after he left, knowing I had to pull myself together. Martin would be okay. I knew that. What I didn’t know was for how long. When would this happen again? Would the bastard who sent him the tainted letter make another attempt?

This is why you never wanted to get involved with him, the voice in the back of my head reminded me. But that wasn’t a solution, and I didn’t have a time machine to go back and change it if it was.

Cross Security had done what they could. Whether the police or DA’s office had a problem with the way we cataloged evidence and processed the scene was anyone’s guess. But before any of that could matter, we needed a suspect. Then a judge would determine if we had enough for a warrant. That’d be the first hurdle.

Dragging myself off the couch, I went into the break room, flipped on the lights, and rummaged through the cabinets until I found the dark roast. With my coffee in hand, I went back upstairs. Only the overnight crew remained. Everyone else had gone home since the police had collected the evidence and taken over the investigation.

Mark remained with Martin. When I entered, he eyed the cup in my hand. “Where’s mine?”

“I thought you might want to sleep. I’m guessing you’re expected back at the federal building in,” I gave the clock another look, “five hours.”

“Try six, but they can live without me for one day.”

“Thanks for showing up.”

“You never have to thank me for that.” He sighed. “I can’t believe we’re back here. This is how it all began.”

“You have no idea how many times I’ve had that exact same thought tonight.” I sipped my coffee. “Are you sure Martin didn’t mention anything to you?”

Mark scratched his mustache. “He would have told me if there had been any threats or issues. But he hasn’t said a word about any of that.”

I stared at the man in the bed. Martin looked peaceful despite the wires and tubes. “You know what he’s hiding from me.” It wasn’t a question.

“He’s not hiding anything.”

“Don’t lie to me, Mark. Not now. Not tonight. Not after everything.”

“He loves you.”

“That’s not a secret,” I said.

“You know Marty. He gets some wild ideas in his head on how to express himself sometimes. His secret has nothing to do with whatever happened today. I can promise you that.”

When the IV bag emptied, the medic returned. He checked Martin’s vitals and unhooked most of the monitors. While he was doing that, Martin woke up. This time, he was a little more coherent.

“Alex, what’s going on?” Martin asked. He looked from me to Mark. “I was hoping this was a dream.”

“I figured you’d have better dreams than this,” Mark said. “Rainbow unicorns spinning gold or something like that.”

Martin snorted, but his eyes found mine, searching for reassurance. “Are we okay?”

The medic stepped in front of me, blocking our line of sight, and flashed a light in Martin’s eyes which made him wince and curse. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better.” Martin tried to see around him, but the medic didn’t seem to notice. He was used to difficult patients. He’d dealt with me at least a dozen times in the last few months.

“This should make you feel a lot better,” the medic indicated the new bag he hung from the IV pole. “If you want to take it to go, I don’t see any reason why that can’t be arranged.”

“He’s okay?” I asked.

The medic nodded. “Everything looks good. But this cocktail of fluids, electrolytes, and essential vitamins and minerals will get him back into fighting shape a lot quicker. It’ll replenish everything that was depleted or got out of whack due to the overdose.”

Martin glanced at the bag, looking a little queasy. “I guess I’ll take that to go.”

Six

I hadn’t planned on sleeping. I had been watching Martin for hours. When his IV drip finished, I carefully removed it the way the medic had shown me and stuck a band-aid on his arm. He’d been so deep asleep he hadn’t even noticed.

The sun had come up at some point, and I watched it through the crack in the curtains. I must have fallen asleep after that. Martin made a sound, and I jolted awake.

Every muscle from my neck to my low back had cramped. I moved slowly and deliberately, uncurling myself from where I’d been glued to the side of Martin’s pillow in case he needed anything.

“Shit,” Martin swore. Had he read my mind? He sat up, looking from side to side, confused as to his surroundings before reaching for the nightstand and searching the drawers.

I pulled myself up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Where’s my phone? I have to call work. I should have been there hours ago.” He indicated the clock. “Hours.”

“Marcal took care of it.” I grabbed his phone off the bedside table nearest to me and handed it to him. “He has your doomsday instructions that cover pretty much everything.”

Martin let out a sigh of relief before dropping his head back to the pillow, his phone held above his face as he checked his messages and read his e-mails. I tried to ask if he needed anything, but he was in panic mode, my least favorite of Martin’s personality settings.

“Martin—”

“Just give me a few minutes, sweetheart. I need to take care of some things.”

I rolled onto my back, gently stretching and rocking side to side to loosen the knots and stop the muscle spasms. No one had messaged me, but that was to be expected. People were waiting to hear from me, not the other way around.

Twenty minutes later, Martin put his phone down. “Okay, gorgeous.”

I turned to face him. “How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

His eyes weren’t quite as bright as they usually were. “I feel great.”

“Are you still high?”

“I don’t think so.” He gave me a kiss. “Give me a second.” He got out of bed and went into the bathroom.

Given the amount of fluids that had been pumped into him, his bladder must have been ready to explode, but that didn’t stop me from saying, “Why? Are you going to get high in there?”

He didn’t answer, but I knew he heard me. He came out a few minutes later, his teeth brushed, his face washed, and his hair quickly combed. “Hey.”

I knew that look and what it meant. My heart ached. Sorrow. Joy. Love. Relief. I couldn’t quite determine the combination. All I knew was it hurt. “Martin.” I barely got his name out before he closed the distance between us and kissed me hard. I kissed him back. Only once we were breathless did we break for air.

I put my hands against his chest, pushing him away. He covered my hands with his and stared into my eyes.

“For the record, I don’t believe I am under the influence of anything except you,” he said.

“That’s a cheesy line. Don’t tell me that’s worked before.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” He sat on the bed directly across from me. “You look terrified and a little aroused.”

“Tell me what happened yesterday. I need to hear your account. Whatever you remember.”

“Can’t that wait?”

“I’ve waited long enough. I let you check your e-mail and send your messages.”

“Alex—”

“You think I look terrified now? You should have seen me yesterday, except you didn’t because you wouldn’t open your eyes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We said we were going to stop doing this. Force of will, remember? What happened?”

“I don’t know. It was a normal day. We finished a little after four. I was going over reports and working my way through my inbox while I waited for you to show up so we could go to dinner.” He paused. “We never made it.” He glanced down at me. “That’s what you wore yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been a little too busy to change. You’re lucky I took my holster off.”

He glanced at the nine millimeter positioned menacingly on the nightstand beside me. “I remember not feeling quite right, and that’s the last thing I recall.”

“How many pills did you take?”

“Pills?”

“Your pain meds for your shoulder. The bottle you had last night that you brought with you to work.”

“You think I did this to myself?”

“Not anymore, but answer my question first.”

“Not anymore? What the fuck does that mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It doesn’t sound like it. What am I missing?”

“I don’t know yet. Answer the question.” I stared at him the same way I would a suspect. He hated when I did that, but I couldn’t let him derail me. “This could be important in figuring out the rest.”

“I brought the bottle with me to work in case my shoulder acted up, but I didn’t take any pills.”

“None?”

“None.”

“Where was the bottle?” I asked.

“In the washroom. I put it on the counter.”

“And the two other pill bottles in there? The ones without labels, how did they get there? When did they get there?”

The betrayal resonated in his green eyes. “Alexis, you know me better than that.”

“Did you put those bottles in there?”

“Months ago. Maybe years ago. One was an antibiotic. The other was,” his shoulders hunched, “I don’t even remember. That’s how long they’ve been there.”

“I’ve never noticed them.”

“They were under the cabinet. I peeled the labels off ages ago, once the bottles were empty. I’d been meaning to take them home to recycle. I didn’t want to toss them into the bin at work. You know how gossip spreads at MT. But I never got around to it.”

I’d never seen them before, and I’d been in that washroom dozens of times. “Where did you keep them?”

“In the locked drawer in the bathroom cabinet.”

“So how did they end up—”

He knew my next question before I finished asking it. “I was going to put the other bottle in there for safe keeping. When I opened the cabinet, I spotted them, so I pulled them out and left them on the counter so I’d remember to take them home with me. That’s how they got there and why they were empty.” He stared into my eyes. “It’s my turn now. What did you think I was doing with those bottles?”

“Martin, I found you passed out from an apparent overdose. There were pills on the floor and two empty bottles, and you were just lying there with the sink running. What did you want me to think? I couldn’t believe it, but it was right there. If I hadn’t seen the pills and the bottles, I would have thought something else. A seizure, maybe. I don’t know. I just…” I stared into his eyes. “You made stuffed pretzels.”

He laughed in surprise. “What?”

“You tried to make everything perfect the night before. So when I found you, I thought maybe that had been goodbye.”

He scrutinized me for a second, not believing I’d just said that before pulling me into his chest. “I wouldn’t.”

“I know.”

He let out an ugly laugh. “Except you don’t.”

“You don’t understand.” I told him everything that happened and everything we’d determined since I found him passed out. “There’s a lot of coincidence and circumstantial evidence wrapped up in this. I didn’t want to believe it, but I couldn’t discount the possibility. What if I was wrong? What if I hadn’t seen the signs?”

“And you didn’t learn about the envelope or the letter until later.” He blinked a few times. “I’m glad you didn’t touch it.”

“Then there wouldn’t have been anyone around to call for help.”

“Fuck.” Martin ran a hand through his hair. “Why is this happening to us again?”

“I wish I knew. Nick took the case. Mark called Moretti and I think Nick volunteered. Maybe Moretti asked him. I’m not sure, but we are back at square one.”

“You think someone wants me dead?”

“Or they want to embroil Martin Tech in scandal or keep you from signing something or doing something. I don’t know. What kinds of deals and negotiations are you currently working on?”

“A few things.”

“Nick will want to know about them.”

“I should go to the office, show them I’m alive and kicking.”

“Tomorrow,” I said. “Lucien ran damage control. We pulled the footage. Even Martin Tech’s security guards don’t have any idea what happened. Jeffrey’s the only one who would suspect something was off, but he thinks you orchestrated a fake emergency situation to put Cross Security to the test.”

“I didn’t know I was hiring Lucien.”

“That was the cover story, but it may be more than a cover story at this point.” I ran my fingers through his hair, relieved that our time hadn’t run out yet. “How are you feeling, really?”

“Like I could use a shower, and you should join me.”

“James—”

He put his finger to my lips. “I’m serious, Alexis. Whatever was in that IV bag made me feel like Superman. I could stop a speeding train or leap over a really tall building.” He gave me a devious look. “I’m made of steel.” The innuendo wasn’t lost on me. “Come on,” he tugged on my hand, “I’m going to prove it to you.”

*        *        *

“Shit. I forgot Mark was here,” I said as I towel-dried my hair.

Martin wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled my neck. “I’m glad. You have rules about having sex when there are people in the house.”

“For good reason.” I leaned back against him before turning and kissing him. I’d always been better at communicating my feelings through actions rather than words. Martin believed it was because I’d been classically trained. I thought it was because I hadn’t been socialized properly. I’d gotten a little better about talking things out, but this morning, words weren’t enough. “This was a one-time thing due to extenuating circumstances.”

“We’ll see. But I don’t think you can resist the man of steel,” he whispered, and I rolled my eyes, even if he hadn’t been wrong. He ran his thumb over my cheek. “I’m sorry I scared you yesterday, beautiful.”

“You told me we should avoid bathrooms.”

His nose crinkled. He didn’t remember saying that. “I may need to rethink that statement after what just happened in this one.”

“Agreed.” I looked at the time. It was almost two. “I’ll call O’Connell and tell him you’re ready to talk. In the meantime, go see Mark. I’m sure he’ll have a million more questions to ask and you won’t be able to distract him with your man of steel trick.”

“I wouldn’t want to.” He kissed me again, but I could see something else in his eyes.

“Do you still have a headache?” I asked.

“A little bit.”

“You should eat. How about I make breakfast?”

“Rain check.”

“You need to eat.”

“I’m thinking plain toast.”

“Because I offered to cook or because your stomach isn’t right?”

He gave me another peck, refusing to answer the question, and headed downstairs.

Seven

I didn’t want to let Martin out of my sight. I spent the entire day observing him as he spoke to Mark and Nick. His story didn’t change. He told them the same things he told me.

Martin didn’t know of anyone who wanted to harm him until it was too late. That may have been what scared me the most. Last time, there had been threats, warnings as to what would happen. This time, there was no warning.

“I’ll look into possible enemies.” O’Connell tapped his notes. “But I’m not going to get my hopes up.” He turned to Mark. “Did you come up with anything on your end?”

“Even less than that.” Mark glanced in my direction. “No one appears to be coming out of the woodwork from Alex’s federal agent days.”

“That’s a relief,” Martin said, not understanding why I found this news upsetting.

O’Connell turned to me. “What about your Cross Security cases? Didn’t you just piss someone off?”

“Someone Lucien threatened to destroy, but I don’t think a fixer would come at us like this.” I thought about the other cases we worked. “As far as I know, no one’s gotten out or been paroled.”

“That’s what I found too,” Mark said.

“We’re nowhere.” I brushed my hair back, finding it tangled and a little wavy since I hadn’t bothered to blow dry it. “Did CSU come up with anything?”

O’Connell resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “They have to go back over everything. Luckily, Cross Security photographed everything and properly labeled each piece of evidence. That has made the transition easier, but we’re running it as if we collected it ourselves.”

“We know the letter was tainted. Tell me the crime lab accepts that much as true,” I said.

“They do,” O’Connell said, “but everything has to be dusted for prints and checked for fibers and trace. You know how it goes.”

I wanted to say Cross Security could have done all of that faster and handed it over to the precinct in a nice, neat report, but I resisted. O’Connell wasn’t the enemy. “Cross Security’s lab is accredited.”

“I know. When we’ve used private labs to get results faster, the DA hasn’t had a problem with that. But Moretti’s a little worried since you came to us with this.”

“We didn’t fabricate evidence. We gave you the footage from MT. The photos.”

O’Connell held up his hand. “I know, Parker. It’s cool. Just give the lab a day or two to catalog and process everything. Hopefully, that will lead to something.”

“In the meantime—” I began, but Martin cut me off.

“I’m going back to the office tomorrow.” Martin glanced at Bruiser, who was silently observing from the kitchen table. “No one needs to know what happened unless you think my employees’ lives could be in danger.”

“We have no way of knowing anything yet,” O’Connell said.

“Keep it quiet, Marty,” Mark said.

“Are we voting?” I asked. “If we’re voting, I vote you stay home.”

Martin smirked at me. “Like all the times you’ve stayed home?”

“As soon as I hear something, I’ll pass it along,” O’Connell promised. “In the meantime, maybe don’t open the mail.”

Martin gave me another look. “How soon can Cross get Martin Tech’s security system upgraded to check the mail for illicit substances?”

I reached for my phone. “What time are you going to work tomorrow?”

“Eight.”

“In that case, 7:45.”

*        *        *

“Where’s Lucien?” I asked.

Justin pointed to the boss’s closed office door. “He’s expecting you. Go on in, but be warned, I don’t know what you’ll find. He usually keeps his pants on, but I can’t guarantee it.”

It was too early in the morning for this. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not. Hang on a sec.” Justin rolled his desk chair backward and pushed open the door. After peeking inside, he scooted out of my way. “I can’t say for certain until he stands up, but it’s safe right now.”

I went in, surprised to find my boss face down on a portable massage table. The black ink that covered his back provided a stark contrast to the white table and sheet draped over his lower half.

The man working on his back offered me a smile. “Hello.”

Cross lifted his head and looked at me. “I figured you’d stop by first thing. Yes, the security equipment has been installed. Ms. Heller stayed behind to provide instructions to the security guards on how to operate it.”

“Thanks.” I gave the massage therapist an uncertain look.

After wriggling a little from side to side, Cross said, “That’s good enough for now, Victor. My back is no longer locked, so I can manage.” Cross climbed off the table, the sheet falling away to reveal his dress pants. He winced as he turned to grab his shirt from where it hung on the doorknob. “I took your meetings yesterday, Alex. I met with your new client, Mr. Wallace, and had him sign on the dotted line.” He buttoned his shirt. “Any updates on the other situation?”

I gave Victor another glance. “We should discuss that in private.”

“Victor, if you’d be so kind.” Cross went to his desk and pressed the intercom button. “Justin, have payment ready.”

“You got it, boss,” Justin called from beyond the door.

“Use the intercom,” Cross yelled back.

Victor laughed. “It never changes around here. Shall I have Justin schedule an office visit for you?”

“You might as well.”

“We should take a fresh set of scans while you’re there to make sure nothing’s changed.”

“Fine.” Cross grasped the edge of his desk and pressed his hips back in a stretch.

Victor nodded and closed the door on his way out.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I know not to sleep on the couch, but it’s been that kind of week. When I tried to get up this morning, I couldn’t. My back went out.” He analyzed the way I was standing. “I can call Victor back if you want him to work on you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Whatever you say. I’m not going to argue. We have more important matters to discuss.” Cross shifted his hips from side to side, growling a little as he did so. Then he pulled out his chair and pressed the intercom again. “Justin, can you bring us two double espressos and a couple of bagels?”

“On it, boss.”

“Before we get into the rest, I have to ask. If I find something on Martin that doesn’t relate to the threat, do you want to know about it?”

“If it poses a danger—” I said.

“No danger.” Cross stared at me. “Do you want to know?”

“Did you find something?”

“I’m just asking.”

“So you didn’t find anything?”

His face gave nothing away. “If I do, do you want to know?”

The idea that Cross would know something about Martin that I didn’t left me with a bad feeling, but there was a reason I hadn’t looked into my beloved myself. “No.”

Cross stared into my eyes for a second longer. “Okay.” Then he tapped the mouse. “Have the police made any progress?”

“Not yet. The crime lab wants to go over Amir’s findings and verify everything themselves.”

“Fucking idiots,” he muttered. “Has Jablonsky come up with anything?”

“No. Have you?”

“Nothing concrete. Martin Technologies is always working on new R&D and products. Rumors have been announced about a potential new development which is supposed to be launched in a month. Martin hasn’t issued a press release, so it may not be true. But it could be the reason he was attacked. Killing him may not have been the point. Delaying the project’s announcement may have been the goal. That would give any number of his competitors time to come up with something similar and get it to market first.”

Justin knocked before pushing open the door and bringing us a tray with coffee and bagels. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”

“Follow up on the hardware install and make sure everything is up and running smoothly,” Cross said.

“Will do.” Justin gave me a reassuring smile before making his way out of the office.

“We tossed around the possibility of MT becoming embroiled in a scandal,” I said.

“That would be the obvious conclusion when the CEO is found in his office suffering from an overdose,” Cross said.

“But that would mean whoever sent the letter would have to be clairvoyant. They’d have to know Martin would hurt his shoulder moving the furniture and take his pain meds with him to the office. I don’t see how anyone could predict that.”

“You said his driver knew about it.”

“Marcal didn’t do this.”

Cross clicked the mouse a few more times. “Even if he did, the letter was mailed. The postmark showed it was sent four days ago. The security footage I had Amir review didn’t reveal anyone at the MT building tampering with the mail, so I’m going to assume the postmark is legit.”

“You think someone faked a postmark?”

“You said we should consider everything.”

I’d never considered such things. Was I slipping? “So the letter was mailed days before Martin hurt his shoulder. As far as I’m aware, he wasn’t taking any type of medication before that.”

“I haven’t found anything to the contrary.”

“That makes me think scandal isn’t the motive.” I nibbled on the sour cream and onion bagel.

“It still could be. If Martin had opened his mail earlier in the day, as is his usual habit, someone may have found him when he missed a meeting and called 9-1-1. The ER would have run a blood panel and determined what had happened.”

“Amir said the pages were drenched. The sender wanted to kill him.”

“That doesn’t preclude the possibility of a scandal. Not only would the sender take out the CEO, but he’d disgrace the company in the process, make investors pull their funds, and throw the inner workings of MT into chaos until a new corporate structure could be established.” Cross clicked a few more times before taking a bite of his bagel. “However, a cursory review of MT’s board members and disgruntled employees and ex-employees hasn’t yielded an obvious suspect. I’m thinking the source came from outside MT.”

“Which is why the letter was mailed and not an interoffice notice.”

Cross shrugged. “A competitor would make more sense. Or someone with a grudge against the company. I’ve barely scraped the surface of complaints filed against MT.”

“What about complaints filed against Martin?”

“Francesca Pirelli was the only woman who filed a claim against him. Martin must have been relieved others didn’t come out of the woodwork, but his lawyers took care of that as quickly as they could, so there may not have been time.”

I resisted the urge to comment on that situation. Martin’s ex-fiancée was a vindictive bitch, but she wouldn’t want him dead. “It sounds like you haven’t found anything yet.”

“I’m still looking.” Cross took another bite, finished chewing, and wiped his mouth. “You have other cases that need your attention. Are you able to work? Or will you be too distracted by this to focus?”

“I can multitask for now.”

“Let me know when you can’t. I am running a business here.”

“Thanks for reminding me why I don’t like you.”

Cross snickered. “Moving on, I’d like the insurance fraud case you’ve been researching concluded by this afternoon. The insurance company is coming up on a deadline, and they need proof for their refusal to pay out.”

“They should pay out.”

“You don’t think it’s fraud?”

“No, it is. But as a rule, I find they screw people over whenever they can, so it always feels like karma when someone tries to put the screws to them.” I could see my comment had irritated Cross, so I added, “I’ll have the report with the documented evidence to you by lunchtime.”

“Thank you.” He sipped his espresso. “As far as the asset retrieval, where are you on that?”

“You mean the dognapping? That should be easy enough to rectify. Every day at 1:30, Willow’s ex takes poochie to the dog park. She lets the dog off her leash to play. I’ve already informed a security team of the situation. They will retrieve the dog and take her back to Willow this afternoon. Once confirmation has been made, I will send you my time sheet for your invoice.”

“Celebrities and their pets.” Cross shook his head while he read something on the screen and drank more espresso. “And the security evaluation for Dale Industries?”

“Almost concluded. I need to go over the layout again and check for blind spots.”

“Have you performed a walkthrough?”

“Not yet. I like to research first.”

“Get that scheduled.” Cross looked up from the screen. “That leaves you with your newest client.”

“Leon Wallace and his missing wife.” I sighed. “I’ll get started on that.”

“Remember to keep Mr. Wallace in the dark while you track down his wife.”

“Will do.” I finished my breakfast while I watched Cross get ready for the morning meeting. “Do I have to go to that?” I asked.

“You’re off the hook today, but I expect to see you at tomorrow’s morning meeting. And I want a full report on the new security measures at Martin Technologies and how well Martin thinks my security team is integrating and performing alongside his security personnel.”

“Do you think there will be another attempt?”

“I don’t know, but if there is, we’ll stop it.”

Eight

Despite what I’d said to Cross, I spent most of the morning trying to figure out who sent Martin the tainted letter. I’d opened the fancy new whiteboard cabinet and had started diagramming.

Martin may not be at the center of this. His company could have been the target. I drew lines connecting the two. Then I filled in everything I knew without having to do too much research.

Motives for wanting to kill Martin could run a wide range. Since I’d done this years before, I had a good idea of where to look. The first thing I checked was to see if the bastard who’d tried this the first time had made a second attempt. But he was still incarcerated. His communications were being monitored by the Department of Corrections, and nothing indicated he’d hired outsiders to get revenge. Still, I stuck his name on the board for good measure.

Anyone who’d been fired from MT may have had a reason to want Martin dead, but he didn’t do the deed himself. HR did, so I made a note to check with them about possible threats or anyone who they’d been worried about letting go. If security had been asked to intercede, Jeffrey would have told me.

That left Martin Tech’s market competitors. I scribbled the broad category on the board, drew a few more lines, and fought to force the feeling of overwhelm to subside. Cross said he’d look into this, so I shifted my focus to Martin.

Cross’s words about finding something gnawed at me. I really wished he hadn’t asked me that question. He’d been so vague I couldn’t assume he’d found something, and even if he did, it had no bearing on this, unless he was wrong.

“Dammit.” Shaking it off, I put my name on the board beside Martin’s and drew a line. Then I put Mark and Nick. Soon, half the board was filled with names of people Martin considered friends. Any one of us could be the reason he was targeted, except most people wouldn’t know who Martin’s friends were.

However, I’d been photographed and introduced as his girlfriend or fiancée in plenty of public settings. That meant I couldn’t wipe my name off the board. As far as outside socializing, someone may have seen him with Mark or Nick. We didn’t spend a lot of time in public with my other law enforcement friends, so I wiped their names off the board.

Still, going after Martin as payback for something Mark or Nick had done on the job would be extreme. For one thing, if someone wanted to hurt Nick, they’d go after his wife. They wouldn’t go after Martin.

I wiped his name off the board too. That left Mark and me.

I tapped the marker against my chin. Regardless of what I said to Cross, I put Francesca Pirelli’s name on the board with a question mark. Martin had a lot of connections. He networked a lot and had dozens or hundreds of business acquaintances. Who stood to benefit from his demise? Anyone who worked at a competing corporation stood to gain from MT’s downfall.

“Personal side,” I reminded myself, realizing that would go under the Martin Technologies umbrella. Martin’s personal staff would never harm him. I tried to think if he’d received any strange calls or e-mails, but I couldn’t come up with anything. “Maybe an ex-girlfriend.”

“Marty didn’t have a lot of girlfriends,” Mark said, “not in the traditional sense.”

I spun to find him in my doorway. “Regardless, he slept with half the city.”

“He stopped that once the two of you got together.” Mark entered the room, assessing my handiwork.

“Could he be having an affair?”

Mark resisted the urge to immediately say no. Instead, he said, “Would Marty have time for an affair? Sure, you work crazy hours. But your schedule is unpredictable. He could never be sure when you’d pop up.”

“Maybe that’s why he always wants to track my location.”

“And you track his.”

“He’d have to be fooling around with someone at the office,” I said, “unless he had a random fling on a business trip.” I didn’t want to think about those possibilities. Martin wasn’t a cheater. For one thing, I carried a gun. For another, I made it clear from the beginning he could see anyone he wanted. I wouldn’t stop him. But if he did, he wouldn’t see me anymore. “Do you think he would do that? I mean, maybe not intentionally. He wouldn’t be scoping out the bars, but it could happen. He could be a little drunk. She could be a little pushy. Things could happen.”

“You’d know,” Mark said.

“Would I?” Again, Cross’s question nagged at me.  

Mark went to my desk and read what was on my computer screen, which had nothing to do with identifying Martin’s assailant. “How about we work on coming up with a much more realistic theory?”

“I’d love to.”

Mark stood beside me. “How is he today?”

“He insisted on going to work. I think he’s okay. Physically, anyway.”

Mark nodded. “I stopped by to see him before coming here. He didn’t have a lot of time. He had to get to a meeting. I’m not sure if he’s angry or freaked out.”

“Both.”

“Like last time.”

“I hate this for him. I hate this for us. Last time,” I swallowed, “you know what happened. That can’t happen again.”

“I’ve been looking over everything, but this time, it’s different.”

“There was no warning. No threats. No demands. Whoever’s doing this is serious about getting it done. That’s why I wondered if someone else is the target and Martin was collateral damage.”

Mark moved closer to the board and pointed to the names I’d written. “I had Lucca run a threat assessment. I don’t think Marty is stuck in the crossfire because of me.”

“What about me?”

“You’d know better than anyone. You work here now. You have for a while.” Mark took a seat behind my desk and propped his feet up on the open bottom drawer. Nonchalantly, he glided the mouse across the pad and clicked through my files. “You’ve dealt with some powerful people.”

“The dangerous ones are incarcerated. The rest wouldn’t resort to murder. It wouldn’t get them what they wanted.”

“Revenge isn’t about rationality. It’s about giving in to a primal desire.” Mark rocked forward, snagging a sticky note and picking up my pen. “I’ll do some digging to see if there could be something to any of this. If circumstances were different, I’d think your father may have had something to do with it. He threatened Martin. He tried to blackmail him. I’m not sure he’d kill him, but embroiling Martin in a drug scandal and scaring the bejesus out of him and you seems like the kind of thing Don Parker would do. But his activities are monitored by WitSec. So I doubt he’s involved.”

“What about the person Don ripped off?” I asked.

“He’s in custody. I told you I’d take care of that, but lowlifes like that wouldn’t go after Marty.”

“They’d come after me.”

“That’s right. You. Not him. If there was something to that, you would have gotten the letter, not Marty.”

I sunk onto the couch, unsure how to proceed since it wasn’t even noon and I was out of ideas. “What you’re saying is this isn’t personal.”

“I don’t think it is. I think Marty having pills and receiving a letter coated in morphine was a coincidence. The sender may not have put much thought into it other than hoping his weapon of choice wouldn’t be recognized since a lot of people have addiction issues, especially people with excess riches.”

“That leaves the business side of things.” I didn’t know enough to make good guesses. Cross did, or he would.

“I’m going to swing back by MT and see if Marty can grab an early lunch. Hopefully, he’ll have more time to talk. Once I get some names or potential leads, I’ll let you know.”

“Just like last time,” I said.

“Not like last time. We’re better prepared this time.” Mark gave me a tight smile and left my office.

“We aren’t,” I said to his retreating back, but he didn’t hear me.

I gave the whiteboard another look, sighed, and got behind my desk. A change of pace would allow my subconscious to analyze the situation while my conscious mind worked on another task. Or so I hoped. So I put together my report on the insurance fraud case and sent it to Lucien.

I was kneeling beside the glass coffee table, examining building blueprints for the security evaluation I was conducting when a knock sounded against my open door.

“Did you find something?” I asked before O’Connell even crossed the threshold.

“Good morning to you too.” He squinted at the whiteboard before examining the papers on the coffee table. “It looks like you’re busy. Are you too busy to take a ride?”

“Where are we going?”

“CSU found a print on the inside flap of the envelope.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Dutch Pooley.”

“Is that a person, place, or thing?”

“Person. Maybe.” O’Connell shrugged. “He has no known criminal record. No driver’s license or state-issued ID. He has never filed taxes. Doesn’t own property. Never served in the military.”

O’Connell’s words made little sense. “How did you match his print?”

“His mother had him fingerprinted as part of those child identification programs.”

“You’re telling me the person who tried to kill Martin is a kid?”

“He was fingerprinted twenty-three years ago.”

“And the prints match?” That would make sense. The whorls and lines wouldn’t necessarily change.

“Yep.”

I went to my desk drawer, removed my nine millimeter from the top drawer, tucked it into my holster, and put on my jacket. Before logging off my computer, I ran the name. No results were found. “How do you know where this guy is?” I asked.

“I never said I found him. But I found his mother. According to her tax returns, she’s claimed him as a dependent every year since he was born.”

“You think he lives with her?”

“Even if he doesn’t, if anyone knows where this guy is, it should be her.”

Nine

Enid Pooley was sixty-three years old. She’d never been married but had given birth to a child twenty-eight years ago. That would have made her thirty-five at the time. No details were provided as to the identity of the boy’s father.

As far as I could tell, she had no connection to Martin Technologies or ties to James Martin. She had never worked for Martin in any capacity. In fact, Enid Pooley had held down the same job for the last twenty-two years.

“She doesn’t have a criminal record. She works for a catering company which has a contract with a local television station. She’s been working craft services for two decades,” I said.

“Could she have catered a party or event for Martin or Martin Tech?” O’Connell asked as he drove toward her apartment.

“From what I’ve dug up on their website, the catering company has an exclusive contract with the television station.” I texted Martin the name of the company and asked if he had any dealings with them.

A moment later my phone chimed. No.

What about Enid or Dutch Pooley?

No.

“Martin doesn’t know anything about her, her son, or the catering company,” I said.

O’Connell shrugged, unaware he’d even done it. “On the bright side, the kid’s too old to be Martin’s.”

“Thanks for that.”

O’Connell snickered. “I’m just stating the obvious.”

“What’s your theory, Detective?”

“Enid moonlights on the side and gets her son to help out since the guy doesn’t seem to do much of anything. They run into Martin at some business thing, and…”

“And?” I pulled my leg up and turned to face him, fighting with the seatbelt which tried to force me back into my previous position. “You can’t leave me in suspense. What happened next?”

“Something which led Dutch Pooley to sending the letter.”

I wasn’t sure what that something could have been, and O’Connell didn’t know either. Martin was rarely rude. Quite the opposite, actually. He had a habit of flirting with everyone and overtipping.

Only a few things would bring out fierce, scary Martin. But unless someone attacked him, his company, or someone he loved, he’d remain business polite. I didn’t recall any recent dinners or events where he’d lost his temper. “We’re missing something,” I said.

“Maybe Martin smiled too hard at Enid, and Dutch freaked out.” He checked the address on the apartment building before pulling into the nearby garage. “I’m guessing the guy isn’t wrapped too tightly.”

“You have no basis for thinking that.”

“He’s twenty-eight. He has no known work history. No financial records. No tax returns. He doesn’t drive. He doesn’t drink since he doesn’t have an ID. He doesn’t do anything.”

“Maybe he has a disability.” Could that be how Dutch got his hands on enough morphine to knock Martin on his ass? I’d already told Cross about O’Connell’s lead. Amir and the rest of the techs were doing a deep dive on him. But I hadn’t received a single text with any new or helpful information.

“Let’s find out.” O’Connell checked the mirrors before opening the car door and stepping out.

The neighborhood was lower middle class. It looked like every neighborhood I’d ever lived in until I moved in with Martin. The building didn’t have a doorman or buzzer. But the security cameras appeared to be working.

We went up the steps to the third floor. The carpet in the hallway felt a little squishy, almost like it had gotten wet and had yet to fully dry. I looked up, spotting water stains and a constant drip from one of the ceiling tiles. That explained the squishy carpet.

O’Connell followed my gaze. “I’m going to call for a wellness check for the apartments above us.” He pulled the radio free from beneath his jacket and updated dispatch on the situation. “It may be nothing, but send someone to make sure.”

“Do you think Dutch murdered his upstairs neighbors for making too much noise, and that’s why the ceiling is leaking?”

O’Connell gave the ceiling a wary look before looking up and down the hallway. “Are you serious?”

“You said he may have tried to kill Martin for smiling at his mom. If that’s the case, a noisy neighbor could have met a worse fate.”

“Now I feel like an axe murderer is going to break through one of these doors.”

“Here’s Johnny.”

“Not funny,” O’Connell hissed. “I just watched that movie a few nights ago.”

“Why would you do that? Isn’t real life scary enough?”

“It is when I hang around you.”

Unfortunately, he was correct.

We made our way down the hall without incident. No scary twins. No kid on a tricycle. I took the lack of paranormal activity to be a good sign. It also helped that there were no bloodstains or bullet holes inside the building.

O’Connell knocked on the door and waited. A woman came to the door. She had curly brown hair which looked a little too dark. She had a green apron on that had an embroidered cat above the pocket.

“Ms. Pooley?” O’Connell asked.

“Uh-huh.” She leaned against the doorframe, blocking us from entering. “What do you want?”

O’Connell pushed his jacket aside to reveal his badge. “I have a few questions for your son. Is he here?”

“No.”

“May we come inside?”

She gave O’Connell another glance before eyeing me. “Are you a cop too?”

“Consultant,” I said.

She looked at O’Connell. “Is this for real?”

He removed his badge and flipped it open to show her his identification. “We just have a couple of questions. It won’t take long.”

“All right.” She stepped backward, gesturing toward the living room furniture. “Make yourselves at home.” She backed toward the kitchen.

“Is something wrong?” O’Connell asked.

“I put water up for tea right before you arrived. I just want to make sure I turned on the flame.” She stood in the entryway to the kitchen, eyeing the appliances behind her. Then she wiped her hands on her apron and joined us in the living room.

O’Connell took a seat on one cushion of the loveseat, leaving room for me to join him. Enid untied the apron from around her waist and pulled it over her head. After folding it, she placed it on the couch beside her.

“Why are you looking for Dutch?” she asked.

I looked at the photos on the wall, but besides a few baby pictures, there wasn’t a single recent photo of her son. No graduation photos. No prom pics. The latest showed a blond-haired kid with two missing front teeth. Dutch must have been six or seven. I almost asked if there had been a camera shortage in the last twenty-years, but I held my tongue.

“Your son is hard to track down,” O’Connell said. “Do you know where he is now?”

“He’s probably at work.”

“Where does he work?” I asked.

“Um…” Her forehead wrinkles deepened. “He told me, but I can’t remember the name. He has an internship with a law firm.”

“A local firm?”

“No, the firm is in Philly.”

“Philadelphia, Pennsylvania?” O’Connell asked, and she nodded. That tracked with the information printed on the outside of the envelope, except the postmark indicated that was bullshit. “Does Dutch live in Philly?”

She looked a little unsure when she said, “Part of the time. He only works four days. Monday through Thursday. He comes home on the weekends.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?” O’Connell asked.

“Early Monday. I have to be at work by four to have everything set up for the early morning news team. He catches the first bus out, so it gives us a chance to have breakfast before he goes.”

“That’s nice.” O’Connell took out his notepad and made a note.

Before O’Connell could ask something else, I said, “How did Dutch get an internship with a law firm? Those are pretty hard to come by.”

“Oh, I know. I’m so proud of him. He’s always studying, always with his nose in a book. He skipped a grade in high school, you know.” She beamed. “He’s always been exceptional. He took a bit of a detour in college, not sure what he wanted to do, but he graduated with honors, aced his LSATs, and got a full-ride to law school. I don’t know if you’re aware, but internships are vital to finding a job.”

None of what she said fit with the lack of information we’d found on Dutch Pooley. “Has he sat for the BAR?” I asked.

“Not yet.”

“But he graduated law school?”

She nodded.

“Where did he go?” O’Connell asked. He wrote it down as soon as the words left her mouth. “When did he graduate?”

“Last year,” she said.

“Do you have any photos from his graduation ceremony?” I asked.

She looked less comfortable. “No. I wasn’t able to attend.” A faint whistle sounded from the kitchen, but the water wasn’t ready yet. “You never said why you wanted to speak to him.”

“It’s about a letter that was sent from the law firm,” I said. Several thoughts nagged at me. Before I could ask the most obvious question, O’Connell cleared his throat.

“Do you know how we can get in touch with your son? Do you have his number?” he asked.

“He leaves his phone turned off unless there’s an emergency. He doesn’t want to get in trouble at work.” Enid fidgeted with the string on her apron. “But I can give you his number. It’s part of my plan.”

“Where does he stay when he’s working?”

“The firm provided an apartment for the interns to share.”

Warning bells and neon signs joined the nagging thoughts in my brain with as much fanfare as the Thanksgiving Day parade, only with more fireworks. “How was Dutch able to take the LSAT or get a job without an ID?” I asked.

Enid stared at me, her mouth open, before she recovered and said, “He has an ID. The college issued one.”

“No one had a problem with that?”

“Why would they? It’s photo identification. It’s not fake.” The kettle let out a shrill whistle. “Excuse me for a moment.”

She went into the kitchen, disappearing from sight. O’Connell shifted so he could keep an eye on her to make sure she didn’t bolt. But he could only see her profile and the front of the stove. The rest of the kitchen was blocked from our view.

“I don’t like this,” I whispered. “I can’t tell if she’s lying or stupid.”

“Could be both,” he replied.

A moment later, she returned with a tray. On the tray were three mugs filled with hot water, an assortment of tea bags, which looked like they’d been swiped from craft services, and a honey bear. She put the tray on the coffee table that stood between the loveseat and couch.

“Help yourselves.” She removed a peppermint green tea pouch from the envelope and dropped it into her mug. “Oh, I forgot the spoons. I’ll just be a sec.”

She went back into the kitchen, this time disappearing from view. Convinced I was hearing whispers, I got up to see what she was doing but stopped before I made it all the way around the loveseat. An antique desk on the back wall caught my eye.

A box of fancy embossed notecards and matching envelopes was placed in the first cubby. “Nick, the envelope.”

He glanced toward the entryway to the kitchen before turning to see where I was pointing. “That’s enough for us to bring her in for questioning.”

“I wonder if we’ll find pain patches, pill bottles, or a chemistry set in the bathroom.”

I pulled out my phone to take a quick photo of the stationery when O’Connell shouted, “Gun.”

The thunderous boom sounded instantaneously, followed by two more shots. I dove and rolled to the other side of the room. My ears were ringing from the first shot, which had come from a shotgun. With my nine millimeter in hand, I gave the entryway to the kitchen a wide berth, so O’Connell could approach from the other side.

Enid Pooley was on the ground. Blood covered the tile around her upper back and neck. Kicking the shotgun out of her reach, I leaned into the kitchen, but the room was empty. The only thing moving inside was the curtain in front of the window from where it was cracked open.

“Clear.” I turned, expecting to find O’Connell checking Enid, but he wasn’t there. “Nick?”

I moved back to the entryway, stepping around Enid while making sure the shotgun remained too far away for her to reach. I hadn’t checked to see if she was alive or bothered to handcuff her. That would have been normal procedure, what I’d been trained to do, but the pained hiss coming from the living room told me none of that was important now.

O’Connell remained on the loveseat, gasping. Blood had soaked through his collar and the upper portion of his shirt. Spatter had gotten on his neck and face. He’d been shot.

I grabbed the radio from his belt and pressed the button. “Shots fired. Officer down. Suspect is also down. We need an ambulance. Two ambulances. Just send everybody.”

O’Connell’s eyes were wide, his mouth open as he panted.

“Just breathe.” I opened his shirt to reveal the vest underneath. The brunt of the blast had impacted against the flak, but with the buckshot, some of the pellets had hit above his vest. I couldn’t tell how much damage there was with all the blood. But it didn’t look good.

“Fuck.” He grimaced as I applied pressure.

“It’s not that bad. You’ll be okay. She missed your moneymaker.”

“You’re a shitty liar.” He squeezed his eyes closed.

“Hey, I just called you pretty. You could say thank you.” When the tension started to leave his face, I resisted the urge to shake him. “Nick, stay with me. Talk to me. Tell me something. Anything. Tell me about that damn movie. I’ve never seen it. Just clips. What’s it about?”

He didn’t respond.

“Nick.” I pushed down a little harder, hoping to get a reaction. “Nick.” I reached into my pocket with one hand and voice-dialed Cross Security. “Detective O’Connell’s been shot. Upper chest, shotgun blast.”

“Where are you?” the voice on the other end asked.

I gave my location.

“A trauma team is on its way.”

Ten

Police officers were the first to arrive. It made sense. They’d been on their way to conduct the wellness check. One of them cleared the rest of the apartment while the other helped administer first aid. Then a single member of Cross’s medical team, a former military doctor, entered the apartment and almost got shot in the process.

Once the officers were satisfied he had come to help, they let him go to work on O’Connell. Then the paramedics arrived, followed by more police officers, the watch commander, and a few detectives I didn’t know or recognize.

“Ma’am, we got him. Step away.” I held up my palms, watching as they lifted O’Connell onto the stretcher. Cross’s medic went with them, his credentials good enough to warrant a ride in the ambulance.

“He’ll be okay,” the medic promised as they left the apartment. “It’s mostly superficial.” I just wasn’t sure I believed it.

Another team of paramedics had assessed Enid, but she was dead. I couldn’t figure out how or why any of this happened. She let us inside. She made tea. And then shots were fired. We hadn’t told her that her son was a person of interest in an attempted murder case, so why did she try to kill us? She must have known what he’d done and that we’d come knocking. She was prepared for this, unless we’d gotten it wrong.

I stared at the envelopes in their fancy box on the desk. Could she have sent the tainted letter? A fingerprint on the inside of the flap didn’t mean Dutch was responsible. All it meant was he touched the envelope at some point, presumably before the laced letter went inside. We needed to find him, so we could figure this out.

“Ms. Parker,” Detective Loyola stood in front of me, his notepad and pen poised like a reporter hoping for a scoop, “did you fire your weapon?”

“No. There were three shots. The shotgun blast and O’Connell’s return fire.”

“Where were you?”

I pointed. “I was there, but when he yelled gun, I got out of the way. By the time I was in a position to provide cover, the shootout was over.”

Loyola examined my weapon, but it wasn’t missing any bullets. However, that didn’t stop him from dropping it into an evidence bag.

“Where are they taking O’Connell?” I asked.

“The hospital.”

“Which one?”

His brows scrunched. “Why do you care?”

“His wife’s an ER nurse.”

He stared at me blankly.

“Fuck.” I took out my phone, glad that he didn’t try to shoot me because of it, and sent Jen a text. Nick is on his way to the hospital. He took a shotgun blast to the upper chest. A combat medic is accompanying him in the ambulance. He says Nick will pull through, but I wanted you to know before you see him. I am so sorry this happened.

I waited, but I didn’t get a response. If Jen was at work, her phone was probably in her locker. I didn’t want her to get blindsided by this, so I dialed the hospital. But Loyola took the phone from me before the call connected.

“We are in the middle of something here. Right now, I have a gunshot victim and a seriously injured detective. You’re the only one standing. I need you to tell me what happened, Ms. Parker.”

“I already did.”

The crime scene unit arrived. I watched as they set up their equipment. Loyola kept me detained in the living room, asking a dozen questions as to why we were here and why O’Connell would take me along for the ride. We went over everything again and again.

When a few guys in OCME jumpsuits arrived, I watched as officers directed them to the body. By then, markers had been placed around the kitchen. I tried to see what they’d found, but Loyola kept me from getting a good look. His partner was in the kitchen making notes and overseeing evidence collection.

“I need you to come with me to the precinct,” Loyola said.

“I’d rather not.” I wanted to go to the hospital and see O’Connell.

“I’m not asking. Until we learn more, you’re a person of interest in the fatal shooting of Enid Pooley and the attempted murder of Detective Nick O’Connell.”

“O’Connell was hit with a shotgun. Pooley was killed with a handgun. That’s two different weapons, weapons which do not link to me. I didn’t do this. Ask anyone. Nick and I are friends.” I couldn’t even comprehend how any of this could be happening.

“We found a bullet.” A member of CSU pointed to a hole in the back wall of the kitchen. “The shot had to have come from the living room.”

“It’s Nick’s,” I said. “He must have fired one wild shot. Maybe after he got struck.”

Loyola made a note. “This is protocol, Ms. Parker. Once we get things sorted, you’ll be free to go. But we have to take precautions. I’m sure you understand.”

*        *        *

Ballistics was able to determine my weapon hadn’t been fired. My lack of prints on the shotgun proved I hadn’t fired at O’Connell. But that didn’t stop several people from questioning me about the scene.

I understood. One of theirs had been hurt. They wanted to make sure the person responsible was caught, but I’d been there. Enid Pooley was dead. The question they should be asking is why she opened fire on us.

“O’Connell should have taken me with him, not you,” Thompson said.

“You know why he took me.” I rocked in O’Connell’s chair. Usually, I enjoyed going through his desk for notes on his investigations, but not now. “I’m surprised you’re not at the hospital.”

“That’s where I’m going as soon as I figure out how this happened.”

“I already told you.” I stared at the log-in screen on Nick’s computer, wondering if I could figure out his password. “Did CSU find morphine in the apartment?”

“They’re still processing the scene.”

“What about Dutch Pooley? We need to track him down. His mother’s story concerning her son’s whereabouts doesn’t hold up. None of what she said is probable.”

Thompson rocked forward. “Is there anything you haven’t mentioned yet?”

There was one thing I’d held back because I didn’t want to confuse matters when my freedom was on the line. I didn’t have forty-eight hours to spare. “We never saw much of the apartment, but when Enid returned to the kitchen to get the spoons, I thought I heard her whispering to someone. After everything went down, I found the kitchen window cracked open.”

“The window above the sink which leads to the fire escape,” Thompson said. “Did Nick hear the whispers too?”

“I don’t think so. They were faint. At first, I’d been concerned, but then I dismissed it, thinking it was the TV. I wish I hadn’t. I wish—” I blinked a few times. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

Thompson gave me a half-assed shrug. “That’s the report we’ve been given. He’s in recovery now. Jen said he’d be out for a couple of hours, so there’s no reason to rush down there.”

“She may just want some time alone,” I said.

“Yeah, maybe.” Thompson blew out a breath, containing his emotions. “I don’t blame you for this, Parker. Nick wouldn’t either. He would have gone with or without you. I just wish I’d been there.”

“I wish the National Guard had been there.”

“What would they have done?”

“I don’t know. Guard him? It’s in the name.”

Thompson rolled his eyes and typed something into the computer. “Roll on over, so you can tell me what I’m looking at.”

I moved my chair next to Thompson’s and stared at the crime scene photos which had been uploaded, along with CSU’s preliminary findings.

“Dutch Pooley’s prints were found inside the apartment, specifically in the kitchen. But he lives there, so they’d expect to find them. His prints were not on the shotgun. The only prints found on that belonged to Enid.” Thompson scrolled through a few other images, but only the living room and kitchen had been uploaded so far. He zoomed in on Enid.

“Nick didn’t expect trouble. Neither did I. She was suspicious of us when we arrived, but she let us inside and answered our questions. She made tea. What kind of lady serves us a tray of tea and then opens fire?” I hated that I missed it. O’Connell would hate that he missed it too. “I ran her name before we arrived. Nothing indicated she owned a firearm. Where did she get the shotgun?”

“I don’t know. The serial number hasn’t been checked yet. If there’s no record, she must have obtained it illegally, unless it’s some sort of family heirloom.”

“Instead of pearls she got that and never filed the paperwork?”

“Hey, look at this.” Thompson zoomed in on her body. “How many shots did you hear?”

“The shotgun and two others immediately after. Nick must have double-tapped.”

“But his bullet went into the wall.”

“He’d been struck by a shotgun blast,” I said. “That’s bound to mess with anyone’s aim.”

“You didn’t fire?”

“By the time I could, Enid was already down.”

Thompson pointed to the screen. “So explain to me how she got shot in the back of the neck.”

“Ricochet?” Even though I suggested it, I didn’t believe it, just like I didn’t buy the magic bullet theory in the Kennedy assassination. “How many shots did Nick fire?”

Thompson looked at me. “You said two.”

“I said I heard two. I assumed they came from him, but I don’t think we were the only people in the apartment. Did anyone check Nick’s service piece?”

“One was missing from the magazine, but he could have had one already in the chamber.”

I studied the crime scene photos. “Enid didn’t act nervous. She seemed a little annoyed we were asking her questions. She wasn’t happy we were interested in her son, but she didn’t seem afraid or in fear for her life.” She hadn’t been twitchy or sweaty. She didn’t stutter or fidget excessively.

“You and Nick went to speak to her because you believed her son may have been involved in the latest incident involving Martin. Do you have any idea as to motive?”

“No.”

“Enid didn’t shed any light on the matter?”

“We didn’t get that far in the interview. I spotted the envelopes right before she opened fire.” I nodded at Thompson’s mouse, and he moved it closer so I could switch to the proper crime scene photo. “Those envelopes look exactly like the one Martin received. Since the fingerprint inside the flap matched Dutch, O’Connell figured that was a good place to start.”

“But you don’t know how Martin connects to the Pooleys.”

“No.” I stared at the screen. “If Enid was shot in the back, I’m guessing Dutch did it. He may have been afraid she’d turn him in.”

“You think he was the whisper in the kitchen?”

I nodded.

Thompson picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Prioritize the footage from that apartment building. I want to know if someone else was inside that apartment when O’Connell arrived. I want to know what he looks like and where he went.”

“Enid didn’t have any recent photos of Dutch on display in the living room. We haven’t found any photos of him online. He doesn’t have a driver’s license, passport, or any other sort of government-issued ID. She told us he went to law school, that he got into the LSAT using his college ID, but she didn’t mention where he went for undergrad, just law school, and I think that’s bullshit anyway.”

“Still, we need to find out what this guy looks like.” Thompson reached for his phone. “We’ll check with his law school and see what they say before branching out to local colleges.”

“Good luck with that.” I already knew it’d be a dead end. “If there are any recent photos of Dutch, I’d say they’d be on Enid’s phone or inside her home.”

“I’ll make sure CSU pays special attention to any photos or albums they find.” Thompson pulled a pen from the cup on his desk and placed it on top of a legal pad before sliding it toward me. “I want to know everything. So give me everything you have on the investigation, whatever Nick found, and anything Enid said to you. In fact, write down those hairbrained theories of yours too. It won’t hurt to have some idea where this thing might be going. The less questions I have to annoy Nick with, the happier I’ll be.”

“And the happier he’ll be.” I glanced at my cell phone. No one had contacted me. Jen had been radio silent. The last communication I received was from Cross’s medic, who told me O’Connell was stable. “Are we sure Nick’s going to be okay?”

Thompson tapped the legal pad. “He’s going to be pissed if we don’t make some progress on this. Now get to work, Parker. I don’t have all day.”

Eleven

Detective Derek Heathcliff bumped up against me before holding out a coffee cup. “Hey, I heard you were there when it happened. Are you okay?”

I took the cup and stared through the open doorway into O’Connell’s hospital room. Thompson was inside, but I hadn’t gone in yet. I wasn’t sure I could. Jen had her back to me. I didn’t know if she was aware I was here or if she wasn’t speaking to me. After all, I hadn’t done anything to stop her husband from getting shot. She had every right to be mad.

“I guess. Do you know what the doctors are saying?” I asked.

“Fractured clavicle. He’ll be in a sling for about a month. I should have saved mine to give to him,” Heathcliff said.

“You could pass it around the major crimes unit.” I thought about the bits of information I’d been told or overheard. “Did he have surgery?”

“Minor surgery to remove the shell fragments and stop the bleeding from a few major veins. It didn’t take long. They cleaned him up and put him in a room.”

“Do you know if Jen read my text?”

Heathcliff moved directly in front of me, so I had to look at him. “You texted Jen?”

“I wanted her to know what happened. I didn’t want her to be blindsided when Nick was rolled into the ER.”

“A text?”

“I know. I wanted to call, but Detective Loyola was questioning me. He took my phone away. It wasn’t ideal, but I just…I would have wanted to know if I were in her shoes.”

Heathcliff put an arm around me, which made me wince and shrug away from him. “Are you sure you’re all right? Did someone check you out?”

“I’m fine.”

He pointed to the bloodstain beneath the hem of the police t-shirt I’d been given to wear instead of my button-up which had been covered in O’Connell’s blood. “Your outfit suggests otherwise.”

“It’s Nick’s blood.” I leaned against the wall, waiting for the dizzy feeling to pass. “Usually there are indicators or warnings before someone grabs a gun and opens fire. But Enid Pooley played it cool.”

“Do you think it was premeditated? She may have expected authorities to come knocking and had everything planned from the moment the letter went into the mailbox.”

I replayed our first interaction when she asked if I was a cop too. Was that why she didn’t fire at me? Or would she have turned the shotgun on me if she hadn’t been killed? “Would you mind calling me when ballistics finishes analyzing the bullet that struck her?”

“You’re not going to hang around here? I’m sure O’Connell wants to talk to you.”

“He’s knocked out on pain meds right now.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Heathcliff said.

“I know, but I want to find the person responsible. It may have been Enid, in which case, case closed. But Dutch Pooley is a mystery. CSU didn’t find any photos of him inside his mother’s house. The number she gave us to reach him wasn’t any help. His device is turned off. The last place it pinged was her apartment. IT will check her phone as soon as they unlock it. I’m hoping that will tell us plenty, but in the meantime, I might as well do some digging. Cross Security started looking into him hours ago, but I haven’t heard anything. I want to see what the holdup is.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“You should stay here, Derek.”

“I’ve been here since the radio call. Right now, half the department is here. They won’t miss me.”

“Nick might.”

Heathcliff gave me a look. “He’s going to be out cold until morning. He won’t know the difference.”

“So why did you want me to stay?”

“That was for your benefit, not his.”

We didn’t say much on the drive to Cross Security. Heathcliff dropped me off at the front door and promised to keep me updated on the investigation and Nick’s condition. After thanking him, I went upstairs, unsure where to start.

“Where’s Lucien?” I asked, pausing in front of Justin’s desk.

Justin looked a little shocked to see me. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

He pointed to my shirt. “Are you going to hand Lucien your resignation? He’s going to think you went over to the dark side.”

I took a breath. “Justin, where is he?”

“Inside, but he’s on the phone.”

Before he could stop me, I pushed open the boss’s door. Cross didn’t look surprised to see me. He held up a finger, indicating I wait.

“Jade, honey, I’ll have to call you back.” He paused. “No, it’s okay. Everything will be okay.” He leaned closer to his desk. “I’ll call you back soon. I love you.” He put the phone down, earning surprised looks from Justin and me. “What?”

“You said the l-word,” Justin said. “I thought that was off-limits.”

“Not now,” Cross hissed.

I moved to his desk and leafed through the printouts, hoping to find something related to Dutch Pooley. “I didn’t know you were capable of saying the l-word. Should you even say that when you’re sleeping with—”

“What do you want, Alex?” Cross asked, cutting me off mid-thought.

His tone told me now wasn’t the time to push. I filed that away, along with Justin’s astonishment. Something about this situation had caused a glitch in my brain, but I didn’t have time to worry about it now. “O’Connell was shot.”

“I heard.” Cross didn’t stop me from searching the top of his desk. “I also heard he’s expected to make a full recovery.”

“That’s what I was told, but I don’t know why Enid Pooley shot him. Now there’s some question as to the trajectory of the shot that killed her.”

“So now you have a lot of new questions to ask.”

“I never heard a word on that deep dive. Shouldn’t Amir have something on Dutch Pooley by now?”

“He should.” Cross straightened the papers on his desk after I flipped through them. “But he doesn’t. Dutch Pooley is a ghost. No photos. No online presence. And I mean none. No social media. No dating profiles. No e-mail addresses that we’ve been able to find.”

“He supposedly graduated college and law school. That’s what Enid said.” I gave Cross the name of the law school.

“Give me a sec.” He opened a dialog box, entered a few commands, went to the law school’s website, opened another box, ran some kind of program on the side that had nothing but lines of code, and made another box open. “Dutch Pooley was never enrolled. In fact, he never even applied.”

“When did you learn how to hack?”

Cross grinned. “You thought you had me figured out, huh?”

I always thought Amir was responsible for Cross Security’s illegal access to certain law enforcement databases. Now I realized I’d been wrong about the source. “I’m not surprised Dutch didn’t go to law school. The guy doesn’t even have a photo ID.”

“He has a social security number and a birth certificate.” Cross entered Dutch’s social security number into the database. “And then he disappears. There’s no death certificate, but under the circumstances, that would be a plausible explanation. He could have died at a young age, and his mother didn’t report it. Maybe she was responsible, and that was that.”

“Except his fingerprints were found on the envelope that Martin received.”

“Like I said, Dutch Pooley’s a ghost.”

“Ghosts don’t leave fingerprints,” I said.

Cross executed several more commands. “Dutch’s prints were found inside the apartment, along with his mother’s. So I guess the guy does exist, or those were some really old envelopes.”

“He exists. I saw photos of him, but the last one was when he was about seven. Maybe eight.”

“Maybe that’s when he died.”

“He’s not dead,” I said.

Cross gave me a look. “How can you be sure?”

“Because I think he was in the apartment when O’Connell and I showed up. I think he shot his mom in the back and escaped out the kitchen window.”

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Cross reached for the phone. “Hey, Amir, I need footage from every camera you can find that covers this building.” He gave Amir the Pooleys’ address. “Let me know what we can access remotely. I’ll get the rest the hard way.”

Cross put the phone down and brought up a map of the city. After narrowing in on the location, he made a list of every business near the apartment building. Then he searched the city’s DOT grid to find the nearest cameras which covered the area.

“Did you figure anything out while you were there as to why Martin was targeted?” Cross asked.

“We didn’t get that far before Enid opened fire. We only went over the basics about her son. I’d say that apartment is where the tainted letter originated. I don’t know which Pooley is responsible, but the print on the envelope and Enid being dead suggests Dutch is the homicidal maniac.”

“Maybe they were in on it together.”

“Why? What could they possibly gain by killing Martin?”

“Did you ask Martin?”

“He didn’t recognize either name.”

Cross opened another tab. “None of Enid’s catering gigs link to Martin Technologies. She could have been moonlighting for another company and getting paid under the table.”

“Why would she want to kill him? Even if they crossed paths at a party, why would that matter?”

“Maybe she ran into someone who offered to pay her to do it.”

“Nothing in the checks I ran indicated she was a hitwoman.” I stared at Cross until the weight of my glare made him look up at me. “What did you find?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Earlier we had a conversation about if I wanted to know what you found on Martin. I told you no, but I changed my mind. What did you find?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Nothing yet.”

“Lucien—”

“I’m serious. I haven’t found anything. I just wanted to know what you wanted me to do if I did.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I didn’t have the time or brain power to worry about it right now. “I need to see inside Enid Pooley’s apartment. I want to know what’s in the other rooms, if they had equipment to weaponize the morphine and what else there may be. For all I know, there could be school yearbooks or something that contains photos of Dutch.” I stopped, realizing what I’d just said. “Do you have his school records?”

“I told you I can’t find any record that he attended college.”

“I’m talking K-12.” Shaking my head, I left Cross’s office. He may be faster with the computers, but I needed to do this myself.

Twelve

Dutch Pooley disappeared before high school. The last mention of him was in seventh grade. I didn’t find any yearbook photos beyond fourth grade online, but physical copies of the yearbooks had to exist. If I could get a hold of them, I’d be able to see what the guy looked like, at least up until the age of twelve or thirteen.

Medical records were harder to come by, but we had his childhood immunization records. We couldn’t find much else. No doctor or dentist visits. Nothing.

Footage had been pulled from the apartment building. While no camera covered the Pooleys’ kitchen window, changes in shadow patterns and shifts in the ladders going down the fire escape indicated someone or something had been out there around the time of the shooting. I didn’t think it was a cat.

It would take hours to comb through the footage. I watched a few of the feeds, but too many people were out and about for me to pinpoint who could have crawled out the kitchen window. Anyone could be Dutch Pooley. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was why he wanted Martin dead and why he killed his own mother.

Heathcliff had phoned an hour ago to tell me the bullet that killed Enid didn’t come from O’Connell’s gun. It came from a .38. But no weapons had been recovered at the scene besides the shotgun.

All I knew was an armed lunatic was on the loose who had no qualms about killing and had already made one attempt on Martin’s life. But why?

I let my head drop back against my chair while I rubbed my eyes. This wasn’t getting me anywhere. Our lead had left me with a million more questions. Cross Security and the police department were working on figuring this out. But I had one thing they didn’t, unlimited access to Martin.

When I got home that night, I noticed the enhanced security measures. Cross Security had cars out front. Since I was driving the company car, I blended in with the rest of the security measures. But I parked in the garage anyway and went up the steps. Bruiser was in the living room, where he was keeping an eye on the surveillance cameras.

“He’s in his office upstairs,” Bruiser said.

“How was work?” I asked.

Bruiser shrugged. “He didn’t mention the incident, and no one asked. He told the MT security guards to put Cross Security through their paces. But everything was quiet. No incidents anywhere.”

I showed him a photo of Enid Pooley. “Does she look familiar?”

“No, sorry.”

“Martin said the same thing. I was hoping one of us would recognize her.”

“She sent the letter?” Bruiser asked.

“I can’t say for certain, but my gut says her son did. A box of envelopes, like the one Martin received, was inside Enid’s apartment.”

“She could be involved.”

“Any idea why?”

Bruiser glanced at me before returning his focus to the monitors. “I’m not the person you should be asking.”

I eyed the staircase. “Do you think Martin’s hiding something?”

“Most people do things they aren’t proud of on their worst days, under the worst circumstances. But not everyone. Some people shine in those instances. I’ve seen Martin low. I may have even seen him on his worst days. He’s never struck me as the type to spite someone else to save his own skin.”

“You’re telling me you don’t think he has any skeletons in his closet?”

“You’d have to ask him about that. But I’ve never helped him hide a body.”

“Thanks, Jones.” Unfortunately, that didn’t help me any.

Thoughts of my afternoon haunted me as I went up the steps. There was a reason O’Connell and I hadn’t started with the accusatory questions. Enid would have shut us down, and at that point, we would have had no reason to force her to comply. Only after I noticed the envelopes did we have cause. But by then, it was too late.

Martin was in his fourth floor home office, down the hall from our bedroom. He was going over every project and contract from the last eighteen months. He cursed quietly and looked up.

“I was hoping to figure out who I pissed off and why this is happening, but I don’t know,” he said. “Mark made sure Blake’s still in prison and that he hasn’t hired someone to get revenge. He’s looked into everyone you’ve arrested, and the people who’ve filed complaints against Martin Technologies and me. He’s looking into angry investors, rivals in the field, the whole nine.”

“Are you okay?” Flashbacks of when I was first hired to work for him came to mind. He’d done the same things then, only there had been a lot more scotch and a broken mug or two.

“I’m feeling better, aside from a headache.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

The look in his eyes told me he was angry. Maybe even a little scared. But he saw something in my eyes that made the anger dissipate. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? What happened?”

“CSU recovered a print from inside the flap of the envelope which contained the tainted letter. Nick traced it to Dutch Pooley.”

“That’s the name you asked me about.” Martin indicated the computer and papers. “I don’t know who that is. I checked everywhere. I’ve never heard of the guy.”

“What about his mom, Enid?”

“I don’t have anything on her either.”

“Could either of them have applied for a job or internship at MT?”

“HR would have a record. The name should be in our database.” He bit his lip, his eyes narrowing while he thought. He entered something else into his computer and shook his head. “I have no idea who they are.”

“Could you have met Enid outside of work? Maybe you had an affair.”

Martin stared at me. “First, you find me on the floor and think I intentionally overdosed. Now, you’re accusing me of cheating on you? I would never do either of those things, Alexis. I thought by now you’d realize I’m not that guy.”

“I’m not talking about recent history. I’m talking about before.”

“How much before?”

“I don’t know. Before us. You’ve slept with,” I gestured with my hand, “I don’t even want to know how many women. She’s local. She works in catering. She provides craft services to a news station. Maybe you gave an interview or…I don’t know. I just can’t figure out why her son would want you dead, unless you broke up his parents or something.” Even as I said it, it didn’t feel right. We had zero information on Dutch’s father, but as Nick had pointed out, Martin would have been ten years old at the time of Dutch’s conception which removed him from the running.

“I don’t sleep with married women. We’ve been over this before.”

“I know, but she’s not married. She’s never been married.” I dropped into the chair across from him and put my head back, so I could stare up at the ceiling. “Nick was shot today. He’s going to be okay, but I just… Last time, he saved us. When you were bleeding out,” I gestured in the direction of where Martin’s office used to be, “I did what I could, but he showed up with the paramedics. Now that he’s hurt, who’s going to save us?”

“You saved me, Alex. Then and now. I’m not worried. Cats have nine lives. The way I see it, I have another five or six to go.”

“You’re not a cat.”

“Meow.”

“I can’t lose you,” I said.

“Do you want to put a collar on me? You can chip me in case I get out and wander off.”

I tried not to laugh, but I laughed a little, which made Martin smile. “I’m serious,” I said.

“So am I, sweetheart.” He got up from behind his desk.

I went to him, needing to touch him, to kiss him, to express all the things that I hadn’t said. He wrapped me in his arms, and when I hooked my legs around his waist, he carried me across the hallway, never breaking our kiss, even as we crashed into the bed. Damn the man of steel.

*        *        *

“Hey,” Martin stroked my cheek as I lay against him, my back to his chest, my head on his shoulder, his other arm pinned to the bed beneath me, “what happened?”

“There was just so much. Too much.”

“Not that.” He smiled. “I’ve always loved how much more expressive you are with your body than your words. Sometimes, it’s the only way I can comprehend what you’re feeling. But I need you to use your words now. You said O’Connell was shot. What happened?”

I told him about the afternoon and the things we’d uncovered, which had only led to more questions. “She fired out of the blue. We didn’t expect it.”

“Maybe Enid didn’t expect it either. If someone was in the kitchen, she may have been forced to do it.”

“He killed her anyway.” That gave me a new dynamic to consider. I reached for my phone to see if I had any messages. By now, it was after midnight. Cross hadn’t sent any updates. My friends in blue had gone home for the night, so I wouldn’t find out about any progress on their end until the morning.

Jen had replied to my earlier message. Nicky’s lucky you were there. Thanks for keeping him alive. Are you okay? He told me about Martin. Do you have any idea why someone would do this?

I wish I did, I replied. Nick shouldn’t have ended up in the crosshairs. I’m so sorry, Jen.

Martin nudged me again. “What’s wrong?”

“Jen.”

“She replied?”

I nodded.

“Is she mad at you?” Martin made a face, like he wanted to argue all the reasons why she shouldn’t be mad.

“No.” My phone chimed, and I read the waiting message.

This isn’t on you. So don’t do that. Nick knows what he signed up for. Now get some rest. Nurse’s orders.

I texted her back good night while Martin read the text chain over my shoulder. He kissed my cheek before grabbing his own phone.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Ordering breakfast for them in the morning. How long will he be in the hospital?”

“Heathcliff said Nick should be discharged in the morning.”

“Which means afternoon.” Martin tapped more furiously on the screen. “I’m having a gift basket sent to their apartment. Do you know what kind of flowers Jenny likes?”

I gave Martin a look. “Nick got shot.”

“Yes, but I’m pretty sure Nick doesn’t like flowers.”

“Jen likes those big pink ones.”

“Carnations?”

“Maybe.”

Martin finished placing his order and put his phone down. “We have to figure out why someone is doing this.”

“There’s something you should know. I asked Lucien to dig until he finds a reason why this is happening. I could have done it myself, but...”

“You were afraid of what you’d find?” Martin moved down the bed so he could look me directly in the eye. “Alexis, talk to me. I thought we trusted one another. But given these last few days, I’m thinking that’s a one-way street. Why? Tell me what I’ve done that has you questioning me, questioning us.”

I studied his eyes and searched his face, analyzing everything. He hated when I did that, but he didn’t scold me or shy away. He stared directly at me, waiting.

“You have a secret. You’re hiding something. Mark knows. He won’t tell me what it is, but you’re keeping something from me. Given the givens, I don’t know what to think.”

“I love you. Full stop. I would never purposefully do something to hurt you. I promised you that when we got back together.”

“Then tell me what you’re hiding.”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Martin, I fucking hate surprises. A surprise is finding you passed out on the bathroom floor. A surprise is some psycho pulling a shotgun. A surprise—”

He grasped my face. “I’m planning our engagement party.”

My brain short-circuited again. “Engagement party? We’ve been engaged for quite some time.”

“I know.” He nodded down at the rings dangling from a chain around my neck. “But when we went back to the beach house, I started thinking about the private little commitment ceremony we had there. Sure, it may not have meant anything in the eyes of the law, but it meant everything to me, and no one was there to celebrate with us.”

“Marcal was there. You asked him to photograph it.”

Martin gave me that look. “I thought we could do something here. Invite our friends. Have a cocktail party. Appetizers. Champagne toasts.”

“The snacks you made.” I pointed a finger at him. “I knew you didn’t make those. Where did they come from?”

“Chef Easton. I thought I’d hire him for the event, but I wanted to have a tasting first. He said he’d send over a tray with samples, but I was afraid you’d see the packaging and catch on. So he offered to come over and make them, that way I could find out what you liked best. I’m supposed to let him know what we decided.”

“That’s what you’re hiding?” I thought about the moved furniture. “It’s why you moved the grey couch. You wanted everything to look nice for the party. But Martin—”

“I know. For safety reasons, we’ll have to postpone. Granted, most of our guests are law enforcement or law enforcement adjacent, but I thought I’d invite Luc and his family, Charlie Roman and his plus one, my personal staff and their families, and maybe a few other guys from the office. I was half-tempted to invite some of my business school friends, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to open that can of worms.”

“An engagement party,” I repeated.

“Yeah.” Martin smiled timidly. “I was thinking something along the lines of a wedding reception without the wedding. We could do a tent out back, get tables, and fine linens, some nice lighting. I don’t know. I’m still piecing it all together. An actual wedding would be nice, but I figured this was the next best thing. Something that wouldn’t automatically send you into a panic.”

I smacked his arm. “No more surprises. Do you see what happens when you decide you should surprise me? People try to kill you. And those people aren’t even me.”

“You would have said no to the party.”

“Did you contact anyone about it besides Chef Easton?” I asked. “Maybe that’s what triggered the attack. Enid works for a catering company.”

“The only people who know are Mark, Marcal, and Bruiser.”

“What about Chef Easton? Did he reach out to his suppliers? Waiters, bartenders, clean-up crew, anything like that?”

“I’m sure he didn’t. I didn’t give him any details. I just told him I was thinking of hosting a cocktail party and was curious about appetizers. We never discussed servers or caterers or anything like that. I said the details were still up in the air.”

I’d follow up with Easton in the morning, but I had no reason to doubt Martin. “That doesn’t get us anywhere.”

“Come on.” Martin sprawled out beside me. “Let’s try to get some sleep. Bruiser said I need to be sharp, so we can stay on our toes.”

“He needs you alert in case of anything.”

“And I need you alert in case any other psychos shoot at you.”

Thirteen

“Good morning, gorgeous.” Martin brushed my hair behind my ear before letting his hand trail down my body. “You told me to wake you when I woke up.”

“Remind me not to do that again.”

Martin pressed his lips to my forehead. “You feel warm.”

“Too many blankets,” I said, my eyes still closed.

“Alex, I’m serious. You’re hot.” He grinned. “Well, you’re always hot, but that’s not what I mean. Are you feeling okay?” His hand came to rest on the side of my hip, and I winced.

The neon glow from the bedside table told me it was 5:45. No sane person should be getting up at this time of day. No wonder I always questioned Martin’s grip on reality. Thoughts of his plans for an engagement party came to mind. We’d been engaged for over a year, depending on when one started counting. I couldn’t fathom why he decided we should celebrate now. The timing made me wonder if that couldn’t have been the catalyst that set the rest of this in motion. I just wasn’t sure how word had spread, which is why I had to get up before the sun.

He pulled the blankets down, which made me shiver. On the side of my hip was what appeared to be a scabbed over red welt. “Shit. Did I do that when we were—”

“Your hands were higher.” I could still feel where his fingers had gripped my hip bones the previous night. I twisted to get a better look. “I guess O’Connell wasn’t the only one who caught some buckshot.” I climbed out of bed, aware of the dull throbbing. Some of it was in my head. The rest was in my leg, which hadn’t hurt until Martin poked it. “I’ll get it taken care of when I go to work.”

Martin watched as I grabbed clothes from the closet and pulled out another of Cross’s body armor prototypes to wear beneath my dress shirt. “I’m glad you have those,” he said.

“I wish you’d wear yours. It won’t make you bullet proof, but it’ll help.”

“I’ll wear mine if you promise not to get hit by any more projectiles.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Fine.” He pulled the dress shirt out of his closet. “I’m holding you to that.”

After getting ready and wolfing down a quick breakfast, I headed back to the office, leaving Martin with his entourage of security guards. At least this time he wasn’t so stubborn about the protection detail. Maybe the close call had scared him. It terrified me. But dwelling wouldn’t help.

Martin planned to get to work by eight. I hoped to get to Cross Security before seven. We needed answers, and we needed them now.

“What have you found?” I asked, lingering in Cross’s doorway. Justin wasn’t at his desk, so I assumed he hadn’t come in yet. Out of everyone who worked here, I believed he was the sanest.

Cross looked up. “You don’t look so good.”

“It turns out I got shot. Well, just a little.” I entered his office and scanned the intel that covered the coffee table. “What’s your excuse?”

“I’ve been here all night.”

“Great. What did you find?”

“Not a damn thing.” Cross rubbed his eyes. “All I can say for certain is someone else was inside the Pooley apartment when you and Detective O’Connell went to pay Enid a visit. I don’t know who. Logic dictates it was her son, but none of the camera footage in the area has been able to help us out. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“What about the cameras in her building? Pull older footage. Keep looking until you see someone enter her apartment who isn’t her.”

“You don’t think I already tried that? It’s the first thing I did.” Cross stretched and scrubbed his hands over his face. Sighing, he peered at me. “I have a few theories as to how that can be, but you won’t like any of them.”

“You already said someone else was inside the apartment. If we assume the person inside was Dutch, he’s not dead, which knocks out your previous theory.”

“Oh, I don’t think the bastard’s dead.” He snickered. “He actually is a bastard.”

“Lucien, focus. You were going to share your theories.”

“One, Dutch never leaves the apartment. He’s been there so long, the data is no longer saved anywhere. Two, Dutch always uses the fire escape. Never the front door.”

“What about the cameras out there?”

“There aren’t any. I have done everything short of going door to door in the neighboring buildings and asking if anyone happened to be looking out their window the night before, but I thought that might be something the police would take care of whenever they pull their heads out of their asses.” Realizing he was getting off-topic, he shook himself. “My point is none of the footage covers the fire escape, and the footage we have on street-level is useless.”

“Why?”

“We don’t know what the bastard looks like.”

“I was thinking we should try yearbook photos. Amir can age the images. It’d be better than nothing.”

“We’ll give that a try, but I’m not holding my breath. It’s a long shot.”

“Agreed. So those were your only two theories?” I asked.

“I have one more.” He got up from behind his desk and headed for the executive kitchen. I joined him, watching as he worked the espresso machine. “The bastard tampered with the footage.”

“Wouldn’t you be able to determine that?”

“Eventually, if he isn’t as good as I fear he might be.” He slid a tiny mug toward me before sipping from his own. “Have you asked yourself the most important question of all?”

“Why he tried to kill Martin.”

“That’s not the most important question. That’s the most important question to you. But not to him. Not to figuring out who he is or what he’s doing.”

“Enlighten me,” I said, not liking when Cross wanted to prove he was the smartest person in the room when most of the time he wasn’t. Then again, we were the only two in the office. So he had a fifty-fifty shot of being correct. Now, if Justin were here, he’d lose by default.

“The question none of us has asked is why isn’t there any trace of Dutch Pooley anywhere.”

“We asked that question, Lucien. It’s why O’Connell and I went to see his mother.”

“You’re missing the point. Everyone has a digital fingerprint. Even those who live off the grid were on the grid at some point. But Dutch never was. I’ve discussed this at great length with several of my associates. This isn’t an oversight or the result of a loner with antisocial behavior.”

“It’s intentional,” I said. “He erased himself.”

“He did his damnedest. The only things we’ve found on him are irrelevant. They are useless to our investigation.”

“They weren’t useless,” I said. “Assuming you’re correct—”

“Which I am.”

I gave him a look. “Leaving his fingerprint ID in an obscure database led us straight to Enid’s door. He knew we were coming.”

“He may have warned her. She could have been planning to attack whoever came knocking.”

“I doubt it. If she had known we were coming, I don’t think he would have killed her. They would have had a better plan. O’Connell and I would be dead, and there’d be a citywide manhunt to catch the bastard,” I said. “I don’t think Enid had any intention of opening fire. She didn’t act like someone about to engage in armed combat.”

“The shotgun wasn’t registered to her. It was a clean piece. Something that went missing directly from the factory.” He took a long pull of his espresso. “I went through the police reports and had Amir get copies of their findings and test results. The striations from the bullet that killed her don’t match any other bullets in the database for unsolved crimes. I’m wagering it’s another clean piece. Never used before.”

“Okay, smart guy, why did Dutch kill his mom?”

“He didn’t need her anymore.”

I stared over the rim of my cup. “But she opened fire on us. Shouldn’t that have been enough to prove her worth to him?”

“Maybe it wasn’t enough. Maybe he feared she would betray him once she was arrested and interrogated.”

“I think she would have done anything to protect her son. The way she spoke about him, I don’t think she would have given him up. She was so proud of him.”

“Do you think he thought that?”

“How would I know? I never met the guy.”

“C’mon, Alex.”

“Maybe he was afraid we’d sway her to see things our way by appealing to her better judgment and suggesting he’d be safer if we could bring him in peacefully. She wouldn’t have wanted him to get hurt. But she’s his mother. Killing your mother is a line most people won’t cross.”

“Dutch Pooley isn’t most people. But maybe you’re right. Maybe he was afraid.”

“You don’t agree?”

“She could have provided the police with his description, right down to the size of the jockstrap he wore in gym class. Maybe, even if she didn’t mean to do it, she would have given away little details that could have proven useful.”

“So you’re saying he had no choice?”

“No, the bastard had a choice,” Cross said. “I just think he’s an antisocial psychopath.”

“Which brings me back to my original question. Why does he want Martin dead? If his motive for attacking Martin had anything to do with Enid, I don’t think he would have killed her.”

Cross opened a cabinet and stared at a box of protein bars, contemplating if he should eat one or wait for his standing breakfast order to arrive. “Until we find out more about this guy, we have nothing to go on.”

Leaving Cross to contemplate his breakfast options, I stopped by the lab. Amir was asleep in his office. Instead of waking him, I spoke to a few members of his staff who told me the same things Cross had. We were nowhere.

“How many people have the skills needed to wipe out their existence?” I asked.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On how much data already existed and how far-reaching it was. If he’d always kept a low-profile, which is what the research indicates, it may not have been that difficult. But if he had an active, far-reaching social media presence, posts on hundreds of message boards, a military record, a driver’s license, a dozen credit cards—”

I waved him off. “I get the point.”

Returning to my office, I checked my messages again. Nothing.

“It’s not like you were expecting something to shake loose in the last few minutes,” I said to myself. Sleep deprivation and stress often led to me talking aloud. At least it was early enough in the day that no one was around to witness it.

Cross’s words bounced around my brain. Antisocial psychopath. I didn’t have a fancy psychology degree or any official training as a behavioral analyst, so I tried to refrain from using such labels. But it was either that or homicidal maniac. More than likely, Dutch was both.

Since I couldn’t figure anything out about Dutch Pooley, I retraced his mother’s steps. Her phone records and bank statements didn’t show anything out of the ordinary. She didn’t have any relatives. Her coworkers would be questioned by the police. If I played my cards right, I might be able to get in on that. But I wanted to make sure I was prepared to ask the right questions, the kinds of questions that would lead to something besides more questions and dead ends.

“She doesn’t have any relatives.” I did a little more digging, but it looked like Enid had been an orphan. No family. No one to support her. And no father listed for Dutch. It was too convenient. The only person who could tell us anything about him was dead.

Grabbing my phone, I dialed a familiar number.

“Will we be flying into JFK this time, love?” Bastian Clarke, former SAS operative, asked.

“I sure as shit hope not.” I sighed and told him about Dutch Pooley. “Could he be a hacker?”

“That would be my guess,” Bastian said.

“What level are we talking?”

“It’s tough to say. The best don’t want the notoriety. They operate in the shadows. A lot like us, actually. The few who do make a name for themselves often have a handle they prefer. He could be anyone.” He blew out some air, which made me wonder if he was smoking. “If he is an elite hacker, he used his abilities to eliminate his vulnerabilities and make himself invisible.”

“Do you have any way of making him reappear?”

Bastian chuckled. “Do you want me to pull a rabbit out of my hat too?”

“I’ve heard you perform miracles.”

“Did Jules tell you that?”

“He may have mentioned it. How is Julian and the rest of the team?”

“You know Jules,” he laughed, “which is probably why you asked. We just finished a job, so I have some time to look into this Dutch fellow. I’ll let you know what I find.”

“If he is an elite hacker, he may have safeguards in place to make sure no one gets close to figuring out who he is,” I warned.

“Don’t worry, love. I may only have a finite number of miracles to perform, but the magic tricks are infinite.”

Fourteen

“Did you call them because I got shot in the chest?” O’Connell asked after I filled him in on everything. “Mercer and his team were there the last time it happened, so maybe you want to make it a thing.”

“I don’t want to make it a thing.” I paced the narrow walkway between his hospital bed and the window. “I just thought Mercer’s team may be able to help us.”

“Help us with what? I know I’m just a lowly major crimes detective, but it seems pretty clear-cut to me. Some shithead decides he should make use of his chemistry set. He tries to kill Martin for whatever the reason but screws up and leaves his print behind. We go to pay his mom a visit. He freaks out, and it turns into the Alamo.”

“He shot his mother in the back, Nick. Who does that?”

“A psycho shithead.” O’Connell pressed the button to sit up higher. “Thompson updated me on the situation. Ballistics are useless. Enid is a dead end. Our best bet now is to figure out where the morphine came from. Synthetic drugs sometimes contain a signature. The lab is analyzing it in the hopes of linking it to a dealer or manufacturer. If it was stolen from a pharmacy, we may be able to find Dutch Pooley that way.”

“We need to find out what he looks like first.”

“You mean you haven’t done that yet?” O’Connell teased.

“I had other things on my mind.”

“Nicky, behave.” Jen entered the room, shooting a warning look at her husband. “Hey, Alex. It’s nice of you to stop by.”

“Jen—”

She hugged me tightly. “Thank you for watching out for him. I’m glad you were there.” She pulled away. “And I don’t want to hear another word from you on the subject. No apologies. No excuses. Understand?”

I gave her a small smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay.”

“Uh-huh.” She pressed the back of her hand to my forehead before digging through the oversized purse that was slung over her shoulder. “James called me a half hour ago to check in. He mentioned you felt a little feverish. I think he’s right.”

“I’m fine. Cross’s medics took care of it.”

She pulled out a bottle of pills that doubled as fever reducers and pain relievers. “I also know you. Take two of these.” She pressed the pills into my palm and pulled out a mini bottle of water from within her bag, twisted off the top, and held it out. “Now.”

Giving in, I swallowed the pills and took the offered water. O’Connell snickered, enjoying watching his wife torment someone else. “Thanks.”

She took a seat beside her husband and opened the paper bag that contained the breakfast delivery Martin had sent. “Would you like something to eat? James sent over a feast. I think he figured half the department would be here.”

I took the breakfast burrito from her outstretched hand, afraid if I didn’t that I’d get another lecture. “I’m surprised they aren’t.”

“Thompson left late last night,” O’Connell said. “He only hung around long enough to make sure I wasn’t going to bite the dust.”

“Nick,” Jen scolded.

He held up his one good hand. “I’m kidding. Alex knows I’m kidding. You know I’m kidding.” When she turned her attention back to breakfast, O’Connell gave me a look and rolled his eyes. “Moretti and Heathcliff were here at some point. Detective Loyola stopped by early this morning to take my statement. The sun wasn’t even up yet. And some suit from IAD showed up a little while after that, even though there wasn’t much for him to do since I didn’t shoot anyone.”

“You discharged your weapon,” I said.

“I missed.”

“That may have been a good thing.”

O’Connell shifted again, trying to get comfortable with half of his upper body immobilized. The movement made him wince. “Needless to say, it doesn’t look like I’m gonna be much good to you. Thompson’s taking over my caseload, including this investigation. So it’s a good thing the two of you are on speaking terms again. Try to stay that way.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Maybe try harder than that.”

Jen unwrapped a sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich and handed it to her husband. “Do you have any idea why someone wants to hurt James?” she asked me.

“We haven’t come up with a good reason yet,” I said. “He’s been going through every threat and complaint the company has received, but it doesn’t look promising. Given everything that’s happened, I’d say it’s a safe bet that Dutch Pooley is responsible, but we don’t know who he is or why he’s doing any of this.”

“His mother shot at you.” She looked from me to Nick. “There has to be something to that.”

“She could have been under duress,” I said. “Dutch was in the kitchen when we arrived. We never got to look around the apartment, so we didn’t know.”

“That explains why she was looking in the kitchen when we first showed up,” Nick said. “Dutch was there.”

“Do you think she wanted him to stay out of sight? Or do you think she expected him to jump out of the kitchen like Rambo?”

Nick considered my question while he ate some of his breakfast. “I don’t remember her acting nervous.”

“She wasn’t,” I said. “At least, I didn’t think she was.”

“Honey.” He held his sandwich out to Jen to grab so he could use his one good hand to send a text. He waited, reading the response before looking up. “Her tox report came back. They ran the gamut, but they didn’t find anything in her system. She wasn’t stoned or on any sort of anti-anxiety medication which would have made her appear calmer or more relaxed.”

“What about motion sickness pills or allergy medication?” Jen asked. “Those types of OTC medications have calming effects on some individuals.”

Nick sent another text. “Thanks, hun. They’ll test again for that.”

She smiled brightly. “Glad I could help.”

“I don’t think her mood was being stabilized,” I said. “I don’t think she knew what was going to happen. But something changed when she went to get the tea.”

“She was quick to leave again,” Nick agreed. “Dutch must have told her to return to the kitchen.”

“I’m guessing, when she returned, that’s when he gave her the shotgun and told her to get rid of us.”

“And he threatened to shoot her if she didn’t,” Nick said, “but she didn’t voice a protest or act surprised. She did what he said without hesitation. Assuming they aren’t both homicidal maniacs, that would mean she knew her son to be dangerous and unstable. How did someone like that get into law school or get an internship at a law firm?”

“That’s all bullshit. There’s no record of Dutch Pooley at any institution of higher learning or employed by any law firm. In fact, he’s not employed by anyone.”

“I was thinking it was an unpaid internship, which would explain his lack of tax returns.”

“The law firm has never heard of him. But until we have a photo of this guy’s mug to flash around, we won’t be able to verify that he isn’t using a fake identity.”

Nick took the sandwich back from his wife and took a big bite. “That’s why you’re thinking elite hacker.”

“Possibly.”

“Which is why you called Bastian. You think he knows how to find this guy.”

“Cross has his own team of internet specialists, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else take a look.”

“I’m telling you, figuring out where the drugs came from will be your best bet.”

“We still need to ID Dutch. Putting a face to the name is the only way to keep everyone safe.”

“He lived in that apartment building. Sketch artists will sit with every one of Enid’s neighbors until they get a good enough description of this guy. At some point, someone had to have seen him.”

“Let’s hope we find that person before Dutch does, or we may be looking at multiple homicides.” The dripping ceiling tiles in the hallway came to mind, which made my stomach sink. “Officers never completed that wellness check.”

“Shit.” O’Connell stuffed the last bite of sandwich into his mouth and reached for his phone. As soon as he swallowed, he said, “Let’s hope we’re both paranoid.”

I would have remained in Nick’s hospital room, waiting to hear the results of the wellness check, but the voice in my head reminded me I was wasting valuable time. “I should get back to the office. Cross’s morning meeting should be getting underway soon, and he expects me to be there. Will you let me know what you hear?”

Nick nodded. “Yeah, no problem.”

I hesitated. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve been talking to you for the last twenty minutes. Don’t I seem okay?”

“Don’t you ever pull that shit on me again. Do you understand?”

Jen poked his good arm. “That goes double for me, Nick O’Connell.”

“Yeah, I understand.”

“Promise,” Jen insisted.

“I promise, honey.” He met my eyes. “The same goes for you.”

I nodded, gave Jen a hug, and left the hospital.

When I returned to work, I found most of my coworkers seated around the conference table. Cross met my eyes when I entered. I took up my usual spot beside Kellan, finding the seat across from me empty. Bennett Renner must have been running late or working on his current assignment.

Cross handed out new assignments, asked for progress reports from a few members of his team, and rocked uneasily in his chair while scratching the back of his head. “All right, everyone get back to work. Alex, hang back.”

“Teacher’s pet,” Kellan whispered.

If only he knew.

I waited for the room to clear, staring at Cross and wondering what he’d uncovered in the last two hours. Once we were alone, he pushed the single blue folder he hadn’t handed off when distributing new assignments toward me. “As you know, we’ve taken on a new corporate client. We’ll have to conduct a full security assessment and review.”

Opening the folder, I wasn’t surprised to find the client was Martin Technologies. “Did you discuss this with Martin?”

“He agreed and sent over the signed contract twenty minutes ago. He asked if we could perform a personal assessment and—”

“I already asked you to do that,” I said.

“I know. It’s nice the two of you are on the same page for once. I figured I’d evaluate his personal life while you handle the business aspect.”

“I’ve done it before.”

Cross held my gaze. “I’m aware.”

“Nothing has changed since the last time I gave it a look.”

“Then get me a copy of the paperwork, highlight any weaknesses or areas that need improvement, and leave it with Justin.” He reached for his coffee cup. “I’ll review it to make sure you didn’t miss anything.”

I tried not to take that as a dig. “Make sure you get some sleep first. I don’t want you to miss anything either.”

“Afraid I’m going to have one of those moments where I can’t remember what the fuck I’m doing?”

“Does that happen a lot? You may need to see a specialist about that.”

He swiveled back and forth. “Have the police made any progress?”

“Not much. A sketch artist will sit with Pooley’s neighbors. O’Connell figures someone must have seen Dutch at some point.”

“That’s good.”

“Maybe.” I checked my phone, but I hadn’t gotten a report back on that wellness check. “Unless he killed them too.”

“I haven’t heard about any other homicides in the vicinity. Did I miss something?”

I told him about the leak in the hallway.

“It’s probably nothing.” Pushing out of his chair, he collected his notes. “You’ve completed almost all of your other assignments. I know this is your priority, but we have a duty to our other clients too. Have you done any research on Leon and Sierra Wallace yet?”  

“A little. I have some calls to make.” More than anything, I hoped finding Sierra would be as easy as her husband implied it would be. I didn’t have the time or energy for complicated.

“Do what you can while you wait for the PD to get back to you.”

“I know how to multitask, Lucien.”

“Great. Get to it.”

Fifteen

After pulling up the background checks I’d already performed on Sierra and Leon Wallace, I dug into Sierra’s employer. She worked for a streaming service, analyzing data. Since it was the beginning of the workday and workweek, I hoped she’d be at the office.

Finding the number took a little longer than I expected. Apparently, keeping subscribers from calling a direct line to management was a high priority. I could have gotten a number for an office in the Pentagon faster.

“I’m looking for Sierra Wallace,” I said when the assistant to the director of operations answered.

“Sierra isn’t here today.”

Strike one. “Will she be in tomorrow?”

“Sierra usually works remotely. What is this in regards to? Maybe I can redirect your call to someone else.”

“That would be great. May I speak to her supervisor?”

“That would be Mrs. Anderly. Hang on one moment while I connect you.”

I entered the name into my computer while I waited and scanned Gwyneth Anderly’s profile on the corporate site. I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, so I performed an internet search, which made a few references to when she’d first been appointed to that position four years ago.

“Hello,” a voice said in my ear, “this is Gwyneth Anderly. How may I help you?”

I resisted the urge to mention most execs didn’t field their own calls, but maybe the person I’d spoken to was her assistant. “I’ve been trying to reach Sierra Wallace.” I explained who I was and why I was interested in finding her. “I just need to make sure she’s okay.”

“Sierra only comes into the office a few times a month, but we had a video call on Thursday.”

“Is that the last time you spoke to her?”

“Directly, yes. We have exchanged several e-mails and texts since then.”

“Has Sierra fallen behind on work or—”

“No. Everything’s been normal. Sierra’s been normal.”

“Has she ever mentioned any issues or problems at home?”

Anderly paused for a moment. “I don’t believe so.”

“What about unexpected absences or illnesses?”

“No. Sierra’s the best. She’s always punctual. She never misses a deadline or a meeting.”

“One last question,” I said. “Have you ever met her husband?”

“I can’t say that I have. Most of our programmers and analysts work remotely. I rarely meet spouses or partners. I’ve met plenty of pets though, cats especially. They love to get right up to the webcam or walk across the keyboards.”

“Would you mind giving me her e-mail address? She hasn’t been answering her phone.”

“I’m not comfortable sharing private information, but if you give me your contact information, I’ll make sure she gets it.”

“Thanks.”

On the bright side, Sierra hadn’t fallen behind at work. She hadn’t missed any calls or meetings. More than likely, she was holed up somewhere. But where?

The next call I made was to Sierra’s best friend, Amanda Denning.

“Huh-lo?”

“Amanda Denning?” I asked.

“Mandy,” she corrected, sounding as if she’d been asleep or hungover, possibly both.

“I’m sorry to bother you.”

“I had to get up anyway. What do you want? This better not be about selling me insurance because I don’t want any.”

“No, Ms. Denning, I was calling about Sierra.”

She sounded more awake and far more suspicious when she asked, “What about her?”

“I was told she was missing and that you may have some idea where she is.”

“Did Leon put you up to this? I swear that man needs to stop being such a controlling prick.”

“I just want to make sure Sierra’s safe. That she’s okay,” I said.

“Tell him she’s fine and to leave her alone. When she wants to talk to him, she will talk to him.” With that, she hung up.

I thought about calling her back, but trying to explain my dual interest in locating Sierra would be difficult to do, especially to someone who was tired, pissed, and leery. I’d circle back to Mandy after I spoke to Sierra’s parents. But given that brief and hostile conversation, I figured there was a decent chance Sierra was camped out on her best friend’s couch.

My phone rang before I could make another call. Thompson.

“Hey, what do you have for me?” I asked.

“I don’t work for you, Parker. I never have, and I never will. But Nick asked me to keep you in the loop. I’m willing to do that under two conditions.”

“What are they?”

“You don’t get me shot.”

“I’ll do my best. After all, I’m running out of major crimes detectives to annoy. Heathcliff’s practically immune at this point.”

“And you do what I say when I say it.”

“You know I already have one pain in the ass boss and a fiancé who believes he has the power to make unilateral decisions that involve me. I’m not sure I can deal with someone else telling me what to do.”

“I didn’t realize I needed to add a third condition, but three, I’m not your therapist. Hell, I’m not even your friend.”

“That’s not a condition,” I said. “That’s a statement.”

“You aren’t going to drag me into your personal drama, got it?”

“Do you want to talk to me about yours?”

“Parker,” Thompson snapped, reminding me that Nick told me to play nice. Thompson and I had always had a rocky relationship, with lots of picking and teasing, but he was a lot more sensitive than his gruff exterior let on.

“I will do my best to adhere to all your conditions, Detective Thompson,” I said, “but I know you like me. So stop telling me we aren’t friends. We’re at least friends adjacent.”

“You’re already violating one of the conditions. I told you not to be a pain in my ass.”

“Fine.”

“One last thing.”

“Now what?”

“Meet me out front. Pooley’s upstairs neighbors didn’t answer the door when officers came knocking. So you’re coming with me to check it out.” 

“I thought I mentioned not bossing me around,” I said.

“Just get your ass outside.”

“Bossy, bossy, bossy.” But he’d hung up before I got the words out.

After making sure I had the addresses for Amanda Denning and Sierra’s parents saved in my phone in case Thompson and I found ourselves with free time, I made sure my nine millimeter was holstered, grabbed my jacket, and headed downstairs.

The unmarked police cruiser idled at the curb with the hazards on. I slid into the passenger’s seat.

“It took you long enough.” Thompson turned off the hazards and pulled back onto the street. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Some.”

He nodded, his attention focused beyond the windshield. “O’Connell said you stopped by first thing this morning. The only people who beat you there were Loyola and IA.”

“So?”

“I got there as soon as I could. Are you trying to make me look bad? Or is this some guilt thing?”

“I thought you weren’t my therapist.”

Thompson glanced in my direction. “I’m just trying to figure out how everything played out in Pooley’s apartment.”

“We went over that yesterday,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, but you were pretty wired when we did. I thought maybe your recollection of things had changed.”

“Nothing’s changed.”

“Jenny told me you got hit too.”

“A single pellet. I didn’t even notice it.” But Heathcliff had.

“It was buckshot that took O’Connell out of commission.”

“I know.”

Thompson looked at me again. “Did you hear her loading the weapon?”

“No.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“The entire situation strikes me as odd. I mentioned that yesterday too.”

“Yeah, I know.” He waved away my comment. “The apartment was quiet, right? You said you thought you heard whispering but figured it was a TV in the kitchen. If you could hear that, you would have heard a shotgun being loaded.”

“Maybe.” I didn’t think it would have sounded like teacups and dishes being placed on a tray, but I couldn’t be sure.

“The weapon was preloaded. She was expecting trouble,” he said.

I studied Thompson. The evidence was inconclusive. It was a coin toss whether Enid or Dutch had masterminded the attack. My money was on Dutch. After all, he was still alive.

“Enid Pooley tried to kill my partner. There’s a certain amount of justice in that she’s dead now. Call it karma, if you want.”

“It only works if Enid wanted Nick dead,” I said. “If not, she was just as much a victim.”

Thompson gripped the gearshift but kept his gaze trained out the windshield. “The intel indicates she raised her son alone. Whatever kind of man he is, she made him that way.”

“That’s not fair. You can’t blame her.”

“I sure as hell am going to blame her for shooting Nick. She fired at him. No one else did.” He glared at me. “Even if her son threatened her, she could have refused.” He silenced my argument with the weight of his stare. “The bastard killed her anyway. It wouldn’t have mattered, but Nick—”

“He’s going to be okay, Thompson.”

He let out a huff. “I know that. But…”

“I know. I don’t like it either. That’s the second time I’ve almost watched someone I love die in the last few days. So believe me, I get it.”

Thompson’s expression softened as he pulled to a stop outside the same apartment building O’Connell and I had visited the previous day. “It’s a good thing you agreed to the conditions of us working together.”

“Regardless, for your sake, I hope you’re wearing a vest.”

“At this point, I’m thinking I should be wearing two.”

“And a helmet,” I said as we got out of the car.

Two blue and whites were parked in front of the building, lights on, no sirens. A mobile crime lab van was parked half a block away. The Pooley apartment hadn’t been released yet, so it remained an active crime scene.

We made our way up the stairs. Thompson detoured us to the Pooley apartment where we were outfitted with booties and gloves before entering. I walked him through what happened, eyeing the shredded upholstery which carved out the perfect silhouette of where O’Connell had sat. Blood had stained the cushions and the rug. A bit of spatter had even reached the otherwise white wall behind him.

Moving beyond the living room, I paid close attention to the photos, snapping shots of anything I thought could be useful. Then I moved into the kitchen. Now that I wasn’t in as much of a rush, I paid more attention to the counter and the window above the sink which led to the fire escape. A table in the corner had a couple of dirty plates on it.

“We found the remaining crusts from some toast with teeth marks,” a tech said. “It’s a long shot, but we may be able to pull DNA from it.”

Thompson nodded while I finished pointing out the highlights, stepping around the puddle of blood which had been where Enid’s body had landed. Not bothering to ask permission, I searched the rest of the apartment. But anything of value had already been photographed or collected. I didn’t see a chemistry set or any lab equipment. No morphine either.

Enid’s room was devoid of family photos. She had a few knickknacks. I wondered if she had a baby book or old photo album tucked away somewhere, but Thompson urged me to move on. The police had searched, and they were still searching. They didn’t need me getting in the way.

The second bedroom, presumably Dutch’s, looked like it belonged in a hotel. There were no personal effects. No photos or posters. The art was dull. Lifeless prints that had come with the frames. The dresser was empty. So was the closet. There was no TV, computer, or stereo.

“He knew we were coming.” I examined the furniture, noting the dark powder residue from when the room had been printed. “Did they find his prints in here?”

“Several partials,” Thompson said, “on the inside of that drawer.” A marker had been placed in the open drawer.

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“That may have been an oversight. Someplace he forgot to wipe.” I moved to the bed. The sheets showed no signs of wear. When I pulled down the blanket, I found creases forming perfect squares on the fabric. “The sheets are new. They were never even washed.” I pulled the fitted sheet loose from the upper corner, not disturbing the way the bottom had been tucked in, to find a plastic mattress protector beneath it.

“The bastard’s a bedwetter,” Thompson said.

“Or he didn’t want to leave too much of himself behind.”

“We have his mother’s body. Half his DNA will be a match to hers. What’s the point?”

“I don’t know, but Dutch wasn’t sleeping here. At least, he hasn’t slept here since these sheets were put on the bed.”

Sixteen

We went up the stairs to the neighbor’s apartment. “How did the canvass turn out?” I asked.

Thompson looked around, his head on a swivel. “Most people weren’t helpful. A few spoke about how nice Enid was, how she would drop off cakes and cookies that she got from work. They couldn’t understand how she ended up with a kid like Dutch.”

“Did they provide a description?”

Thompson shook his head, one hand resting on his holster as he approached the doorway from the side. “They said they haven’t seen the kid in years. A few thought he’d gone to live with his dad. They all described him as a loner. Very antisocial.”

“Do they know who his father is?”

“They didn’t know anything.” Thompson stepped to the side of the doorway as he knocked. “Hello? Is anyone home?” He waited a full minute before he knocked again. “Police. Open up.”

I bounced on my toes, surprised to find the floor wasn’t squishy. Water hadn’t poured out from beneath the door, so maybe the leak was inside the wall.

Thompson gave the doorknob a careful look. No one had tried to break in. He took a step back. “Do you want to handle this? Or do you want me to break the door down?”

“Now I understand why you called me.” Taking out my lock picks, I made quick work of the lock, surprised to find the deadbolt off.

Thompson pushed me out of the way and let the door swing wide. “Police,” he announced. “We’re here to make sure everything’s okay. A leak was reported on the floor below you. We’re coming inside now.”

I followed Thompson. Maybe it was in my head, but I smelled death. An air purifier ran at full blast in the living room. A second one was positioned in the kitchen. Thompson headed in that direction while I went down the hallway, clearing each room as I went.

Every door was open except one. I knocked against it. “Police,” I said, even if it wasn’t entirely accurate. When no answer sounded from beyond the door, I twisted the knob and pushed it open.

The body of a middle-aged man lay on the tile floor. I hadn’t imagined the smell of death, but the exhaust fan and air purifiers throughout the house had done a good enough job to keep the stench from alerting the neighbors.

The tub dripped a steady, slow rhythm, causing water to splash out, soaking into the tiles and spreading around the tub and toilet. It hadn’t reached the doorway yet. But the man wasn’t in the tub. He was on the ground. The water hadn’t even soaked through his clothes. Only the parts of him that touched the tiles were wet.

I didn’t bother feeling for a pulse. He’d been dead for a while. The exhaust fan helped, but it didn’t eliminate the stench of decay.

I was no expert, but I’d seen enough bodies. He must have been dead for about a week. There was no blood. No blunt force trauma. No gunshot wounds. For all I knew, he died of natural causes, but I doubted it. A clear piece of plastic clung to the back of his arm, half obscured by the sleeve of his t-shirt. He had a matching one on the other side, and one at his neck. Overdose, I suspected. And given the placements, I didn’t think it had been self-inflicted.

The slow, steady drip from the tub faucet screamed for my attention. I watched it a few seconds longer. There was something not right about it.

“Thompson,” I called, mesmerized by the drip. Each splash would knock a little bit more water out of the tub, which would land on the floor and add to the growing puddle. But the puddle wasn’t that big. It was soaking into the tiles rather than spreading outward.

“Dammit.” Thompson carefully checked the body before reaching for the faucet to turn off the water.

“Don’t touch it,” I said.

He looked at me like I was crazy. “Why not?”

“Just hang on.” Taking out my phone, I recorded a full minute of video, nothing but the dripping water at regular speed.

“If you’re starting an ASMR channel to go with that bogus travel vlog you had—”

“I’m not.” I stepped back to take a few photos of the crime scene. This may be my only chance. If I waited for him to call it in, then I’d have to wait for the PD to process the scene before I could look around, and by then, I feared we’d miss something.

Thompson turned off the water and peered into the tub. “There’s nothing in here.”

“The vic is fully dressed. Jeans, t-shirt, socks.” I pointed. “When he gets flipped over, you can tell me if his fly’s up, but I don’t think he got jumped while taking a leak.” I indicated the clear plastic squares that covered both of his triceps. Where the water had reached the edge of one, the plastic patch had started to roll up in the corner.

I took a few photos of the body. Without asking permission, I went to the medicine cabinet and peered inside. I didn’t see a single prescription pill bottle.

“Parker, step away.” Thompson reached for his radio and notified dispatch of the situation. Footsteps sounded in the hallway. “This is a homicide. We have to do things right. I need you to wait outside.”

“What if I promise not to touch anything else?”

Thompson gave me another look. “Fine, but I’m keeping an eye on you.”

While the police did their thing, I paid attention to the little things. The dripping tub had set my radar buzzing. The tub was plugged. Not fully turning off the faucet could have been an oversight, but leaving the drain plug engaged wasn’t a mistake. It was intentional. But it was such a slow drip, it’d take days to fill the tub.

“Forensics will test the bath water,” Thompson said, forcing me to look away from the white porcelain. “How about you fill me in on why you didn’t want me to turn off the tap?”

I glanced back at the body, which was now being checked by the medical examiner. “He wasn’t taking a bath. The body wasn’t left in the tub. He didn’t drown.”

“No,” the ME said, “he probably overdosed.” She pointed to the pain patches stuck to his limbs. Two more had been stuck to the underside of his forearms. “I count five, but there could be more concealed beneath his clothing. I won’t know until I undress him.”

“Do you think it was suicide?” Thompson asked.

She shrugged. “I have no way of knowing.”

“Do we know what they are?”

“I’d say an opiate of some sort. Again, we’ll have to perform more tests.”

A member of CSU used a tweezer to remove the patch from the victim’s left forearm. Since it had been soaking in water for a while, it barely had any adhesive left to cling to his skin.

“Morphine,” I said.

The tech eyed me as he tucked the patch into an evidence bag. “That’s a good guess.”

“Not really.”

Thompson met my eyes. “What are you thinking?”

“This was Dutch’s test dummy.”

“I don’t—”

“He wanted to see how high of a dosage was needed to kill someone quickly and quietly. He wanted to get it right before he sent Martin that letter.” I rocked a little, feeling unsteady as a pit formed in my stomach. “What’s his name?”

“Matthew Delyle. Forty-two. Never married. He was a high school English teacher,” Thompson read from the notes he’d made. “He’s lived in this building for twenty years.”

I’d also guess he was six feet tall and around Martin’s weight. “Have any other tenants been around that long?” I asked.

“A few.”

“But they’re alive?”

“Uh-huh.” Thompson gave more orders before leading me out of the apartment. “I’ll have officers start another canvass. He’s been dead at least a week. Hopefully, someone will remember seeing something.”

“Ask everyone when they first noticed the squishy carpet and the leak. That will be more telling than anything else.”

“Why are you obsessed with that?” he asked.

“Because the killer wanted us to find the body.”

Thompson’s eyes narrowed. “In that case, why’d he go through the trouble with the air purifiers and exhaust fan?”

“He wanted to control when we’d find it. He didn’t want us to show up too soon.” I sent the video and photos to Amir, asking if he could figure out how long the faucet had to drip before the tub was overcapacity. That would help narrow down the time of death. My guess, it happened a day or two before the letter was mailed to Martin.

“I don’t understand,” Thompson said.

“Neither do I. But he wanted us here.”

“I thought you said Dutch was using the vic as a test dummy. Now you’re telling me the victim is bait?”

“He’s both, maybe.” I shook my head, my thoughts mangled. “Give me a minute.” I pulled out my phone and headed for the stairs.

“Parker—”

“One minute,” I said. If I’d been with O’Connell or Heathcliff, I wouldn’t have bothered, but Thompson was a wild card. While experience told me he’d bend the rules to protect his partner, I was afraid he’d think what I was about to do would jeopardize getting justice for O’Connell. “Hey,” I said when Lucien answered, “I need a favor.” I explained how we’d found Matthew Delyle. “He was covered in pain patches. CSU can’t tell me what was on them, just that it was an opiate.”

“You’re thinking morphine.”

“If I’m wrong, we’ll find another test subject dead somewhere else,” I said. “What I need to know is if Delyle had a prescription for pain patches. His medicine cabinet was completely empty. No wrappers. No trash. I’m guessing someone emptied it out.”

“Do you have his social security number?”

“He’s forty-two and teaches high school English. That’s the best I can do.”

“A driver’s license number would be better.”

“Thompson,” I called, heading back to him, “where is the vic’s ID?”

A tech tossed an evidence bag to him, and he held it up.

“I need his driver’s license number.”

Thompson stared at me, knowing whatever reason I needed it couldn’t be good. Reluctantly, he manipulated the wallet inside the bag until it was open and read it off to me.

I repeated it to Lucien. “Anything else, boss?”

“Give me an hour.”

Seventeen

Matthew Delyle had been in a car accident two years ago. He had to have spinal fusion surgery which had resulted in a long hospital stay and a lot of pain management. He had a prescription for morphine pain patches. According to Delyle’s relatives, he used them when he first got out of the hospital and had one prescription refill, but he never finished the first round or even started on the second. Like most people, he wasn’t particularly astute when it came to discarding old prescriptions. Another thing he and Martin had in common.

Since Thompson and I were working together, I shared everything I’d been told with him. Then he filled me in on the reports he’d received concerning the canvass.

“According to the school, Delyle sent an e-mail to his boss saying he had an emergency and would be out for two weeks. He even asked a colleague to find a substitute for him.” Thompson rocked a little in his chair. “We could be jumping to conclusions. CSU didn’t find any prints in the apartment that didn’t belong to the vic.”

“Get his phone records and search his computer. I want to know when that e-mail was sent and if or when he used his phone last. How many missed calls and unanswered texts have accumulated? Why didn’t anyone check on him?”

Thompson didn’t like being bossed around, but he knew that wasn’t my intention. I was focused and a little scared. “I don’t know, Parker. When I notified next of kin, they were shocked. They had no idea anything was wrong.”

“I take it they weren’t particularly close.”

“On the contrary, his family seems tight-knit. He has two siblings, a brother and sister, and his parents are still alive. The younger brother lives with them, and the sister doesn’t live that far away. It’d take maybe two hours with traffic for the entire family to meet up.”

“Do they meet up?”

“Supposedly for dinner once a week.” His jaw twitched. “Matthew didn’t show up this past weekend.”

“He was dead.”

“No shit.”

“And they didn’t think that was strange or cause for concern?”

Thompson consulted his notes again before clicking the mouse. “They said he texted that he couldn’t make it.”

“I didn’t know you could text after death.” Reaching for my phone, I sent a follow-up to Lucien, updating him on this latest tidbit.

“Someone else sent the text,” Thompson said, though the look on his face failed to clue me in on whether he realized I was being sarcastic with my remark. Instead, he pulled up Delyle’s phone records and called the lab. “Did you recover Delyle’s phone?” He waited, listening. “I see. Okay. I need you to pull everything off of it once it’s operational.”

“You have his phone?” I asked.

“It was in his front pocket. They need to get it dried out before they can do anything with it.”

“Do you think it’s salvageable?”

“The water wasn’t that deep. It couldn’t have been fully submerged, so here’s to hoping.”

Before I could send Lucien another text to tell him the police had Delyle’s phone, he replied that the last location it pinged was the apartment building and that had been a few days ago. He was going to see about getting a look at the phone records.

I put my phone down, grabbed the sticky notes and a pen from the cup on O’Connell’s desk, and started writing. When I was done, I approached the whiteboard which had been rolled against the wall near our desks. After placing the neon squares on the board, I grabbed a marker and drew some lines, question marks, and wrote down a few details.

Thompson eyed my handiwork. “We still don’t have any proof Dutch Pooley is responsible for the attack on Martin or Matthew Delyle’s death.”

“Do you believe I have the wrong guy?”

Proper procedure dictated Thompson not be so narrow-minded, but he knew, as well as I did, that finding Matthew Delyle dead wasn’t a coincidence or some freak accident. “So Dutch Pooley gets inside Matthew Delyle’s apartment, finds his expired pain patches, and decides he should see how many sticks it takes to kill a man.”

“I bet he said let’s find out.”

Thompson wasn’t amused, even though he started the joke. “How did he get them on Delyle without the other man putting up a fight?”

“I don’t know how potent or fast-acting they are. Maybe he distracted him with a firm handshake and a grip behind the arm. Another one placed as he slid his hand away. Then another one added to the back of the other arm in a friendly pat.”

“You’re speculating.”

“I’m theorizing.”

“Same difference.”

“Pick-pockets and magicians utilize the same tactics. Distraction and misdirects.” I moved closer and sat on the edge of his desk, crossing my legs. “Pretend we’re in a bar. I could lean over and smile.” I patted him on the back of the arm. “Maybe whisper something in your ear,” I brushed against the back of his neck, “and point to something over there.” I indicated Lt. Moretti’s office, causing Thompson to automatically look in that direction. “And then I steal your badge.”

He looked down, making sure it was still dangling from the chain around his neck.

“Made you look,” I said.

“Parker—”

“I’m just saying it’s possible, isn’t it?”

“Do you think Delyle was gay and Dutch came on to him?”

“I don’t know. That was just my example. He could have been engaging in some stupid, macho handshake or he gave him a bro hug. Whatever. How he did it isn’t the point.”

Thompson looked like he wanted to argue. “Fine. Dutch covered him with pain patches somehow.”

“Each one making Delyle less able to defend himself.”

“Delyle must have passed out.”

“Maybe he didn’t feel well and went into the bathroom and passed out in there. That’s what Martin did.”

Thompson eyed me, finally understanding the rationale behind my theory. “Based on the scene, he didn’t vomit or seize.”

“Unless Dutch cleaned it up. Then he wiped the place and removed every trace that he’d ever been there.”

“And took the remaining patches with him.” Thompson looked at me. “Until the autopsy results come back, we don’t know the actual cause of death, but if it was an overdose, cleaning up would make us less likely to believe it.”

“Except Delyle still had the patches on, which makes it extremely obvious.”

“There were no wrappers. No prescriptions. We’d have to investigate due to the suspicious circumstances surrounding Delyle’s death. Why didn’t the killer do more to cover his tracks?”

I pointed to the lines and notes I’d written on the board. “Dutch Pooley wants us to know he did this. He wants to make sure we know he went after Martin.”

“Do you think that’s why he killed his mother? He didn’t want us to blame her or give her credit for his acts?”

I hadn’t thought of that, but anything was possible. I scribbled it on the board beside her name, along with a question mark. “I’m wondering how many boxes Matthew Delyle checked for him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Delyle had a prescription for pain patches. He was roughly the same height, weight, and age as Martin, making him a good guinea pig, and he may have been able to provide us with details on Dutch Pooley or even tell us exactly what the guy looks like.”

“That’d be three for three.” Thompson squinted at the photo of the vic. “Shit. That’s it.”

“What’s it?”

Thompson pushed away from his desk and stabbed at the photo of Delyle. “Enid brought the neighbors cakes and cookies. After Delyle’s accident, she would bring him care packages every day. A few of his neighbors remembered that. When I spoke to his parents, they even mentioned how good she’d been to him, how she’d taken such excellent care of their son when he was recovering. She must have known about his medications. She may have even offered to pick them up for him.”

“Or Dutch did.” Maybe the refill hadn’t been Delyle’s idea. Maybe it was something Dutch had been holding on to for a while.

“Do you think Dutch was jealous of Delyle’s relationship with Enid?”

“Possibly.”

“That would be strike four,” Thompson said.

But I didn’t think Matthew Delyle was an intended target. He was a casualty. The anxiety I’d been feeling since I found Martin unconscious had never gone away. And ever since we found Delyle, it had only gotten worse. We didn’t know what Dutch looked like. For all I knew, he had a fake ID. A good one. One that would pass muster. Now that his mother was gone and we found his neighbor dead, he’d be feeling the pressure to act again.

“Do you need me for anything else?” I asked.

“I could use your help figuring this shit out.”

“I’m working on it, but do I have to do it here?”

“Do you have a lead I don’t know about?”

“No, but I’d like to make sure Martin’s safe and look at his recent hires to make sure Dutch Pooley isn’t hiding under our noses.”

“Keep me updated, and be careful.”

“Always.”

Eighteen

As I approached the MT building, I noticed a few Cross Security guards keeping an eye out. MT security remained in full force, not appearing to have made any changes despite the most recent attempt on the CEO’s life, but they didn’t know about that. Martin didn’t want to tell them unless he had to.

“Mr. Martin said you’d probably show up.” Jeffrey Myers held out an MT ID card. “He insisted you be placed back in the system. He said you were in charge of this circus.” He nodded to a member of Cross’s team who was stationed in front of the elevator banks, checking IDs before letting anyone access the elevators.

“I was asked to perform another security assessment,” I said, which was true enough.

“Well, I guess you’re back to your previous job as security consultant.” Jeffrey gave me a bright smile. “Welcome back. We’ve missed you.”

“Didn’t I make your life a living hell? Changing things and breaking the fire prevention system?”

He chuckled. “You keep things exciting.”

“I really hope that won’t be the case this time.” I gave him a wry smile and headed for the elevators.

“Parker,” the guard greeted me.

“Anything I should know?”

“The rest of my team is conducting randomized patrols throughout the building. They haven’t seen anything. No unauthorized personnel has set foot on the premises today.”

Nodding my thanks, I got into the elevator and rode up to the seventeenth floor. The glass outside Martin’s office revealed the man inside, working at his desk. I knocked, causing him to jump. He tried to play it cool, but I’d never seen him this rattled. Last time someone tried to kill him, he’d been pissed. This time, he seemed scared.

“Hey,” I said after the door opened, “are you okay?”

“I’m slammed.” He crooked his finger, urging me closer. “What are you doing here, sweetheart?”

“Lucien wants an updated assessment. Since I performed your last security evaluation, he thought it would make sense to have me do it again.”

Martin gave me a quick kiss. “Whatever you need. Your computer access has been restored. Same log-in. Same password.”

“Great.”

He turned back to the tablet and files on his desk before spinning in his chair to grab something from the drawer behind him. “Was there something else?” He glanced at me before grabbing a highlighter and pulling the cap off with his teeth.

“Thompson and I just came from another crime scene. It looks like Dutch Pooley wanted to make sure he wasn’t being stingy with the morphine.”

Martin continued marking things on the sheet, my words not fully processing. “Are you any closer to figuring out who this guy is or why he wants me dead?”

“Not yet, which is why I’m here.”

He smiled. “You were worried about me.”

“I always worry about you.”

The highlighter stopped moving. “I guess that’s only fair since I worry about you all the time too.”

This wasn’t how it should be, but I didn’t waste my breath. We’d had this discussion a million times. Regardless of what we thought, the universe had its own ideas, none of which we could control. “I wanted to make sure you were okay having Cross Security here.”

He went back to highlighting. “I don’t mind. Maybe it’ll put both of our minds at ease.”

“Lucien’s mentioned on several occasions that you never wanted to hire him. You must have had a reason. If this is a problem—”

“It’s not.” Martin put the highlighter down. “You’re here. So I have nothing to worry about.”

I wanted to tell him that I couldn’t save him, that I couldn’t go through that again, but it wouldn’t be true. I’d do everything in my power to protect him, which is what had led us down a rocky path. We couldn’t go back there. “It can’t be like last time.”

“It won’t.” He met my eyes. “I’m not asking you to be my bodyguard. I have people for that. But you’ll see whatever they miss. You’ll tell Lucien, and he’ll take care of it. It’s that simple.”

“So why did you nearly jump out of your skin when I knocked on the door?”

He pointed to the trash bin beside him. Inside were two empty energy drinks and a paper coffee cup with his order written on the side, a triple shot. I reached for him, feeling his pounding pulse and his body practically vibrating because of it.

I opened my mouth, unsure what was about to come out when his phone rang. He pulled away from me and picked it up. “I’ll be ready in five.”

“Martin—”

“Normally, I’d let you work from here, but I have an incoming conference call. It’s sensitive in nature,” he pulled a key from his top drawer, “so you can work from your office.” He gave me a gentle grin. “It’s nice to have you back in the building.”

“Is this a ploy to force me to come back to work for you?”

“Maybe.” He winked before jerking his head toward the door. “We’ll talk more later, and you can fill me in on the real reason you’re here.”

I shouldn’t have been shocked that he realized there was more to the story that I hadn’t mentioned. Martin knew what made me tick. I thought I knew him just as well, but ever since the attack, he didn’t seem like my Martin. He seemed more like the Martin I originally met. The only difference was last time he’d been afraid of losing his company. This time, he seemed more concerned with staying alive.

I went across the hall and unlocked the door to my old office. Everything remained where I’d left it. No one had rearranged the furniture. But the place had been cleaned, and someone had replaced the coffeemaker I’d taken with me when I’d left.

Picking up the phone, I dialed HR. The woman in charge was in a meeting for the next hour. I’d have to wait to get a look at the employee records. In the meantime, I had other work to do.

Leaving the door open meant I could keep an eye on Martin while I revised my security assessment. So that’s what I did. Every few minutes, I’d look away from the screen to see Martin animatedly gesturing while he spoke. Since it was a video call, there must have been presentation slides to go along with whatever it was he was doing.

I tried to shake the feeling of déjà vu, but I couldn’t. We’d done this dance before.

When I decided I needed a break, I went to Luc Guillot’s office at the far end of the hallway. His assistant’s office was right before that. Stopping in front of her doorway, I watched the woman at her desk. The headphones she had on and the way she swayed as she worked made me think she was listening to music. That would explain why she hadn’t noticed me.

I moved past her door and poked my head into Luc’s office. “Monsieur Guillot,” I offered a smile, “do you have a minute?”

Luc looked up. “Alexis, for you, of course.” He waved me into the room. “What brings you in today?”

“Security evaluations.”

“James informed me he was testing out your firm. Is something wrong?”

Since Martin didn’t tell him, I couldn’t either. “I was just wondering if you were aware of any problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Complaints, threats, anything security related.”

He carefully considered the question before shaking his head. “All is well.”

“In case you think of anything, I’ll be down the hall. Martin insisted I work from my old office. He thought it made sense.”

Luc smiled. “It does.”

But it didn’t. Nothing about this situation made a damn bit of sense. I turned in the doorway. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone with the last name Pooley, would you?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“What about Matthew Delyle?”

He frowned. “No. Should I?”

“Probably not.”

Returning to my office, I pulled up the rest of the reports I’d written, double-checked everything, removed whatever I didn’t deem relevant for Cross’s purposes, did a quick copy and paste job to put it all together in one document, and sent it to Lucien. The freight elevator had the least amount of security. There were blind spots and back doors. Sure, keycard access was required, but that would be the easiest way for someone to slip inside without anyone noticing.

My thoughts from earlier resurfaced. After making sure Martin was still occupied with his call and safely locked inside his office, I went to see what HR could tell me.

My freshly reinstated Martin Technologies ID carried a lot more sway than I remembered. After being shown how to access every employee application and personnel file on the server, the woman in charge of HR handed me a stack of correspondence.

“These are the hard copies we’ve received. Most applications are sent digitally and stored on the servers for a year before being destroyed, but sometimes, we request physical copies instead. Don’t lose them.”

“I won’t. I’ll have them back to you by tomorrow morning.”

“See that you do.”

With the papers in hand, I returned to my office. Martin smiled at me as I went past him. I returned the smile, my hands too full to wave. After I put everything down, I pulled up the applications on MT’s server and stared at the long list.

“What are you doing?” Martin asked from my doorway. He leaned in, keeping his hands in his pockets, the same way Lucien did when he lingered outside my office.

“I had an unsettling thought. One that I can’t quite shake.”

He glanced back in the direction of his office, as if he couldn’t afford to be away from there. “I’m waiting for a call. Come over and tell me about it in the meantime.”

Leaving the paperwork on my desk, I followed Martin into his office. I paced in front of the couch, seeing everything and nothing at the same time. “There’s a fundamental flaw in your security. No one has eyes on you when you’re inside the building.”

“The building’s secure, sweetheart. They’re checking IDs in the lobby. I don’t need a bodyguard following me around. The threat is coming from out there, not in here.”

“Are you sure?”

He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “You said the letter I received was tainted. O’Connell pulled a print. I thought you had a suspect.”

“We do.”

“Does he work here?” Martin asked, fighting to keep the exasperation out of his voice. The excess caffeine had made him even less patient than usual.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s fucking great.” He ran a hand through his hair, his green eyes blazing. “How do you not know?”

I snorted, remembering what a jerk he could be as a boss. “We know who’s responsible, but this guy is something else. He has no ID of any kind. There are no recent photos of him anywhere. He has no online presence. He’s a ghost. He could be anyone.”

Martin stared at me. “You think he’s here.”

“I think it’s possible. I pulled the employee records. I was going to filter and narrow down the possibilities based on the details we have before running thorough checks on everyone to make sure they pass muster.”

“We run checks.”

“I know. But this guy is next level.”

Martin opened his mouth to say something, but his computer let out a chime, alerting him to an incoming call. “Let me know if you need anything from me.” He slid into his chair and pressed a button, saying something that sounded like hello in Japanese.

Shaking my head, I went back to the files and set to work.

Plenty of men in the twenty-two to thirty-seven range had applied for jobs at Martin Technologies. Factoring out race eliminated a third of the candidates. But there were still fifty odd applicants who’d been denied employment, any of which may have held a grudge and decided to get revenge on Martin.

However, discovering that Pooley was denied a position at the company would only explain why he targeted Martin. It wouldn’t explain why he’d committed two other murders. Still, it could lead to discovering other IDs he was using. But I didn’t want the techs at Cross Security to focus on that yet. I wanted them to focus on current employees who could get to Martin without raising suspicion.

Twenty-three employees fit the parameters I set. Any one of them could be Dutch Pooley. Turning to my laptop, I started with the first name on the list. MT ran basic background checks. If anyone had a criminal record, it would be flagged in their file. But I didn’t care about that. I needed other information. Luckily, Martin had dealt with enough corporate espionage issues to have his security checks flag suspicious financial activity too. But that wouldn’t help me either.

So I performed social media checks, but if Dutch Pooley was as good as I suspected, he could have a fake profile to go with his fake identity. That’s when I started calling family members. But he could have paid someone to fake that too.

Was I paranoid? Was I giving this asshole more credit than he deserved?

“Love?” Bastian seemed surprised I was calling him a second time. “Is everything all right?”

“Not particularly.” I updated him on what Thompson and I discovered. “What if he’s a chameleon? He could be inside the MT building, planning his next attempt right now.”

“That seems a little far flung,” Bastian said, “but most things we do are. Send me the list. I’ll run it against the work I’m doing. In fact, I’ll get Hans to help me with it. He’s gotten handy with the computers in his old age.”

“Sod off,” Hans bellowed from somewhere in the distance.

I copied the list and sent it to him. “Have you found anything yet?”

“It may take some time.”

“Thanks for this. I owe you.”

But even after we hung up, I kept digging. Martin Tech could institute new security measures that required employee fingerprinting. That would reveal if anyone who worked here was really Dutch Pooley in disguise.

“Would the real Dutch Pooley please stand up?” I muttered while I sent whatever intel I had to Cross Security and checked my messages. No news was good news. But in this case, I didn’t believe it. We needed a lead. Cross or Thompson should have come up with something. They both had plenty of people assisting on this.

I sucked in a breath, forcing my spinning thoughts to stop before the room joined them. Then I turned all my attention to Matthew Delyle.

Nineteen

I didn’t find anything significant on Matthew Delyle. What Thompson had told me rang true. Delyle had been in a bad accident and spent over a month in the hospital while they put him back together. He spent almost a year recovering and rehabbing. And now he was dead.

He had fought so hard only for his life to be cut tragically short, and for what reason? Delyle didn’t have a drug problem. He didn’t owe anyone money. He didn’t kick puppies for fun. Instead, he trusted his neighbor who lived downstairs and brought him food when he was on the mend. That had been his greatest downfall.

“Alex,” Martin shut the door to my office, “is everything okay?”

“How can you ask me that?”

He took a seat on the small couch against the wall and patted the spot beside him. “Come here.”

I swiveled to face him, my hands coming up in a defensive gesture automatically. “I can’t. I just…”

“Breathe, sweetheart. How much caffeine did you drink today?”

“Not as much as you. What were you thinking? You were in bad shape a few days ago. Now you’re tempting fate.”

“I wasn’t tempting anything. I needed a boost. I’m still foggy and sluggish.”

“That’s because you didn’t sleep last night.”

“We didn’t sleep much last night,” he corrected. “We were busy with other things.”

“No, I slept after other things. But you woke me this morning. You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”

“Alex—”

“Matthew Delyle is dead.”

Martin’s brows knit together as he squinted in an attempt to physically shield himself from the mental whiplash of my thought processes. “Who is Matthew Delyle?”

“I was hoping you knew.”

“I don’t understand.”

I quickly summarized my day. “Delyle’s been dead for at least a week.” Automatically, I glanced at my phone, hoping Amir had figured out the math on the dripping faucet which would pinpoint time of death. But I had no messages. “We just found him. My gut says Pooley wanted us to find the body. But the timing got messed up. I don’t know if he wanted us to find Delyle first, before we matched the print, maybe even before you were attacked, or after. I’m not clear on what he’s doing, but we messed up his timeline. Hell, we messed up his plans. You’re alive. He must know that by now. He may be feeling pressured or trapped. He’s going to strike again.”

“Alex.”

“That’s why I’m afraid he’s infiltrated your company. If he has, he can get to you at any time. He could be waiting for you to get in the elevator or check on a project the marketing department is working on or whatever. I don’t know because I don’t know him. I don’t know who he is or why he’s doing this.”

“Hey, look at me. You’ll figure this out.”

“What if I don’t? What if it’s like last time?” I bit my tongue, afraid I might cry. “What if it’s worse than last time? I can’t—”

“I know, but I’m not going anywhere.”

Did he think that’s why I contacted Bastian? Shaking my head, I said, “I wasn’t going to have you kidnapped.”

He laughed, though his eyes didn’t show any mirth. “That’s not what I meant. Willpower, remember? Sheer willpower.”

“Clearly, that’s not working either.” I needed to be in motion. “You didn’t sleep last night. You’re worried.” I went to him, grasping his face in my hands. “I am so sorry this happened. He shouldn’t have been able to get so close. Cross Security will do their best. I will do my best to keep you safe.”

“Sweetheart,” he took my hands in his, “I love you. But that isn’t your job.” He looked like he wanted to say something else but decided against it. Instead, he said, “I wasn’t up worrying last night. I was trying to figure out who would want to see me dead. I’ve gone through every business deal we’ve made this year. Every new product. Every scrapped idea. Every potential merger, backer, and customer. I spoke to my counterparts at the other MT offices, wondering if there was any strife overseas that I hadn’t heard about. But I can’t figure it out.”

“It could be insignificant to you,” I said. “Something you wouldn’t even think about.”

“Like cutting someone off in traffic?”

“I’d like to say it should be more substantial than that, but everyone I know can tell you stories, so maybe.”

He looked at the time. “I’m ready to go home.”

“I’ll walk you out, but I’m not going home yet.”

“By the time I hit the lobby, I’ll be flanked by a group of bodyguards. Jones will meet me in the garage, and we’ll drive in a convoy back to the estate. You don’t have to walk me down.”

“Until I’m sure Dutch Pooley isn’t hiding inside this building, we’ll have to agree to disagree on that point.”

“Are you going back to the precinct?” Martin asked as I collected my things and walked him to the elevator.

“Maybe, but I’m going to see what Lucien has for me first.”

My trip back to Cross Security didn’t take long. I parked in the garage, went straight to the lab, and barged in on Amir who was hunched over his workstation. I studied the screen over his shoulder, watching the computer run calculations and test different scenarios.

“How long would it take for that drip to fill the tub?” I asked.

“Assuming the drain plug sealed at one hundred percent and the tub didn’t already have water in it, it would have taken 126 hours and 32 minutes.”

I did the math in my head. “That’s a little over five days. How much water would have to accumulate on the floor before it could seep through the tiles and drip onto the level below?”

Amir glanced up at me. “Do you have building schematics and a list of materials used, along with their age and porosity?”

“Best guess,” I said.

“Given the age of the building, I can only guess as to the materials and design. That being said, I’d estimate you’re looking at another two days minimum.”

“So we’re looking at a week.”

“I’d guess closer to ten days.” He rolled in front of another machine and clicked a button. “The autopsy hasn’t been performed yet, but the preliminary evaluation would agree with that estimate.”

I mulled it over. Dutch Pooley killed Matthew Delyle through skin contact with a high-powered opiate, soaked the letter he mailed Martin, secured it in a lined envelope to make sure the drug remained intact and didn’t kill every single person who handled the mail, and waited for us to knock on his door, at which time his mother fired upon us and he killed her.

“This is a million kinds of fucked up.” I shook my head, hoping to make some part of it make sense. “Have you figured out how he dosed the letter Martin received?”

“He reverse-engineered the pain patches, removing the drug, concentrating it, and coating the letter with it. Since the patches normally have a stickiness to them, as in they aren’t dry, he had to recreate that on the letter using a petroleum-based gel.”

“So the letter was sticky,” I said.

Amir nodded. “The paper had a glossy appearance, but it wasn’t glossy paper. That was the gel.”

“What kind of chemistry equipment would he have needed to pull it off?”

“Nothing extraordinary. A lot of DIY kits to make lotions and homemade remedies would have had the basic supplies he’d need. The hardest part would be reverse engineering the patches, but that kind of information is readily available on the dark web.”

That fit with our theory that Dutch Pooley was an elite hacker.

“Do you think this guy worked R&D at Martin Tech? Do you think this is the kind of thing they may have been working on? Maybe he did this to make a point,” Amir suggested.

“I’ll have to ask.” I pulled out my phone, finding a message from Thompson. “Did you get the two lists I sent earlier?”

“The Martin Technologies’ applicants and the current employees.” Amir indicated the techs on the other side of the room. “We’re looking into them now.”

“Thanks.”

On my way to Cross’s office, I read Thompson’s text. O’Connell was safe and sound at home. CSU hadn’t found anything suggesting Dutch Pooley had been inside Matthew Delyle’s apartment recently, but a neighbor had seen someone on Delyle’s floor that they didn’t recognize a week and a half ago. It could have been anyone, but Thompson had the potential witness sit with a sketch artist. They were still working on it, but it didn’t sound promising. Besides that, he’d spent most of the day speaking to anyone who knew Enid, hoping for some clue as to where she got the shotgun or why she opened fire. No one had any idea, and even fewer people knew she had a son.

“You look frustrated,” Justin said as I headed toward him.

“Try overwhelmed.”

“That too.” He rolled his chair in front of Cross’s door. “Hey, boss, Alex is here to see you.” He scooted back to his desk. “He’s expecting you.”

The ridiculous nature of that exchange made me laugh. “I needed that.”

Justin winked. “I’m glad I could help.”

Cross gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “You know my stance on homicide investigations.”

“You don’t have to work the homicides. I just need you to find the killer,” I said.

He snickered. “How’s Martin?”

“Over-caffeinated, like the rest of us. I can’t shake the possibility Pooley could be hiding in plain sight.”

“I’ve looked over everything. I don’t think he’s employed by Martin Technologies.”

“What about one of their vendors? They don’t have a coffee cart or cafeteria, but they have vending machines.”

Cross made a note. “I’ll look into outside contractors, vending machines, window washers, things of that nature, but Martin keeps most jobs in-house. The cleaning crew is made up of MT employees. The same’s true of security, except for us. Martin runs a tight ship.”

“It’s not impenetrable.”

“Nothing is.” He straightened a stack of papers. “I reviewed what you sent. Everything looks good. I’ve alerted our security teams about the weaknesses surrounding the freight elevator and rear exit. I also took the liberty of ordering equipment to cover those areas. I’ll personally oversee the installation tomorrow morning. It’ll be completed before Martin gets to the office.”

“I want a guard on the seventeenth floor,” I said.

“Will Martin agree?”

I wasn’t sure I cared. “Does it matter? If a CEO Cross Security has been hired to protect ends up dead, think of all the bad publicity that would cause you.”

Cross’s expression darkened. “I see your point.”

Cross wanted this account since the moment he hired me. But this was the first time he’d been put to the test. Martin’s safety had to be his priority.

“Have you found anything on Martin or the Pooleys to explain how we ended up here?” I asked.

Cross sighed. “Not yet.”

“Have you found anything?”

He gave me a look, the devious thoughts close to the surface, but I was thankful he wasn’t petty enough to tease me as retribution for the threat I’d made. “Martin’s clean.”

“I told you that.”

“That’s not something I usually see with clients.”

I fought the urge to say maybe that’s why Martin never wanted to sign with him, but I kept the thought to myself. Cross was my ally, not my enemy. “What about Dutch Pooley?”

“I’d say he has multiple aliases. I’ve reached out to my paper guys, but without a description, they can’t help. Where are you on the yearbook thing?”

“I haven’t had time.”

Cross gave me a Cheshire grin. “That’s why I took a trip to his middle school earlier today. The administration has turned over since he was a student, but I found one secretary who’s been there for twenty-five years. She remembered a scrawny, dirty blond haired kid with thick coke-bottle glasses and a couple of freckles.”

“The kid in the photos on the wall didn’t have glasses,” I said. I wasn’t even sure if he had freckles.

“He could have had contacts or laser-surgery.” Cross gave me a half-shrug. “The glasses could have been cosmetic.”

“Like a fashion accessory?”

“Maybe he wanted to be Clark Kent.”

“Only if Clark Kent was pure evil.”

“Regardless, I picked up that yearbook and took it with me to the high school Dutch Pooley would have most likely attended.”

“And?”

“They have no record of him.” Cross held up his hand before I could share my disappointment. “However, I asked for copies of their yearbooks.” Cross pushed a book over to me. “I found a David Parr who looks eerily similar. A little older with darker hair and no glasses. He allegedly transferred in as a sophomore from a tiny school in North Dakota.”

Enid said her son had skipped a grade. I stared at the photos. “If Pooley reinvented himself and transferred in as a sophomore, he’d be able to avoid running into his former classmates. But why go to the trouble?”

“I can’t say for sure, but the middle school secretary suggested the school had suffered from a bullying epidemic around the same time he attended. I’m guessing that’s why he found a creative way to hide in plain sight.”

“If he was smart enough to pull off that kind of con as a fourteen year old, who knows what kinds of things he’s capable of doing now.” This felt right, like we may finally have a lead. “What do we have on David Parr?”

“From before he transferred, not much. Tiny towns in rural North Dakota aren’t known for being particularly tech savvy. Half of them don’t even have stable cell service or reliable internet, particularly at the time David allegedly transferred. The school took the records David brought them and entered everything into their system as if it were gospel.”

“What about now?” I asked.

“David Parr wasn’t a member of any clubs or organizations. He didn’t play sports. Besides this one photo which was taken in the office to print his school ID card, he missed every single picture day after that. His transcripts show he took the required courses. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t excel. He didn’t stand out. He was average. He graduated but didn’t attend the ceremony. I’ve been looking into his classmates’ social media posts, but I haven’t found any photos of him online. No tax returns. No business records. No driver’s license. He graduated and disappeared.”

“What about his parents?”

“School records have their names, but I haven’t been able to find them either. I don’t think they exist.”

“If this guy isn’t Dutch Pooley, they should belong to the same club.”

“As a rule, loners don’t join clubs,” Cross said.

I stared at the photo of David Parr. The kid was maybe fifteen, if his records were to be believed. I concentrated on his eyes and the features of his face. I’d seen him before. “This guy looks more like the photos on Enid’s wall than the kid in that other yearbook.” I pointed to the yearbook photos of Dutch Pooley with his thick glasses.

“Now I understand why people were fooled by the Clark Kent/Superman disguise,” Cross said.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Those glasses take up half the kid’s face. His hair is a different shade, and he just looks fragile.”

“Maybe he was. Maybe that’s how his classmates made him feel.”

“I’m not saying that what happened to him wasn’t terrible, but I don’t have sympathy for anyone who tries to kill Martin and who murdered his own mother and his neighbor. I just don’t.” Another thought struck me. “Is there any overlap between David Parr and Matthew Delyle?”

“I haven’t found any. Delyle never taught at that high school.”

“What about David Parr and Martin Technologies?” His name wasn’t on anything I’d seen.

“No.”

I looked Cross in the eye. “You’re sure this is one of Dutch Pooley’s aliases?”

Before he could answer, his phone rang. He picked it up. “Hey—”

I couldn’t tell who was speaking on the other end of the line, but whoever it was sounded frantic.

“Where are you now?” Cross asked. “All right. Did you contact medical?” He waited half a second. “I’ll be right there.” He put the phone down and grabbed his jacket off the chair.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Kellan. His boyfriend just collapsed.”

Twenty

When we entered the Mexican restaurant a block from our office, the silence gave away the severity of the situation. A team of medics was already on scene. Restaurant employees were doing their best to keep the customers out of the way, but every eye in the room gawked at the server who’d hit the ground and hadn’t gotten up.

Kellan stood on the periphery of the action, a hand running down his face, his eyes glued to the scene. He swayed a little, as if he wanted to do something, except he knew he couldn’t. That must have been how I looked when the medics had pushed me out of the way when Martin was on the ground.

Cross went straight to Kellan, standing close enough that their words didn’t travel. I scanned the area, noting the broken dishes and glasses, the puddle on the floor from the sideways water pitcher, the chair that had been knocked over, and the tiny foam bubbles that appeared in the corner of the server’s mouth while the medics worked on him.

He'd always been nice to me, every time Kellan had brought me here, which was often since he had a thing for the server. But I didn’t know they were dating. I suspected, but I didn’t know how serious it was. Cross called the man Kellan’s boyfriend. For all I knew, they could have been married. I always made it a point not to pry into my coworkers’ personal lives. It was a defense mechanism I’d been using since I lost my first partner, but right now, I wished I knew more about the man. His name tag said Gabriel, but I couldn’t recall Kellan ever calling him by name.

Turning away from Gabriel while the medics worked, I watched Cross head for the back offices. Kellan remained where he’d been, devastated by the scene playing out before him. On my way to him, I scanned the crowd, an uneasy feeling coming over me.

“Hey,” I stood beside Kellan, “are you okay?”

Kellan gave me a look as if to say you can’t be serious.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I don’t know. One minute he was fine, the next, he’s seizing.”

“Does he have a history of epilepsy?” I didn’t see a medical alert bracelet or necklace.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Suddenly, Gabriel jerked upright, his eyes wide. He gasped a few times, and Kellan moved toward him. “Hey, G, I’m right here.” Kellan reached for his arm. “I got you.”

The medics were still hooking monitors to him and checking his vitals, but they didn’t push Kellan away. Gabriel looked absolutely terrified, so that may have been why they let Kellan help.

Something shiny caught my eye from the front pocket in Gabriel’s apron. I circled around, doing my best to stay out of the way while also getting a better look. The open flap of an envelope peeked out from the pocket. The white and silver stood in stark contrast to the black of the apron.

“Hold it,” I said, stopping the medics from lifting him onto the gurney. Grabbing a glove from their pack, I moved closer and plucked the white and silver from Gabriel’s pocket. Inside were a few bills of different denominations and on the outside of the envelope in a neat script were the words, Thank you for serving us. “Where did you get this?”

“Alex—” Kellan didn’t understand the reason I was delaying the medical team from acting.

Gabriel blinked a few times, his breath shallow, his eyes dilated and unfocused. “It was on the table.” He pointed a shaky hand at a two-seater topped with a few dirty dishes.

“We need to—” the medic began, but I stepped out of the way.

“Go.”

“Kellan, go with him,” Cross said, coming up behind me. “We’ll handle things here.” He spoke quietly to the lead medic before grabbing a plastic bag from their kit.

I scanned the room again, searching for the person who left the envelope behind. Cross took it from me and sealed it inside the bag. “The envelope looks the same,” I said.

“I already copied the restaurant’s security footage and requested copies of their receipts.” Cross moved toward the table Gabriel had indicated. “Don’t touch anything without protection.”

“No glove, no love,” I said.

Cross glanced at me. “The attack wasn’t about Martin. It’s about something else.”

As nonchalantly as possible, I pulled out my phone, recorded what the table looked like, and spun, sweeping the room while I filmed. More than likely, the assailant had fled before we arrived, but given how brazen this bastard had been and how close we’d come to him, he may have hung around to watch. After I finished scanning the room, I called Thompson. Finding that envelope made this a police matter.

“What hospital did they take Gabriel to?” I asked Cross.

“They took him back to the office.” He examined the flatware on the table, hoping we’d get DNA from it.

“Why?” With Martin, it had been different. We didn’t know the situation, and he hadn’t been conscious to tell us what he wanted us to do.

“No insurance.”

I told Thompson what was going on, and then Cross and I picked our way through the scene while we waited for the cops to arrive.

The restaurant staff had been unsure how to proceed. The manager had wanted to distract everyone, comp their meals, and send them home before this turned into a circus. But Cross stopped that. The police would want to question them. It wasn’t everyday they had a room full of witnesses and suspects to an attempted murder.

“Parker,” Thompson called as he made his way to me, “did Pooley do this?”

“It looks like it.”

Cross held out the evidence bag. “That was one of the last things the vic touched before he seized. It was in his apron. He said it came from this table.”

“You spoke to the vic?” Thompson looked from Cross to me, unhappy about the situation.

“You’ll have a chance to question him yourself, Detective,” Cross said, “as soon as he’s stable and my medical team gives you the okay.”

“He should be in the hospital,” Thompson said.

“He’s entitled to choose his own health care provider,” Cross said.

“Convenient.” Thompson looked around. “You better not have touched anything else or screwed up my crime scene.”

“We didn’t,” I said. “You know I want this guy as much as you do. We’re here to help. So let us.”

Thompson gave me a tight nod. “For now, I want you to clear out. I’m sending someone with you to keep an eye on Gabriel until a mobile crime unit can process him for evidence.”

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” I asked.

“I will,” he said, “but not here and not right now.”

Cross put a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Alex, we should check on Kellan.” He led me to the door, waiting for Thompson to give the uniformed officers standing guard the okay to release us. Before we left, Cross shook hands with the man at the host stand and tucked something into his pocket.

The cop escorting us didn’t notice, and I didn’t ask until we ditched him outside the medical wing.

Cross pulled the drive out of his pocket.

“Security footage or tonight’s receipts?” I asked.

“It should be both.” He plugged it into his computer and copied the files. “In case Detective Thompson hears we received this and decides to be a hard ass, I don’t want to lose access.”

“Thompson isn’t trying to get in the way,” I said. “He just wants to make sure we don’t screw up the investigation. He doesn’t want the asshole who put his partner in the hospital to get away with this.”

“I got that,” Cross said. “But that is the least of my concern right now. This bastard went after your boyfriend. Now he’s made an attempt on Kellan’s boyfriend.”

“That’s why Martin hasn’t been able to figure out who wants him dead. It wasn’t about him.” I didn’t think it was about me either. “What do you think is going on?”

“I don’t know. Go through your files and see what cases you and Kellan worked on together. In the meantime, I’ll comb through this mess to see if I can find this son of a bitch.”

Having an assignment made things easier. It gave me focus and allowed me to concentrate, but even as I went through my reports and case files, thoughts continued to form in the back of my mind. I pushed most aside, not wanting to get derailed.

Kellan and I had shared a lot of assignments. He’d pitch in on surveillance or research, and I’d return the favor. Usually, the assistance we provided one another happened in the background. The clients didn’t know, and most businesses didn’t care. In fact, plenty preferred getting more than one Cross Security investigator to take a look at their case.

The few displeased clients I had were entirely mine. Kellan hadn’t been involved in those cases. But Dutch Pooley had never been a client. However, I didn’t have the same level of confidence when it came to his unknown aliases. If Pooley was doing this as retribution, it wasn’t because he’d been a client. So I turned my attention to people who hadn’t fared well in lieu of a Cross Security investigation.

I’d already reviewed the cases that had resulted in prison sentences. Mark Jablonsky had done the same. As far as we could tell, no one had made any threats.

“If I only knew what you looked like.” Dutch Pooley could be anyone. He could have been an accomplice or had some kind of personal connection to someone we’d locked up. But I had no way of knowing or finding out.

Picking up the phone, I dialed Bennett Renner’s extension. When the call went to voicemail, I hung up and tried his cell. After one too many rings, Bennett answered.

“What is it?” he asked, sounding a little unfriendly.

“Cross had you checking into complaints and threats we received, right?”

“I always run them for credibility. Why? What’s going on?”

I gave him a quick update. “I’m going through my case files, but I don’t even know what to look for.”

“We ran everything on you when Martin was attacked,” he said. “Take a look at Kellan’s cases. There could be something in that mess. I don’t remember seeing anything troubling, but someone intent on causing harm isn’t going to provide advanced warning.”

Bennett was right, but in a way, that’s exactly what this asshole was doing by targeting Martin and Gabriel. A headache had formed behind my eyes and crept its way to the back of my neck. After popping a few pills I found in my desk drawer, I pulled up my history and tried to see what research and favors I’d returned to Kellan in the last few weeks.

Everything had been corporate with the exception of a divorce case. I’d put in a few hours of legwork on that, shadowing the alleged cheater and waiting to get the money shot. Sure, getting revenge on us for playing a part in the dissolution of a marriage would make some sense. In fact, targeting our significant others would make the entire thing poetic.

Had someone been watching us—Kellan and me? Had that someone trailed us or researched us to discover our romantic entanglements? I didn’t put anything beyond the capabilities of Dutch Pooley, who had turned into my personal boogeyman. But Kellan was former DEA, and I was former FBI. One of us would have picked up on a tail, which meant we’d been monitored remotely. Again, the words elite hacker rang through my brain, reverberating against my skull and making my headache worse.

Deciding that divorce case was the only possibility, even if it didn’t feel quite right, I went to speak to the techs upstairs. They’d been working around-the-clock since Martin’s attack. Thankfully, most of their work remained relevant since our suspect remained the same.

As I approached the lab, I heard loud voices. The rapid-fire Spanish was far beyond my capabilities. But I recognized one of the voices. Kellan.

“Hey,” I said, barging into the medic’s office, “is there a problem?”

Kellan met my eyes, his expression a mix of frustration and upset. A short woman, probably in her mid-fifties, turned at the intrusion. The man beside her, roughly around the same age but a foot taller than her, also turned. They both gave me icy stares.

“Do you need something, Alex?” Kellan asked, a sigh in his voice.

“You, actually.” I pointed at him, unsure if the two people beside him spoke English. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“Yeah. Okay.” He communicated with his eyes, and I stepped back into the hallway.

Kellan spoke to them in Spanish, which triggered another angry exchange, but as gently as possible, he excused himself and met me in the hallway.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“You wouldn’t believe it.” He shook his head. “Thanks for the save. I needed a break. I…god…G’s gonna kill me if he’ll even speak to me ever again, that is. Those are his parents. This whole thing is a mess. It…it doesn’t matter.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Do you have a crystal ball? They want him moved to the hospital. They think the restaurant should cover his expenses.”

“The incident happened at work,” I said. “They may cover it.”

Kellan looked at me. “G wouldn’t want the restaurant to fall under any scrutiny. He wouldn’t want to cause waves for them. A few of his coworkers could face deportation. He wouldn’t want that to happen.”

Before I could ask anything else, I spotted Detective Thompson entering the room and realized the police had been questioning Gabriel’s parents and Kellan too. Thompson must have stepped out for a moment, and that’s what had led to the screaming match.

“The bills in the envelope were saturated with opiates which must have gotten absorbed through G’s fingertips when he touched them,” Kellan said. “We’re looking at the same guy who went after Martin.”

I already knew that, but saying it made Kellan feel useful. “Cross thinks this has something to do with a case we worked on. I’ve gone through all of mine, but nothing pops. The only thing that stands out is that one divorce case I helped you with, unless there’s something else I’ve forgotten about. Do you remember anyone being particularly pissed about the work we’ve done?”

Kellan rubbed his face, trying to think. “Nothing stands out in my mind. Do you really think it’s that divorce case?”

“No, but I don’t know where else we overlap, and I don’t think Gabriel and Martin share any connections besides being involved with Cross Security investigators.”

“I guess it must be the divorce case.” But Kellan sounded about as convinced as I felt.

I jerked my chin toward the room he’d just left. “How is Gabriel doing?”

“He should be fine, but the seizure has everyone a little worried. His parents want more extensive scans.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“No. It’s not.” Kellan stared at a spot on the wall behind me. “Regardless, it’s their call, not mine.”

“How many people knew about your relationship?” I asked.

Kellan’s brow scrunched together, confused by my question. “We hadn’t really told anyone. I guess other people knew. We’ve been hooking up for quite some time. It wasn’t anything regular. We only became exclusive a few weeks ago. I would have told you—”

I waved away whatever apology he thought he owed me. “That’s not why I asked. I’m trying to figure out how the assailant knew to target Gabriel. Maybe he mentioned something online.”

“No way. G knows it’s not safe for me. He didn’t even tell his parents about me.” He sighed. “This is not a great first impression by any stretch.”

That put another thought into my head. “Any chance this could have something to do with your former life at the DEA?”

“If a sicario was on my ass, I’d be dead. But I’ll make a few calls.” He stopped. “How would you figure into that?”

“Lucien and I may have made a few cartel enemies of our own when we were in Los Angeles.” But cartels didn’t play like this. They’d want us to know who was responsible for our suffering.

“What would that have to do with a local named Dutch Pooley?” Kellan asked.

“Absolutely nothing.”

“And you’re sure he’s behind this?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Are you thinking Pooley’s a sicario?”

“Nothing that fancy, but I wouldn’t dismiss the possibility he could be your run-of-the-mill hitman for hire.”

“And someone hired him to take out the people we love instead of us?”

“I don’t know. Do you think we’ve pissed anyone off enough that they want to make us suffer before putting us out of our misery?” I could come up with a very long list of names and had a feeling Kellan could too.

“Mr. Dey,” Thompson called from the hallway, “I have a few more questions for you.”

“We’ll compare notes later,” I said. In the meantime, I’d get Amir started on researching who’d been looking into us remotely.

Twenty-one

The divorce case I’d helped Kellan with turned into a dead end. Amir had checked their financials, every communication the husband and wife had made, and even went so far as to see if they’d been anywhere near Enid Pooley or her apartment building. As far as we could tell, that case had nothing to do with any of this.

“We have yearbook photos,” I said. “The techs can age them and the ones on Enid’s wall and come up with a best guess for what Dutch Pooley looks like now.”

“It’s worth a shot. I’ll have our techs do the same,” Thompson said while he stared at the massive whiteboard cabinet nailed to the wall in my office. I’d filled it with notes and theories and every bit of information I possessed, which felt like less than what I had before Gabriel Sanchez was attacked. “Does Martin know Gabriel?”

“No.”

“Have you ever taken him to that restaurant?”

“No.”

“But you’ve been there,” Thompson said.

It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “It’s the usual spot Kellan takes me when we’re working late or have a bad day.”

“I thought Heathcliff was your work husband. Does he know you’re stepping out on him?”

I rolled my eyes. “Did you find anything on the footage?”

“It’s still being analyzed, but the images we’ve seen aren’t the best. The angles aren’t great. The guy who’d been seated at that table wore a bucket hat the entire time. He never looked toward any of the surveillance cameras. He wore long sleeves, so if he has any identifying marks or tattoos, we can’t see them.” Thompson grunted. “I really hate this asshole. Dutch Pooley or whatever the fuck his name is.”

“Me too.”

Cross hadn’t found anything better, but he wasn’t giving up yet. He’d been scanning footage from every camera in the area, hoping to find this guy. He tracked the bucket hat as far as the train station. That’s when we lost him in the crowd. But Cross hoped to pick up his trail again.

“What about receipts?” I asked.

Thompson gave me a look. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Parker. I know you’ve already seen them. The bastard didn’t use a credit card. He paid cash. I guess we should consider ourselves lucky he didn’t use tainted bills to pay for his meal, or we could be looking at several overdoses if the money was redistributed to make change.”

“The tainted bills were already sealed inside the envelope. The bastard had one specific target in mind. He’s not looking to get sloppy or cause unnecessary casualties.”

“What about Delyle?”

“Killing his neighbor wasn’t sloppy. It was intentional,” I said. “Pooley fully intended to kill Matthew Delyle before everything was said and done.”

“What about his mother? Did he plan to kill her too?”

“Maybe he was working through his mommy issues.”

Thompson glowered. “What about Nick?”

“That may have fit into whatever plan he had for his mother, or he realized he’d never make it out of that apartment unseen with Nick there.”

“I thought you said he had this planned out, that he was expecting you. Now you’re saying his mother shot at Nick because you caught them unprepared.”

“I don’t know, Thompson. My telepathy is on the fritz and my crystal ball is cracked. I don’t know what is going through this guy’s head.”

“Are you sure it’s only the crystal ball that’s cracked?” Thompson went back to studying my scribbles. I’d already theorized on all of these things. “Do you really think David Parr is Dutch Pooley?”

“Amir compared the photos. He said there’s a high probability. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“Unfortunately, no. I haven’t come up with anything on David Parr.” He pointed to the whiteboard. “It doesn’t look like you have either. So Pooley turned himself into Parr for high school and then turned himself into someone else afterward.”

“The Talented Mr. Ripley.”

Thompson pulled out his notebook. “Ripley who?”

“It’s a movie.” I squinted, wondering if it had been a book. I wasn’t sure. If it was, I never read it.

Thompson’s cheeks reddened. He’d been so consumed, he’d missed the joke which only irritated him further. “Do you ever make references from this decade? Hell, from this century?”

“If you’ve never heard of it, how do you know how old it is?”

He growled at me. “Any idea who David Parr became?”

“A psycho with a chemistry set.”

He tucked his notepad away. “Have I mentioned how much I despise working with you?”

“Not lately. Did anyone at the restaurant get a look at the guy who tried to kill Gabriel? Someone had to seat him? There were busboys and servers, other diners, anyone?”

“The hostess remembered he never looked up. He kept his face glued to his phone, which a lot of people do, so she didn’t think it was that strange. The people seated around him weren’t paying much attention. He wasn’t loud. He didn’t stand out, even though I think the weird hat should have drawn some attention.” Thompson rubbed his eyes. “We’ll test everything on the table for DNA. The fingerprints we found were nothing but smudges. He may have wiped everything before he left.”

“Check the envelope.”

“We already did, but he didn’t leave a calling card this time.”

“He didn’t have to,” I said. “We already went to his house. His mother’s dead. His neighbor’s dead. The canvass didn’t turn up much of anything.” I paused. “What about that sketch?”

“We flashed it around to Pooley’s neighbors, but we didn’t get any hits. No one else noticed a guy on Matthew Delyle’s floor, but it’s been a week and a half. I wouldn’t expect them to remember.”

“It may be for the best. If someone else had seen him, the body count could be higher.”

“I thought you said he was avoiding casualties.”

“Unnecessary casualties,” I reminded him.

“We’ll compare that sketch to whatever images the computer spits out when it comes to aging those photos and make a few composites. With any luck, that will be a closer approximation to what our suspect actually looks like, and then we can start circulating it.”

“Send the current sketch to me.”

Thompson fought not to yawn. After pulling out his phone and sending me a copy of the image, he gave my office one last look. “We’ll get started again first thing in the morning. I’ll meet you at the hospital, so we can talk to Gabriel. Hopefully, after he gets some rest, he’ll remember things a little clearer.” He stopped in my doorway. “Does Dey know anything he may have forgotten to mention?”

“Kellan hasn’t told me anything he hasn’t told you.”

Thompson’s eyes narrowed. “But he’s your work husband.”

“He’s not,” I said. “His office just happens to be across from mine. We trade favors. We’re friendly. Maybe friends. It depends on the day. I didn’t even know he and Gabriel were a thing.”

“You need to work on your skills of observation and deduction.”

“Agreed.”

His expression softened. “We will find this bastard, Parker. It’s only a matter of when.”

I printed a copy of the sketch and taped it to the board. The image was generic. Two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. His eyes may have been brown, and his hair was either a dark blond or a light brown. Eyewitnesses, the least reliable source of intel. Yet, this was our best bet at finding the guy. I could throw a rock and hit someone with the same characteristics.

After forwarding the sketch to Cross and Amir, I tried to come up with a solution to figuring this out. This bastard had been a block away from our building, and we missed him. I’d been feet away from him in his mother’s apartment and had no idea he was hiding in the kitchen.

Picking up my phone again, I sent Bastian a message and a copy of the sketch. Then I phoned Agent Lawson, my favorite FBI tech expert, and asked if he had any insight to share. Jablonsky had already made the same request. Everyone was working on this. Maybe Thompson was right. Maybe it was just a matter of time.

*        *        *

“Sleeping on the job again?” Mark Jablonsky’s voice boomed loud enough to jerk me awake. “I thought you gave that up as soon as you left the federal building.”

I struggled to get upright, pulling my head off my arm which had been pressed against my desk. The muscles surrounding my back ribs cramped, causing me to hiss, but it kept me from focusing on the pain in the side of my neck. “What are you doing here? Is Martin okay?”

“He’s fine. Though, I would have figured you’d prefer to be the one to sleep with him.”

“Did he pull his man of steel routine with you? If he did, I hope you told him no when he asked if you wanted to cuddle afterward.”

Mark scowled at me. “You know what I meant.” He glanced at the couch, surprised to find Kellan passed out. “No wonder you’re sleeping sitting up.” He gave Kellan another look, noting the nearly empty bottle of bourbon beside him. “Did you come up with anything?”

“Not a damn thing. I still don’t understand how we have a name without a face. More importantly, we have no idea why he’s doing this.” I stretched, hoping to loosen the cramps in my back. When that didn’t work, I massaged the spot with my fist.

“It makes no sense,” Mark agreed. “The FBI’s cybercrimes team is looking into it. The PD is doing the same.”

“So are my friends across the pond,” I said.

“Did they find anything?”

“Not yet. The general consensus is Dutch Pooley is an elite hacker. That’s how he stays off the radar and disappears without a trace.”

“He could be altering security cam footage as he goes. That would explain why the footage you pulled from his apartment building didn’t result in much of anything.”

“How do we catch a ghost?” I asked.

“Call the Ghostbusters,” Kellan mumbled, pulling himself up and stopping to hold his head in his hands as if to stabilize the spinning room. “I take it nothing’s come back yet.”

“Lucien wasn’t able to pick up his trail,” I said. “He must have tossed his hat, and since that was his only identifiable feature—”

Kellan held up a hand. “Yeah, I got it. But Pooley has a place somewhere in the city, something we don’t know about. His mother told you he only stayed with her on the weekends. We know the internship he supposedly had was bullshit. But I don’t think what she said to you was a lie. He wasn’t at her place during the week.”

“I’m not sure he ever stayed the night there. The sheets on the bed were brand new, straight from the package.” I thought about the way his mother spoke of him. “But she believed he was sleeping there.”

“She worked long hours,” Mark said. “I bet she was out like a light every night. He could have snuck out after she went to bed and snuck back in before she woke up.”

“Or he could have been using her internet late at night for his hacking, so he couldn’t get caught, and she just thought he was in his bed sleeping.”

“There was no computer in her apartment,” Kellan said.

“He took it with him,” Mark said.

“But wouldn’t she have a computer?” I asked.

“Did she need one?” Kellan dragged himself off the couch and checked his phone. “Did the hospital call?”

I shook my head.

“No surprise there.” He gave Mark a weak nod. “I’m not sure if we’ve met. I’m Kellan Dey.”

“Mark Jablonsky.”

Kellan nodded a few times and quietly excused himself. Once he was gone, Mark closed my office door.

“Do you think Kellan’s going to spy on us?” I asked.

“No, but I think Cross Security is the problem.”

“I don’t disagree.”

Surprised, Mark sat in the client chair across from me. “What have you found?”

“Nothing, but when I called Martin to tell him I wasn’t coming home, we spoke at length about Gabriel and the restaurant. Martin doesn’t have any ties or connections to that, which I didn’t think he did. Lucien told me to go through my files and Kellan’s and see if we could figure out which case triggered Dutch into attacking us, but what we found was inconsequential. We spent the night checking alibis, running down known associates, and looking for anything even remotely hinky. We didn’t find a single thing.”

“Was that before or after Kellan found the bourbon?”

“The bourbon was after we finished our research.”

“That’s when you should have gone home,” Mark said.

“Is Martin mad?”

“Marty knows how you get. A dog with a bone.” He picked at his thumbnail. “But he nearly died a few days ago. He may not say it, but I know he wants to spend some time with you. You’re what matters to him, Alexis.”

“Thanks for the guilt trip.”

“You’re welcome.” He jerked his chin skyward. “Any idea why Dutch Pooley is on the warpath with Cross Security?”

“All I know is it has nothing to do with any of my cases or Kellan’s.”

“I bet Lucien did something that caused this.” Mark stared at me. “Have you asked him point blank?”

“Not yet. I only figured out that this had nothing to do with us a few hours ago.”

“And you wanted time to look into it first before confronting Cross.” Mark nodded to my computer. “How far did you get in the research?”

“The firm has so many cases and clients, I don’t even know where to start. I’d already checked if we had anything related to Pooley, his mother, or David Parr in the system. But there is nothing here. I tried searching for the company where she worked and the law firm he used as the return address on the letter he sent to Martin. I got nothing on any of that either.” Something buzzed in my brain, but the thought disappeared before it fully formed. “Wait a minute.” I typed in the middle school and high school Pooley attended, but still found nothing. “Maybe Cross Security had dealings with his other victim.” I typed in Matthew Delyle’s name. No results found.

Mark got up. “I’m going to have a chat with Cross about the situation.”

“I can do it,” I said.

“I know, but I called dibs.”

Twenty-two

With the exception of Bennett Renner, who’d been conducting nighttime surveillance and hadn’t been to the office in a few days, every investigator employed by Cross Security crammed into the conference room and took a seat at the table. Morning meetings weren’t my thing, but they were mandatory. However, I’d never seen so many of my coworkers in attendance. In fact, I wasn’t sure I even knew everyone’s names.

Kellan sat beside me, freshly showered and covered in enough cologne to mask the night he had. As soon as the meeting was over, he planned to head to the hospital to check on Gabriel. The Sanchez’s had been less than welcoming, but Kellan couldn’t take not knowing Gabriel’s condition. Since Thompson and I were supposed to speak to Gabriel a little later today, we could run interference for Kellan if things got too heated.

Lucien Cross entered the conference room, but he didn’t take his usual seat at the head of the table, nor did he carry the blue folders he usually passed out. After running a hand through his hair, he cleared his throat.

“I’m not sure what any of you have heard, but Cross Security is under attack. A few days ago, a client and close friend was sent a literal death threat. Last night, Kellan’s significant other was nearly killed in the same manner. We’re having trouble finding the person responsible.” Cross peered around the room, surprised that everyone had remained silent. It was so quiet I could hear the second hand ticking on someone’s watch. “The first thing I want to do is get everyone up to speed.”

I half-listened, wondering how Cross planned to protect our families and friends. I wasn’t sure he had enough security teams to cover all of us, and even if he did, what was to stop Dutch Pooley from targeting them instead? After all, they were also Cross Security employees.

“I need all of you to go through your case files and pull out anything that could explain why someone is targeting us.” Cross waited a moment before retracting his palms from the table and taking a seat. “We’ll run threat assessments and see what turns up.” He made eye contact with everyone at the table. “If you’ve had any problems or received any threats, now’s the time to let me know.”

My coworkers appeared to be lost in thought, searching their minds and coming up blank.

Kellan snorted beside me. “I guess we’re just unlucky.”

“I warned you about that,” I retorted.

Cross glanced in our direction, but he didn’t berate us. He’d been working on this as long as we had. “Until we figure this out, we aren’t taking on any new clients. Work your current caseload around this, but this is your first priority. We have to figure out why we’re being targeted and identify who is responsible.”

“You don’t know?” someone asked.

“We do, and we don’t. The person responsible is a chameleon. I can give you his name and date of birth, but by the time he turned fourteen, he’d already reinvented himself once. I’m sure he did it again at eighteen, and who knows how many more times since then.”

“How old is he now?”

“Twenty-eight. We’re still working on getting a usable image of this guy.”

“What about stats?” Darwin asked. “Height, weight, race?”

“He’s white,” I said. “He had light hair as a kid. I don’t know about now. Most of those identifying traits are easy to alter.”

“Average build, not sure about height,” Kellan added. “At least, that’s assuming he showed up to kill my boyfriend himself and didn’t send someone else to do it for him.”

Cross cocked his head at Kellan, surprised he had said anything. “We don’t know if he’s working with anyone else. We believe he isn’t, but I guess that’s a possibility.”

Before Cross could continue with the meeting, Janet knocked and gently pushed the door open. “Ms. Parker,” she said, “you have a call.”

“Take a message,” Cross said. “We’re in the middle of something.”

“I would have, but—”

Fear gripped my insides. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“There was a problem with the security assessment you completed for Dale Industries. The client didn’t receive all the files, and you never scheduled the walkthrough.” Janet looked at Cross. “It’s one of our top accounts. I thought it’d be best to—”

Cross held up his hand, stopping her excuse. “You made the right call.” He turned to me. “Go take care of that. You’re already up to speed on everything I have to say.”

I followed Janet out of the room and went back to my office. She forwarded the call to me, and I picked up the receiver while I logged back into the computer and pulled up the files. I’d been so frantic to close my open cases that I’d forgotten to send the accompanying files with my report.

“Hi, Mr. Dale. I apologize for the inconvenience,” I said, pulling up the files I’d failed to attach and finding a few things that I hadn’t completed from the multipoint checklist. A million excuses played through my head, but blaming a computer glitch wouldn’t fly, not when half of my assignment had dealt with reviewing their internet security. “This was my mistake. I overlooked a few things when I sent you my analysis, but I can get everything to you by lunch.”

“That’s not a problem,” he said. “I just wanted to follow up and make sure I wasn’t missing something. You referenced a chart, and I couldn’t find it anywhere.”

“Again, my apologies. I’ll have everything to you shortly. After you review my reports, we’ll schedule the walkthrough.”

“Things happen. I understand.” But I knew business polite when I heard it. “I’ll expect everything by lunchtime.”

“Yes, sir. And you have my word this won’t happen again.”

“I’m sure it won’t.”

Cursing, I put the phone down, gave my computer screen a dirty look, and headed back to the meeting. But Cross met me in the hallway.  

“What happened?” he asked.

“I overlooked a few things.”

“Try not to make a habit of it.”

I stepped back into my office. “You really don’t know why Dutch Pooley’s waging war on us?”

“I don’t. I looked through everything.”

“You have enemies. Cross Security isn’t known for playing nice.”

“Regardless, I don’t think we’ve ever crossed paths with Pooley, and even if we have, how would I know? He’s always a different person.” Cross stared at me. “Once we know what he looks like, we’ll be in a better position to figure this out.” He cleared his throat. “Jablonsky had plenty to say on the matter, but I wanted to reassure you that I had no idea any of this was going to happen. I wouldn’t put anyone’s life in jeopardy. If there had been a warning, I would have acted.”

The way he said it gave me pause. “Do you think Martin was attacked because of you?”

“I honestly don’t know. Our companies partnered together. We’re friendly. We’ve socialized on occasion.”

“Okay.” I thought through that. “How do you explain Gabriel?”

“You mean G.”

“So you’re friends with him too?”

“I guess you could say that. Kellan invited me to join them on several occasions. Clubs and bars mostly.”

“People could have seen you out together.”

“Possibly.”

“If someone had been following Kellan or me, we would have noticed. I asked Amir to see if we were being monitored remotely, but I haven’t heard back from him.”

“It’s a possibility, but that may not be how or why he came to target Martin and G.”

I gave Cross a look that could have melted the ice caps. But I held my tongue. “You’re sure you don’t know why this is happening?”

“I don’t.”

“How many people have you screwed over?”

“Too many to count, but none of them match with what we know about Dutch Pooley.”

“What about from your trader days?”

“He would have been eighteen or twenty at the time, and you’ve seen his mother’s financials. She never invested or even had the kind of money to invest. I doubt he would have either.”

“We have no way of knowing that. We don’t know anything about him. He could have stolen billions in bitcoin for all we know.”

Cross ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, all right. I’ll look it over.”

“Do you mind if I check your work? Maybe I’ll see something you missed.”

“You missed filling out half your assessment for Dale Industries.” He held up a hand before I could argue. “The police are looking into this, and you are working with them. I want you to stick with that and see what else they find. In the meantime, every investigator here will be going over our cases and clients. You work things from the PD’s side and leave the rest to us.”

“I can do both.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion, Alex. But rest assured, I will keep a security detail assigned to Martin. I will not let any other civilians get caught in the crossfire.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I’m Lucien fucking Cross. Of course, I can.”

I pointed my finger in his face. “That right there is why we’re in this mess.”

“No, the reason we’re in this mess is because some psychotic douchebag decided he wanted to play serial killer. But we’re not going to let him. Now get back to work.”

For the next two hours, I redid the parts of the assessment I neglected and reviewed every page and note I’d made for Dale Industries, made sure every single file was attached, and sent them to him with time to spare. By now, Thompson was probably waiting for me. So I had my office calls forwarded to my cell, grabbed my things, and headed for the precinct, hoping to catch him before he went to the hospital.

Thompson looked up from the papers on his desk. “You wore that yesterday.”

“You get an A+ for your observational skills.” I sunk into Nick’s chair. For half a second, I searched the bullpen for him, but I knew he wouldn’t be here. “Have you heard from your partner?”

“He’s doing okay. He’s anxious to get back to work. I told him I’d pop by later and bring him lunch.” Thompson pushed the sketches and composites toward me. “Do you recognize this guy?”

“He looks like every guy in every stock photo ever taken.”

“That’s what I thought too. But this is all we have. So we’ll show it to Gabriel and see what he has to say. Has anything else shaken loose on your end?”

“We believe Cross Security is Dutch Pooley’s target. The bastard wants to hurt us.”

“Or he wants to distract you and keep you off your game,” Thompson suggested. “We all know how you get when someone you love is threatened. Complete tunnel vision.”

I wondered if that’s why he thought O’Connell had been shot, because I’d been too distracted. I didn’t ask, but I wouldn’t have denied it either. “Why would Pooley want Cross Security distracted?”

“You tell me.” Thompson neatly folded copies of the sketches and tucked them into his inner jacket pocket. “What is Cross Security working on?”

“A million things.”

“Narrow it down. Are you providing security for any high-value targets?”

I shrugged.

“Dammit, Parker. You work there. Shouldn’t you know something about this stuff?”

“Cross Security has lots of high-value targets. Most of our clients are A-listers. The businesses we evaluate and safeguard are doing very well. It’s rare we take on clients who don’t have an exorbitant net worth. So I have no idea if that’s Pooley’s motivation, but if he wanted to kidnap a celebrity or rob the diamond exchange, I don’t think dosing unsuspecting civilians with opiates is the way to achieve that goal. I’m starting to think Pooley’s goal may be to hurt Lucien, specifically.”

Thompson pushed away from his desk. “Fill me in on our way to the hospital.”

So I did.

“I guess that’s a possibility,” he said after he listened to a recap of my findings, conclusions, and conversations. “Cross is a pain in everyone’s ass. He always has been. I’m surprised something like this hasn’t happened before.”

“He was arrested for murder not that long ago, remember? Things like this happen far too frequently in my opinion.”

“Do you think he’s ever killed anyone?” Thompson asked. “I mean that we don’t know about.”

I forced my expression to remain neutral while I stared out the window. “I may despise my boss five days a week, but I don’t believe he’s a bad guy.”

Thompson sucked something free from his back molar. “Attacks like this are cruel. They are meant to make everyone suffer, not just the victims but the survivors too. That tells me this is personal.”

“Pooley could be a sadist who gets off on inflicting pain.”

“He was bullied as a kid.” Thompson parked in a visitor space and got out of the car. He stared up at the hospital before he shook it off and headed for the main entrance.

I fell into step beside him. “That’s what we were told.”

Pulling out his phone, he called Lt. Moretti. “We should follow up with Pooley’s middle school classmates and see if any of them have been in contact with him. Someone must have known about the trick he played to skip a grade in high school. He would have crossed paths with one of them in the hallway or at lunch. Maybe even on the bus.”

“He didn’t take the bus,” I said. “He walked or his mother drove him.”

Thompson ignored me, listening to the LT’s response. “Let me know if any of them have died and the circumstances surrounding their deaths.” He put his phone away. “If he is a sadist out for revenge, those people should have been at the top of his list, unless this is about something else.”

“Like what?” I asked.

Thompson gave me a look that said I should know, but he refrained from saying it. There were a lot of things I should know. A lot of things about this case made no sense. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why we were hitting so many roadblocks and dead ends.

Twenty-three

Gabriel Sanchez had already worked with a sketch artist, but his drawing wasn’t any better than the ones we had. I remained in the back corner of the room, keeping one eye out the window as Gabriel’s parents gave Kellan the stink eye. I wasn’t sure what any of that was about. Kellan hadn’t said much on the subject.

“Let me make sure I have this right.” Thompson didn’t make a show of flipping back through his notepad the way O’Connell or Heathcliff would have done. He didn’t need props to make his point. It was something about his attitude. Scary. Serious. “The suspect paid for his dinner with exact cash. You took the tray to the register, and by the time you returned, he had already left.”

“That’s what most people do,” Gabriel said. “My initial thought was he hadn’t left a tip.”

“How was the service you provided?” Thompson asked. “Did he have any complaints or issues?”

“It was fine. No issues, or so I thought.” Gabriel sat cross-legged and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands. “The hostess seated him. I showed up a minute later to take his drink order. He asked for a cola.”

“He didn’t order anything alcoholic so he wouldn’t have to show you his ID,” I said.

Gabriel gave me a small smile. “That’s what Kellan said.”

Thompson grumbled to himself, unhappy that the victim had already been questioned. “So you brought him a soda. Then what?”

“He ordered a burrito supreme and handed me back the menu.”

“His prints would have been on the menu,” Thompson said, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him until now.

“No,” I said, interrupting, “everything gets wiped.”

“She’s right.” Again, Gabriel smiled at me. “We collect the menus and return them to the front. They get wiped down and replaced in the basket before the host hands them out to the next guest.”

Thompson tapped against the bottom of his notepad as he thought. “This bastard never made eye contact? He never looked up at you when he was placing his order or handing you the menu?”

“No,” Gabriel said. “He stared at his phone the whole time. Have you ever dealt with a teenager, Detective? They behave the same way. They don’t look up. They don’t interact. If they grunt a response, it’s a lot.”

“Did he ask for anything extra?” I asked. “More chips? More salsa? Guac on the side?”

Thompson gave me a look. “How often do you eat at this restaurant, Parker?”

“About once a week,” Gabriel answered for me. “Alex and Kellan go through three baskets of chips every time. My man likes the spicy. Alex is more of a mild, and she likes to mix it with the queso.”

“I didn’t ask you what she eats. I asked what—”

But Gabriel cut Thompson off. “He didn’t ask for anything extra. He didn’t want refills on anything. One soda. One basket of chips. He asked for a medium salsa. He cleaned his plate. The only thing left was crumbs. No leftover rice. No lump of guacamole.”

“He kept his head down. He ate. He didn’t wave anyone down. He limited his interactions.” Thompson put his notepad back in his pocket. “So there’s nothing you can tell us about him.”

“He’s a white guy,” Gabriel said.

“When did you open the envelope?” I asked.

“After I piled up the dishes for the busboys to take. I tore it open, expecting to find something weird. A customer left Gus play tickets about six months ago. Felipe got a ticket to the Knicks like two years ago. And a few people have been left nasty letters or news articles about illegals.” Gabriel sat up straighter. “It takes all kinds.”

“Have you been targeted before?” Thompson asked.

“Not really. Most people who walk into a Mexican restaurant expect to see Latinos. I’ve never been singled out at work.”

“Is there any reason you can think of why someone would want to hurt you?”

“Beats me.” He met my eyes. “Kellan said this was because of him.”

“We can’t say for certain,” Thompson said before I could reply. “But that is our current assumption.”

Gabriel continued to stare at me. “He said the same thing happened to your boyfriend.”

I nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. I found him in time,” I said. “What did the doctors say about you? Are you going to be okay?”

“They said I should make a full recovery.”

“Do they know what caused the seizure?” Thompson asked.

“My scans have been clear. They think it may have been a weird reaction.” He glanced out the window, where his parents were still glaring at Kellan who was doing his best to ignore them while he stared at the floor. “It could have been worse if Kellan hadn’t been there.”

“Why do your parents hate him?” I asked.

Gabriel snorted, trying to stifle his laugh. “How much time do you have?”

“Not a lot.” Thompson stood. “We’ll do what we can to find the person responsible for this. If you think of anything else, give me a call.” He put his card on the tray table. “Come on, Parker. Let’s go.” He didn’t wait for me before walking out of the room.

“He seems like loads of fun,” Gabriel said.

“You should see him at poker night, especially when he’s losing.” I jerked my chin at him. “Take care of yourself. And good luck with everything.” He followed my gaze to the three sets of eyes staring at us from the other side of the glass.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Thompson didn’t wait for me, but the delay at the elevator gave me time to catch up. He sighed heavily as we got into the half-filled car and rode down to the lobby. “I don’t get it. Someone waltzes into a restaurant, eats dinner, and poisons a server, and not a single person is able to identify him. The dozen cameras which caught sight of him never got a good angle. And to top it off, he didn’t leave any prints.”

“What about DNA from his fork or the straw in his glass?” I asked.

“DNA takes time. And why does that even matter? We don’t have Dutch Pooley’s DNA on file. We barely have his fingerprints on record.”

“What about the DNA from the half-eaten pieces of toast CSU found in his mom’s kitchen?”

“We’re still working on it,” Thompson said.

“Regardless, half of Dutch’s DNA would match his mother’s, and you have her entire body cooling in the morgue.”

“So?”

“I don’t know, Thompson. But he’s careful not to leave a trail behind. If his DNA is the only way we can track him, then that’s how we track him.”

“Let me guess, you want to ask Heathcliff if Spike can track Pooley’s scent.”

I smiled brightly as I waited for him to unlock my car door. “Two things. First, does Spike track? Second, I thought Heathcliff said he wasn’t planning on keeping Spike.”

“Spike is not a police dog, Parker. As for the rest, you can ask Heathcliff about it. I’m not 4-1-1.”

“Now who’s making outdated references from the last century?”

“You know, I could make you walk.” Despite the threat, he unlocked the door. “But Nick wouldn’t be happy about that. I still don’t get why he likes you so much.”

“Aww, you’re jealous.”

“I should have made you walk,” he muttered under his breath.

After three minutes of silence, I said, “Did you really think Gabriel was going to be able to tell us something we didn’t already know?”

“That was the point of our visit.” Thompson kept his eyes on the road, but his blinking became more rapid as he worked out a few thoughts. “Pooley must have planned it out. He couldn’t have known where he’d be seated, so he had to have a plan in place for every table in that section.”

“He’s been to the restaurant before.”

“Probably several times, but not enough to be recognized or considered a regular.”

“He just needed to scope out the place.”

“If he was looking for the cameras, he must have been caught on them before.”

“I’m sure he was,” I said, “but even if we pull all the footage and comb through every millisecond of it, we still won’t be able to identify him.”

Thompson smacked the steering wheel. “How can someone pull this off? His neighbors were no help. His mother’s friends were no help. No one has seen this guy since he was a kid.”

Again, the annoying buzz went through my brain. “His mother doted on him. But she didn’t have any recent photos. Did you find anything on her phone?”

“No photos.”

“What about calls or texts?”

“She had two phones on her plan. Both registered in her name. Her phone had all sorts of calls and texts. The normal kinds of things you’d expect to see. Work calls, texts to friends, appointments, et cetera. The other phone only had calls and texts to her number, so that must have been what she gave Dutch to use. We tried tracking it, but he’s probably destroyed it by now. The only calls and messages sent from it were to his mother’s phone. No one else. And before you ask, the texts were the most banal things I’ve ever read.”

“He has another phone.”

“No shit. This guy has another everything. I’m surprised he doesn’t have another mother stashed away somewhere too.”

The lightbulb turned on. “Maybe he does.”

Thompson glanced in my direction. “Did you take samples from the medicine cart when I wasn’t looking?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should have.”

“Hear me out. Pooley killed the woman we believed to be his mother. But what if she wasn’t his mother?”

“You found his birth certificate. Enid Pooley is his mother. Are you saying the dead woman isn’t Enid Pooley?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying.” But my gut said I was on to something.

“That much is clear.”

While I tried to work out what I was thinking, Thompson stopped at a deli and picked up sandwiches and sides. With the oversized paper bag in hand, he returned to the car.

“Dutch didn’t want to kill Gabriel Sanchez,” I said. “If he did, he wouldn’t have left tainted bills at the table. He would have mailed them to Gabriel’s apartment, so he would have opened them when he was alone and eventually someone would have found him dead.”

“Pooley went way overboard dipping the money in the morphine solution for someone who wasn’t trying to commit murder,” Thompson said. “There were ten bills inside that envelope and each one was coated with enough morphine to cause a fatal overdose, just like the envelope Martin received.”

“He wouldn’t have attacked Gabriel in public if he wanted him dead.”

“He didn’t attack Martin in public.”

“No, but he attacked him in his office, which he may have thought would have been the equivalent of a crowded restaurant if he’d never been inside the MT building. He may have assumed it’s like most offices you see on TV. The execs have the corner office on a floor that is buzzing with workers in tiny cubicles.”

“So you don’t think these were attempted murders?”

“He wants to get our attention. This is how he’s doing it. If he wanted them dead, he’d find a better method of killing them. He shot Enid in the back at close range. He didn’t want her to survive. But Martin and Gabriel didn’t pose a threat to him. They didn’t hurt or wrong him. He had no reason to go after them. So maybe he thought he’d give them a fighting chance.”

“Or he’s still figuring it out. Maybe he attacked them publicly so he could watch them die. Or watch them suffer. He likes to inflict pain. That would satisfy his sadistic tendencies.”

“We don’t know if he’s a sadist. That was speculation. We don’t know anything about him.”

“You said—”

“I know. But I’m thinking out loud here. This goes back to Cross Security. Pooley attacked Martin. Maybe because of me. Maybe because of Martin’s dealings with Lucien or their business partnership. Whatever. But that turned the focus of the investigation to Martin and why someone would want to harm him.”

“Pooley had to attack someone else connected to Cross Security to get us to focus elsewhere.” Thompson parked in the first space he found near O’Connell’s place. “Could that be a distraction?”

“I don’t think so.” I jerked my chin at Thompson’s phone. “Did Moretti get back to you on Pooley’s middle school classmates?”

“No one’s dead. They will be brought in and questioned, but that’ll take until the end of the day. Maybe longer.”

“He didn’t kill any of them?”

“No.”

“But he killed his mother.”

“Are you still hung up on that? You’ve theorized as to all the reasons. Why is this bothering you now?”

“It always bothered me. It’s the one piece that doesn’t make sense.”

“Don’t annoy Nick with this. If he brings it up, fine. But do not start. You understand?”

“Sure,” I said. “But you’re living in a dream world if you think the first words out of your partner’s mouth aren’t going to be what’s the latest with the case.”

Twenty-four

“I should have put money on that,” I said, giving Thompson an I told you so look before unwrapping a sandwich and putting it on the table in front of O’Connell. “How long have the two of you been partners?”

“Cut it, Parker,” Thompson hissed.

O’Connell picked up his sandwich. “Do I want to know what this is about?”

“No,” we said at the same time.

O’Connell snickered before taking a big bite. “Glad to see the two of you are in agreement on something for once. So sit down, and fill me in. What’s going on with the investigation? Have you located Dutch Pooley yet?”

Thompson glared at me before digging through the bag for his lunch. When he was done, he slid the bag toward me. Since he hadn’t asked for my order, I was a little surprised he had bought me lunch, and I was a little afraid of what it might be. I was surprised when I pulled out a corned beef on rye.

“Thanks, Thompson,” I said before turning my attention back to O’Connell. “We haven’t found Pooley. The more we learn about this guy, the less we realize we know.”

“Fill me in on what I’ve missed.” O’Connell took another bite and stared expectantly at me.

“We believe he killed his upstairs neighbor.”

“The ceiling leak.” O’Connell cursed quietly before reaching for a bag of chips which he couldn’t open with only one hand.

“Gimme that.” Thompson took it from him and pulled the seam apart before handing it back to him. “It turns out the neighbor had been in an accident and had a prescription for morphine patches. Parker’s guessing that’s how Pooley gained access to his murder weapon of choice.”

“What about the guns?” O’Connell asked.

“They were clean, taken directly from the factory where they were manufactured. There’s no way to trace them,” Thompson said.

O’Connell put a few chips on his sandwich and took another bite. “Does Martin have any theories?”

“We don’t think this is about Martin.” I filled him in on everything that happened yesterday.

“Do you think this is aimed to hurt Lucien or Cross Security?” O’Connell asked.

“I’m not sure you can differentiate between the two.”

“Like Martin and Martin Technologies.” O’Connell finished his sandwich and reached for the chips. “I’m guessing Pooley wants to make a point, but he’s doing it in a very roundabout way.”

“I figured it was to distract us. Manipulate the investigation and force us to look in the wrong direction,” Thompson said, “but Parker hasn’t offered up any suggestions as to what Pooley could be after.”

“I told you I don’t know,” I said, exasperated.

“Play nice, or I’ll have to separate the two of you,” O’Connell warned.

“I wish you would.” Thompson tossed his sandwich wrapper into the bag.

“Do you have any idea why Enid fired on us or why her son murdered her?” O’Connell asked.

“Nothing in her past indicated she would become violent,” Thompson said. “We’re guessing her son forced her to do it. And then he killed her to make sure we couldn’t grill her for answers once she was taken into custody.”

“What if he isn’t her son?” I said, still working out my theory. “What if something happened to her son and she ended up with a stranger? For all we know, he could be David Parr? Wouldn’t that make more sense than a fourteen year old creating a new identity for himself? And how could he have even done that without his mother being in on it? I mean, hello, parent-teacher conferences. And it’s not like they moved away or changed school systems.”

“You told me your lab expert was sure they were the same guy,” Thompson said.

“A high probability,” I said.

Thompson slammed his palm on the table. “This is why we don’t have any facts. You keep changing the story. Nick, how do you expect me to work with someone like this?”

“Because you know as well as I do that she’s usually right about these things.” O’Connell eyed me. “That puts us back at square one. You really think we’re looking at two different people?”

“Not necessarily. The last photo Enid had was of her son when he was in elementary school. Something could have happened. We speculated he could have died or went to live with his father or any of a million other things.” But even as I said this, I could see the flaws. “But then the question becomes where did she find a boy who looked enough like her child not to raise any eyebrows when she replaced one with the other, and that leads to the even bigger question of why she went along with changing his name in high school.”

“Parr had parents. Enid Pooley wasn’t listed as his parent or guardian. Lynn and Everett Parr were, but no such people ever existed,” Thompson said. “Parr is Pooley. It’s the same guy. David Parr doesn’t exist. Everything about him was a fabrication. I went through the school’s records. Parr’s records were bogus. The address they had for him was the same address where Enid Pooley lived,” Thompson said.

“Did they ever reach out to Parr’s parents?”

“Whatever letters and forms they sent home were addressed to the parents of David Parr. Any documents that required a parent’s signature were probably forged.”

“It isn’t forgery if the person doesn’t exist,” I said.

Thompson glared at me. “Enid Pooley was in on it. So if David Parr wasn’t her kid with a new name, then it was some other kid she let live at her place who was pretending to be David Parr.”

I gave him a look. “See, that’s what I said.”

Again, he glared.

O’Connell chomped on a few more chips. “The techs believe Pooley and Parr are the same kid. Enid knew her son changed names, but she didn’t say anything about that to us. She said he skipped a grade in high school because he was so smart, graduated, went on to college, then law school, then got an internship. She told us he had an ID, that the college issued one, but she knew better.”

“We knew she lied to us,” I said.

“Her financials didn’t show any strange activity, so it wasn’t a money grab. She wasn’t profiting off her son’s new identity. She never claimed David Parr as a dependent on her taxes or anything like that. So her motivation for going along with her son’s alter ego wasn’t to get rich quick.” O’Connell reached for the bottle of soda, expertly twisting the top off using just the fingers on his good hand. “What about medical records?”

“We’d need court orders, and without Enid to corroborate, it’d be a tough sell to prove that David Parr is Dutch Pooley without evidence,” Thompson said.

O’Connell looked at me.

“Lucien was going to compare Parr’s to Pooley’s to see if they matched, but neither have much in the way of records, aside from immunizations. From what we have seen, Amir says they are the same guy. I’m guessing if there are other medical records, they would substantiate that,” I said.

“Any signs of abuse?”

I shook my head.

“What about a birth mark or scar, something we could use to identify this bastard?”

Again, I shook my head. “As far as we know, he never had surgery, broke any bones, or sustained any injuries that would have resulted in noticeable scarring.”

O’Connell stared at me. “Why can’t your cases ever be simple?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

“All right, so what are you thinking, Nick?” Thompson asked. “Enid knew her kid gave himself a new identity, but she didn’t do anything to stop him. She let it happen. Shit, she let him skip a grade.”

“That isn’t surprising. She thought her son was brilliant, and if he was getting bullied, this may have been the only way she could think to stop it.”

“But what kind of parent goes along with that?” Thompson asked.

“One who is too overwhelmed to pay attention, or one who will do anything to earn her child’s affection,” I said.

“Maybe she was afraid of him,” O’Connell said. “After all, he shot her in the back. She may have had reason to be afraid.”

“Did you get that vibe from her when we spoke to her?” I asked.

“Not really. But a lot of abuse victims get really good at hiding it and lying about it.”

Thompson got up to get himself a soda from the fridge. “The preliminary autopsy didn’t show any bruises or recent injuries. I’ll have to check, but I don’t think she had any physical signs of abuse.”

I listened while the boys bounced around more ideas, letting them all circulate through my brain. “Could she be covering up a crime?”

“Her record’s clean,” Thompson said.

“She’d be covering up one crime with another,” O’Connell said, “and her son would be implicated too, whether it was identity theft or fraud.”

Thompson snapped his fingers. “Parker, didn’t you say you thought Pooley was a hacker? Maybe she found out he hacked something big and was afraid someone would come looking for him, so she let him change his name.”

“But she didn’t change hers.” Something still didn’t sit right.

“Did Cross Security investigate any hacking cases? Maybe that’s why Lucien’s being targeted,” O’Connell suggested.

“That would make sense.” Cross Security employed its own team of computer wizards and had several private contractors, all of whom I believed to be hackers. Lucien had proved he had his own set of skills in the field when it came to going through university records. “I’ll have to look into that.”

“Read Jablonsky in on it too. The FBI has an entire division for that sort of thing. They may be able to connect the dots faster,” Thompson said, but I doubted it.

I sent my latest theory to Lucien, suspecting he’d already reached this conclusion. I was just about to dial Mark when my phone buzzed with an incoming call.

“That was quick,” Thompson said.

“It’s not Lucien.” I didn’t recognize the number, so I answered with a tentative, “Hello?”

“Ms. Parker?”

“Yes.”

“I know you said you’d be in touch, but I’ve had a hell of a morning. Mandy showed up at my door, ranting and raving about what a lunatic I am. She couldn’t believe I’d have someone call to ask about my wife. She insists Sierra isn’t staying with her and that I should leave them both alone. She’s never been so angry with me before. Usually, she gets it. What the hell did you say to her?”

“Mr. Wallace?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone clueing me in on his disdain.

“I didn’t say anything negative about you to Mandy. I was just following up. When I spoke to her, she was already perturbed. She made it sound like you’d been harassing her.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been nearly two weeks. I just…I guess I got a little overzealous. Have you found anything yet?”

“I’m still looking into it.”

“But Sierra’s okay, right? I mean I’m sure she is. If she wasn’t, someone would have contacted me.”

“Like who?”

“Her boss. The hospital. The police. Whatever it may be. But I haven’t been contacted by anyone.”

“Try not to worry. I’m hoping to have answers for you soon.”

“How soon?” he asked. “When I met with Mr. Cross, he made it sound like you’d talk to Sierra and get back to me in a couple of days. That was five days ago.”

“I have a few more leads to explore later today. After that, I should know more. Expect to hear from me by Monday at the latest.” I hung up without waiting for him to object or ask more questions.

O’Connell nodded at my phone. “What was that about?”

“Guy’s wife left him. He can’t get in touch with her, but he thinks she’s hiding out at her parents. She hasn’t missed any work, and no one else has reached out to express concern. More than likely, she wants out of the marriage, but Lucien wants me to make sure there isn’t a reason she’s hiding from her husband. Once we figure that out, we’ll ask what she wants us to do and take it from there.”

“Did you speak to her parents yet?” O’Connell asked.

“I was going to pay them a visit a few days ago, but things happened.”

“That doesn’t sound like it should take too long. Thompson will go with you.”

“Nick—” Thompson began.

O’Connell met his eyes. “If Dutch Pooley has it out for Cross Security, it’s only a matter of time before he shifts his focus to targeting Cross’s investigators, and you know Parker’s track record. She’ll be first on the list. Keep an eye on her.”

Twenty-five

“I don’t need a babysitter. I promise I won’t tell Nick if you ditch me.”

Thompson sighed. “We’re here now, so let’s just get this over with.” He glanced down at the badge hanging from the chain on his neck before taking it off and clipping it to his belt instead.

As soon as I opened my car door, he opened his. “You know, you can wait in the car. The last time I spoke to someone’s parent, Nick got shot,” I said.

“On the bright side, if you get me shot, someone else will take over the case and I won’t have to endure any more of your nonsense.”

“I never pegged you as optimistic, Thompson. I wonder how I missed that.”

“Bite me.”

The brownstone was wedged between two very similar looking houses. I reached in, undoing the latch on the wrought-iron gate before going up the tiny walkway. The postage stamp-sized front lawn was sparse and full of crabgrass. A potted plant sat at the top of the stoop, half of the leaves brown and crinkly. On the other side, bright purple flowers had bloomed.

“Too much direct sunlight.” Thompson nodded down at the plant.

“I didn’t know gardening was one of your hobbies. Do you also crochet?”

He growled at me as I went up the three concrete steps and rang the bell. He stepped to the side of the walkway, peering at the windows. When no one came to the door, he checked his watch. “They’re probably at work.”

I rang the bell a second time before lifting the brass knocker and tapping it against the door a few times. Taking a step back, I pulled out my phone to look up their number. I hadn’t even entered their name into the search box when the door opened.

A man stood on the other side. He had on sweat-stained shorts with running tights underneath and a basketball jersey. The gray in his hair and the lines around his eyes clued me in that this was most likely Sierra’s father.

“Donovan Jeffries?” I asked.

He wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Sierra Wallace. I was told she may be here.”

“What do you want with my daughter?”

Before I could reply, a woman with dyed auburn hair appeared in the doorway. “Van, who is this?” She gave me a polite smile, glancing uncertainly at Thompson who remained on the grass beside the walkway. “What’s going on?”

“This lady was asking about Sierra,” Van said, “but I’m not sure why.”

“Are you Liliana Jeffries?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

“Yes, and you are?”

“Alexis Parker. I’m a private investigator. Do you mind if we talk inside?”

Van and Liliana exchanged a look.

“Ma’am,” Thompson stepped onto their stoop, pushing his jacket aside to reveal his badge, “if you wouldn’t mind.”

The Jeffrieses moved in unison, stepping back and allowing us into their home. I tossed Thompson a look, surprised he’d stepped up to assist. He ignored my look and waited for me to go inside before following me in.

“Is Sierra in trouble?” Liliana asked, leading us into the kitchen. “Is she okay?”

“I was hoping you could tell us that,” I said. “Her husband hired my firm to locate her. He said they had a fight and she left. He wasn’t particularly concerned. He says she does this a lot, but he hasn’t been in contact with her for a couple of weeks.”

“She’s not here.” Van grabbed a towel and wiped his face. “We told Leon that when he showed up, accusing us of hiding her.”

“Have you spoken to your daughter recently?”

“We had a brief conversation about a week ago,” Van said.

“Nothing since?” I asked.

“Just texts,” Liliana said. “We text every day. Multiple times a day. We always have.”

“Do you mind showing us the texts?” I asked.

Liliana went to the counter to grab her phone. “I can’t believe Leon had the gall to hire you. They had a fight. With all due respect, this should be between them, not some third party.”

Liliana handed me her phone, the messaging chain open on the screen. I scrolled back, finding several texts every day, including today. The most recent was nothing but a string of barf emojis. I read back through the previous few messages, finding out that Sierra had tried to make a Dutch baby from a recipe she found online that didn’t turn out the way she had hoped.

“So Sierra’s safe?” I asked.

Van’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t my daughter be safe?”

I held up my hands, hoping to keep them calm while I attempted to explain. “In some instances, when a spouse flees from another and avoids contact, there are other reasons besides a fight. Do you have any reason to believe Sierra left Leon because she felt unsafe or threatened?”

“Don’t you work for Leon?” Van looked at Thompson. “Why did you bring a police officer with you?”

“Parker didn’t bring me with her,” Thompson said. “She’s consulting on another case, and I offered to tag along. Parker may have been hired by Leon to find Sierra, but if there is any reason to believe she feels unsafe, I can take her statement and get the paperwork started if she’d like to file a restraining order against him.”

“Leon’s not abusive,” Liliana said. “Sierra just wants space. They haven’t been married that long, only a few months, and it’s been a difficult adjustment. She’s used to doing things her way. Leon’s used to doing them his. He doesn’t get that he needs to learn to compromise, so they fight and argue. I’d call it growing pains. But my daughter hates conflict. It makes her sick. She says negative emotions are toxic, so she likes to remove herself from the situation until she can figure out what needs to be done, calmly and rationally.”

“I thought they were fighting over paint colors for the kitchen,” I said.

“Sierra thinks getting married was a mistake,” Van said, causing his wife to turn with a shocked look on her face. “I agree with her.”

“When did she say that?” Liliana asked. “We warned her that she wasn’t ready for marriage, that Leon wasn’t the man she needed.”

“She told me that the last time they were here for dinner.”

“Well, why didn’t she say anything to me?”

“You were helping Leon secure the leftovers in the back seat of their car, and while Sierra and I cleaned up the kitchen, she confided in me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Van?”

“She asked me not to.”

“She’s my child too. I hate how you think you have a monopoly over her.”

“She wanted time to think about it without you throwing in your two cents or telling her to relax or calm down, Lil. She hates it when you do that.”

“I’m her mother.”

“Ma’am,” Thompson said, “we’d like to verify these things with Sierra and make sure she’s okay. Would you mind telling us how to get into contact with her or where she is?”

Liliana continued to glare daggers at her husband. “Do I even know where my daughter is staying? Or is that some secret between the two of you?”

“Lil—” Van began.

She threw up her hands and went into the other room.

Watching the Jeffrieses made me wonder if this was why Sierra walked out when she and her husband got into a heated debate. Maybe she was tired of the bickering, or it was learned behavior. Something she got from her mother.

Van shook his head. “Sierra won’t take calls from numbers she doesn’t recognize. But she’s staying at an efficiency she rented for the month. Let me get the address for you.” He patted his pockets, realizing he’d been mid-workout when we came knocking. “My phone’s downstairs on the treadmill.”

“I’ll go with you, and save you the trip back up,” I said, giving Thompson a look and jerking my head toward the room where Liliana had disappeared.

Van led me to the stairs and to a back room he’d converted into a home gym. It had a twin bed pushed up against one wall. On the floor were some elastic bands, a workout ball, several sets of dumbbells, and a yoga mat. A TV was set on the dresser directly in front of the treadmill.

“Leon said he didn’t notice any charges on their cards. How did Sierra pay for the rental?” I asked.

“I gave her the money.” Van tapped on his screen before pulling up the information and sending it to me. “Leon was never good for my baby girl. He just…I don’t know. There’s something about him I don’t like. They barely knew each other before he popped the question, and then they got married so quickly. I didn’t like it.”

“If you speak to Sierra, please let her know I’d like to talk to her and ask her to call me. I won’t share any information with Leon if she doesn’t want me to. You have my word.”

“I’ll make sure she knows.”

“Thanks, I’ll let you get back to your run.”

When I went upstairs, Thompson was waiting near the door. Liliana was beside him, talking a mile a minute about relationships and secrets. But it sounded mostly like she was venting about her husband.

Once we were back inside the car, Thompson turned to me. “It’s no wonder you hang around the precinct so much. Your job sucks. It’s just like mine.”

“Did you learn anything from Mrs. Jeffries?”

“She hates her husband.”

“Did she say anything about Leon?”

“Why am I doing your job for you?”

“Because you volunteered to come inside with me. You could have waited in the car.”

“If I waited in the car, you’d still be standing on their front porch failing to explain why you were looking for their daughter. For someone who’s been doing this as long as you have, I’d think you’d be better at it.”

“I’m not used to situations like this.”

He jerked his chin toward my phone. “Tell me where she is so we can put this to bed and get back to more important things, like stopping Pooley before he kills someone else.”

Thompson drove to the efficiency Sierra was renting and parked in the red zone in front of the building.

“The fire department won’t like this,” I said.

“Don’t tell them. And don’t set the building on fire or pull the alarm.”

“Why does everyone think I’m going to start a fire?”

“Well, there is precedent. Your apartment building burned down.”

“I wasn’t there when it happened.”

“Still.”

“How about you get selective amnesia and stop remembering all the bad things that have happened to me?”

“That’s pretty much everything I know about you, Parker.” He snorted. “I’ll see what I can do.”

We went up to her unit and knocked on the door. No answer.

Thompson gave me a look. “I swear if we find her dead, I’m walking out the door and I’m not stopping.”

“You’re a major crimes detective. You have an obligation.” I knocked again. “Sierra, we know you’re in there. Open the door.”

Still, no answer.

Thompson scowled before banging harder on the door. “Mrs. Wallace, this is the police.”

But I knew that wasn’t going to work either, so I pulled out my lock picks, ignoring the unsettling feeling of déjà vu. Thompson was right. The last time we did this we found Matthew Delyle dead in his bathroom. “She exchanged texts with her mother less than two hours ago. She’s fine.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

Ignoring him, I worked the pick into the lock, giving it a good jiggle until it opened. Twisting the knob, I pushed the door open wide. “Sierra?”

Before I could enter, Thompson grabbed my arm. “This is breaking and entering.”

“Let’s call it illegal trespass.” I tucked my picks away. “Maybe the door was already unlocked. But since Donovan Jeffries paid for the apartment, I’m going to inform you right now that he gave me permission to enter. So no harm, no foul. But if you want to wait out here, I don’t mind.”

Thompson pressed his back against the wall. “Do what you have to.”

The efficiency was tiny, as expected. Sierra’s laptop was on the table with the lid open. A half-finished iced coffee from the coffee shop sat on the table beside it. I didn’t notice any condensation or ice cubes remaining in the cup, so either she ordered it without ice, or it had been sitting for a while.

I swiped my finger across the track pad, finding a spreadsheet open on her screen with too much data for me to comprehend. She’d been making calculations on the side and had been working on a report about what was trending. A notebook sat beside the computer where she’d been making notes. A few doodles had been scribbled in the margins. It looked like she had needed a break from staring at the screen. Beside the doodles were mathematical calculations and formulas.

Moving on, I checked the kitchenette, finding an open cereal box, fresh milk in the fridge, and some leftovers. A plastic chest of drawers contained her clothes which was set up beside the couch, which doubled as a pull-out. A few well-worn steamy romance novels were on the floor beside the couch.

“Are you okay in there?” Thompson asked from the hallway.

I checked the bathroom, finding it claustrophobic. “She’s not here. I’m guessing she went out, maybe to get some fresh air.” I joined him in the hallway, pulling the door closed behind me. “It looks like she got tired of working and decided to take a break. Do you mind if we hang around for a few minutes to see if she comes back?”

Thompson looked at his watch. “Thirty minutes, and then we go.”

“Deal.”

Twenty-six

When Sierra didn’t show, I considered my options. Leaving a note taped to her door would get her attention, but it might freak her out. If she was afraid of her husband, she wouldn’t respond. Instead, I called her father, told him I must have missed her, and asked him to have her call me. He promised he would, but I wasn’t sure if he trusted me.

“Did Cross get back to you yet?” Thompson asked when we returned to the precinct, his arms folded over his chest as he stared at the board filled with our notes and theories.

“He’s looking into things. He had taken on several cases in the past involving hackers. Any one of which could be Dutch Pooley.”

“How many did he turn in or have arrested?” Thompson asked.

“That isn’t necessarily Cross’s style.”

“I don’t see how you can work for someone like that.”

“I didn’t realize you had me on such a high pedestal.”

“I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Stop that.” He didn’t even look in my direction. “We need to find Dutch Pooley. We need to figure out where he’s going to strike next.” Thompson drew a circle on the board, putting Lucien’s name in the middle. Then he drew planets orbiting around it. The inner circle included Kellan and me. “Who else is Cross close to at the office?”

“Justin.” I gave him the last name. “He’s not an investigator. He basically runs the place. He’s Cross’s assistant.” I put air quotes around the word.

“What about Bennett Renner?”

“I guess. I don’t actually know who Lucien socializes with. I didn’t know anything about Kellan inviting him to clubs. I sure as shit don’t spend time with him outside of work.”

“But Martin does,” Thompson said.

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“I don’t care what you call it. That’s what it is.”

“Give me a sec.” I dialed Martin, wondering if he’d answer since it was early in the afternoon and he’d be busy at work. But he picked up right before the call went to voicemail. “Hey, I’m with Thompson. He had a question.” I pressed the speaker button and put my phone on the desk.

“Mr. Martin,” Thompson said, so formal even though he’d lost half his paycheck to Martin the last time we played poker, “how often do you see Lucien Cross outside the office?”

“Not that often.” Martin sounded distracted. “We’ve had dinner a couple of times. Drinks a bit more than that. The encounters are usually brief. But they are always related to business and our joint venture.”

“Do you have the dates and locations handy?”

“Give me a few minutes. I’ll send it to Alex, and she can pass it along.”

“Great,” Thompson said.

I took the call off speaker. “Hey, it’s just me,” I said. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine, sweetheart. Are you coming home tonight?”

“That’s the plan.”

“I’ll talk to you then. Stay safe.”

“You too.” I disconnected to find Thompson had already phoned Kellan to ask him the same questions.

“Do you know who else Lucien socializes with? We’re trying to determine Pooley’s next target.” I couldn’t hear what Kellan said since Thompson didn’t put his call on speaker, but from the way he nodded and scribbled something in the corner of the board, I suspected Kellan was going to get him that information. “Thanks.”

I read the names he’d written. A handful were my other coworkers that I didn’t know particularly well. Justin and Jade were in the mix, and the rest were clients.

“I didn’t think Lucien had a life outside of work,” I said.

“I never imagined anyone would want to hang out with him.” Thompson snorted. “Maybe he pays them.”

“Maybe.”

He glanced back at me. “This doesn’t help us narrow things down.”

“But you’re convinced Pooley is doing this to get back at Lucien.”

“It’s the best theory we have right now.” Thompson turned, daring me to disagree.

“I should get back to the office. Lucien’s cagey around your kind, but maybe I can convince him to open up and tell me what’s going on.” By now, I was sure my boss had his own theory and suspects in mind. I was also positive there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d share it with the police unless he had irrefutable proof and was convinced they’d be able to bring Pooley in or take him down. Otherwise, Lucien would do what he always did and try to handle the matter himself.

Just another thing you have in common, the voice in my head reminded me. I really hated her sometimes, especially when she was right.

When I got back to the office, the air had an electric buzz. Kellan wasn’t in his office, and Renner was still out conducting surveillance. I dropped my things off at my desk, stopped my calls from being forwarded, and went upstairs to the lab.

As I suspected, Lucien was watching Amir and his team of techs running tests, searching databases, and doing what I could only assume was speaking to contacts on the dark web. He turned when he heard me approaching, his hands stuffed in his pockets and balled into fists.

“This is about you,” I said.

“I’m aware.”

“When did you realize it?”

He cleared his throat, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair. Instead, his fists got tighter. “Not soon enough.”

“Who is he?”

“He goes by the handle Kratos.”

“So he thinks he’s a god. Is he a hacker?”

“He doesn’t define himself like that.”

“I don’t care how he defines himself. He can use whatever pronouns he wants. But is he a hacker?”

“He’s…” Lucien struggled to come up with a way to describe him. “He has the skills. He can see flaws and weaknesses in code like no one else I’ve ever encountered. But none of my contacts are aware of any of his work. He’s never used his skills on a large-scale or to show off, which is what every single one of us does.”

Us. I filed that thought away. Lucien may have been better at hacking than I realized. “What does he do?”

“He becomes who he wants and does what he wants. He’s adrift. He has no goal. No endgame in mind.”

“I’m guessing he does now. And I’m guessing it’s because you did something that pissed him off.” I gestured at the computer. “What did you do? Beat him at one of those orcs with swords games?”

Lucien stared at Amir’s back. “We never did anything to him. He’s tried to sneak into our system a few times. Each time, we’ve caught on and thwarted him. A few months pass, and he tries again.”

“So you’ve been under attack for a while and haven’t mentioned it?” I wanted to hit him.

“We’re always under attack, Alex. Do you have any idea how valuable the information we have could be? The blackmail value alone is in the seven figures, and that doesn’t include the research we’ve done on security systems, online and off. With the reports we write, the interviews we conduct, and the work we do, an outsider may believe we have crucial information ripe for the taking.”

“That’s why you keep the most sensitive details offline,” I said.

Lucien smirked. “You’re finally catching on.”

“Do you know what Kratos is looking for?”

“Unfortunately, no. His attacks have been sporadic. The few times he’s breached the outer layers before we can boot him, he’s always just looked around. He’s never done anything.”

“When’s the last time he tried to get into our system?”

“It’s been almost a year. We thought he finally gave up. I’ve tried to keep an eye on him from afar, to see what he was interested in, but he mostly keeps to himself online.”

“And you’re sure Kratos is Dutch Pooley?”

“Was. By now, he’s probably gone through a dozen different iterations of himself.”

“Enid was the last tie to his true self,” I said.

“Possibly.”

“What about the pain patches and transforming them into something far more lethal than they were intended?”

“I have feelers out.” Cross freed his hands from his pockets and checked his watch. “I should know more in two and a half hours.”

“Did Kratos connect to some hacking case you worked?”

“No. We’ve never crossed paths. My only encounters with him have been thwarting his attempted breaches.” Cross stepped deeper into the lab. “Amir, how are we coming on recreating this guy’s face from the drips and drabs we have?”

“I’d say we’re looking at another two days.”

“See if you can trim that down.” Cross turned to me. “Based on the different angles, the descriptions we have, and the photos we aged, we’re hoping to create an accurate render. In the meantime, I’m calling in favors, hoping someone can find me a photo of Kratos. That should speed things up and make it easier to track him down afterward.”

“The police are hoping to gain access to Matthew Delyle’s phone once it’s dried out.”

“I hope they aren’t using rice,” Amir said. “That’s the least efficient way of doing it.”

I glanced at him, but his eyes remained on the screen in front of him. “Delyle had texted his family after he was dead.”

“Neat party trick.” Cross entered some things into the computer. “Where was the phone found?”

“It was in Delyle’s pocket. We found it when we found him. I doubt Dutch Pooley would risk returning to the scene of the crime to return the phone.”

“It never left the building before the battery gave out,” Cross said, “but based on everything you’ve said, I’m guessing Pooley cloned the phone. I’ll pull records and see if we can get a list of calls and texts to Enid’s number and see if we can figure out where they originated.”

“He could have connected Delyle’s phone to his computer. He could have been mirroring from there,” Amir said. “If that’s the case, we may be able to pull his IP and get his MAC.”

“Do it.” Cross glanced back at me. “Is there anything else?”

“I need you to find him, Lucien.”

“You got it.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “Now get back to work.”

Twenty-seven

Since Martin had forwarded me the list of dates and places he’d gone with Lucien to share with Thompson, I couldn’t resist looking into it myself. So I pulled as much footage as I could, using my connection to both Cross Security and the PD to gain compliance. Kellan returned with the footage from the clubs and bars he’d been to with Lucien and Gabriel and sat down on the couch in my office.

“How are you holding up?” I asked.

“I’m okay. The hospital ran another set of tests and sent G home. His parents are keeping an eye on him. They insist he needs rest and shouldn’t have visitors.” His shoulders sagged as he plugged several USB drives containing the footage into the port attached to his laptop. “All that matters is he’s going to be okay. The rest we can figure out later.”

“Did Lucien tell you Dutch Pooley is Kratos?” I asked.

“Who?”

I filled him in on what I’d been told. “Amir’s hoping to have a decent rendition of what he looks like in a day or two. He tried to track him via Matthew Delyle’s cloned phone, but that was a bust. Kratos is too good to get caught that way. But I thought if we could compare the footage from all the places he could have been observing Lucien with his friends we may be able to ID him faster.”

“So we need to find Waldo.”

“Basically.”

“I doubt he’ll be wearing red and white stripes,” Kellan said. “In fact, given the limited facts we know about this guy, he probably disguised himself each time. Nothing obvious, maybe a cap or sunglasses, facial hair, no facial hair. That sort of thing.”

“I’m open to doing something else if you think it’ll help us identify him or his next target faster.”

“Too bad I don’t have a better idea.”

“Me neither.”

We’d been sifting through the footage for a little over an hour when my phone rang. Picking it up, I recognized the number as belonging to Sierra Wallace.

“Hello?” I answered.

“May I speak to Ms. Parker, please?” Sierra sounded polite and professional.

“Sierra?” I asked, though I was sure it was her. “Thank you for calling me back.”

“That isn’t a problem. My father said you wanted to speak to me about my husband.”

“Yes and no. I wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay,” I said. “Leon hired me to find you, but if you’d prefer not to be found, I won’t share any details with him. But I’d like to know if there’s a reason you’re avoiding him. Cross Security can connect you with services, shelters, things of that sort, if you—”

“My husband is not abusive,” she said, her voice the same even measured tone as when she greeted me. “I just need some space away from him. My work is stressful and marriage is hard.”

“Leon is worried about you,” I said.

“Can you tell him that I am okay but that I’m not ready to talk yet?” She sounded emotionless when she said it.

“I can do that.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry he bothered you with this. I never expected him to do that.”

“It’s okay. I get paid either way.” I hoped that my little joke would lighten the mood, but she didn’t laugh.

“Is there anything else, Ms. Parker?”

“That’s it for now. I may be back in touch in a day or two. Leon mentioned he may have a message for me to pass along to you.”

“Very well. Good bye.”

I put the phone down, shaking my head. It really took all kinds.

“What’s wrong?” Kellan asked, glancing at me before returning his gaze to the monitor.

“I’m beginning to think I don’t understand married people. My relationships tend to run hot.”

He grinned. “Well, I’ve seen Martin, so I’d hope so.”

“Not like that.”

“It’s so like that, and if it isn’t, then you definitely need to give him my number.”

“You have a boyfriend.”

“Until his parents decide otherwise.” Kellan shook his head, wanting but not wanting to talk about it. “Pretend I didn’t derail you. Continue.”

“We get angsty, angry, emotional. We fight harder than we should. I can’t imagine Martin being calm if I walked out and didn’t talk to him for a week. I know I wouldn’t be calm. I’d be kicking down doors.”

“Same.”

“Yeah.” I stared at my phone. “That’s why I don’t understand my client or this case.”

“Are both spouses equally disengaged?” Kellan asked.

“Pretty much. The most heated Leon got was when he called to complain about his wife’s best friend confronting him after I spoke to her.”

“It takes all kinds, but I’m guessing the lack of emotion is why they’re having problems. The opposite of love isn’t hate. It’s apathy.” He nodded at the phone. “Are you going to update the husband?”

“In the morning. We have more than enough to keep us busy.”

When I couldn’t stare at the screen any longer, I stopped the feeds. The police department was doing the same things we were. In fact, they had a program helping them do it, one that was more accurate than two overworked private eyes. Amir would be running a program on the footage too, but given how taxed the systems were with all the other analyses being conducted, I wasn’t sure how quickly anything was getting done upstairs.

“I would say let’s grab a drink,” Kellan sighed, “but I don’t see much point in it.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.

“That’s not really what we do. But maybe one day, if you play your cards right. Tell Martin I hope he’s feeling better.”

“I will. Tell Gabriel the same.”

When I went to check on Lucien, I found he had left, presumably for the night. Wondering what he was doing or if he actually had to stop to sleep, I took the company car home, relieved when I found a government-issued SUV and two Cross Security vehicles parked outside.

“Honey, I’m home,” I called.

Bruiser caught my eye. “Welcome back, baby cakes.”

“Baby cakes?”

“Sure, why not?” He pointed to the kitchen. “If you’re looking for the big man, he’s in there. Jablonsky’s with him.”

“Thanks.” I could hear Mark before I could see him. The sound of his voice eased the tension in my neck. He may not have any leads, but he didn’t sound concerned. We weren’t at DEFCON 1. I leaned against the doorjamb, catching Martin’s eye and smiling. “Miss me?”

“Always,” he said.

Mark turned in his seat. “What do you have for us?”

I patted my pockets. “I have gum. Do you want a piece?”

“You’re not funny.” Mark rolled his eyes. “How sure is Cross that the man you’re chasing is Kratos?”

“I’d say he’s certain.” Moving closer, I pulled out a chair. “What does the Bureau have on him?”

“Not much. He hasn’t caused too much mischief, but we’ve been keeping an eye on him in case that changes.”

“How about a name or street address?”

“No dice. I could tell you how he bounces his signal around the world, always two steps ahead, always switching servers and pulling plugs before we can lock him down, but I won’t bore you with those details.” Mark jerked his chin at Martin. “As far as we know, he’s never poked around MT’s servers.”

“That’s good,” I said.

“Or we don’t know about it.” Martin sipped from a can of ginger ale. “If he’s that good, we may have missed it.”

“You have top of the line internet protections,” Mark said. “They’ve been evaluated several times. He may have been able to get in, but I would like to believe you would have known about it.”

“I’m having the IT department review the logs again, just in case.”

“The only things he’d be interested in would be the biotextiles you and Lucien worked on,” I said. “Lucien is his target. You were a way to get to him.”

“Not you?” Martin asked.

“Not me.”

“But—”

I could see the question on his lips. “Lucien and I don’t socialize. I doubt an outside observer would think we’re friends.”

Martin crushed the can and tossed it into the recycling. “You’ve been out with him before.”

“Not recently.” But his words made my brain itch. “Kratos or Pooley, whatever you want to call him, hasn’t fired on Cross Security directly. He’s attacking us through our connections. He targeted you and Gabriel.”

“It’s a twofer,” Mark said. “He’s throwing Cross off his game and compromising his investigators at the same time. He wants the security firm off balance. He must have some kind of coordinated attack planned. There must be something he wants, and he needs you distracted so he can get it without getting caught.”

“I thought he wanted to torture Lucien by attacking the people he cared about,” I said. The conversation I had with my boss played through my head. “Cross Security is rumored to have a lot of valuable secrets and intel. He could be after that, but I’m guessing it’s something specific. Until we know who this guy is and figure out what makes him tick, we won’t have any idea what he wants.” I stared at Mark. “Unless the Bureau has some ideas they haven’t shared.”

“We know less than you do. What about the PD?”

“Feel free to ask Moretti, but they’re coming at this from a different angle.”

“An idiotic one,” Mark mumbled.

“Careful, you’re starting to sound like Cross.”

“God help me.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Marty, you good here?”

“Yeah, thanks for checking in.” Martin stood when Mark did. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in dinner or a drink?”

“I’m beat. Next time.” Mark gave me a quick hug. “Keep an eye on him,” he whispered in my ear.

When he pulled away, I gave him a confused look, but he ignored it and headed for the door.

“What about you, handsome? Can I interest you in dinner or a drink?” I asked.

Martin shook his head. “No, but I can make you whatever you want.” However, the greenish tint to his skin suggested otherwise, just like the empty can of ginger ale.

“I ate at work. I didn’t know how long we’d be,” I lied.

“At least you know more about the guy. That’s something.”

“We should have known sooner. Lucien should have said something.”

“How was he supposed to know?” Martin asked. “This came out of left field.”

I studied him closely, forcing my chin not to quiver. Every time I looked at him, I’d get a flash of finding him on the ground, followed by a flash of when he’d been shot. Going to the fridge, I pulled out another can of ginger ale and popped the top. “It never should have happened. We should have been prepared. We should have expected it. Lucien said Kratos has been making attempts for years. He should have been on a watchlist.”

Martin pinned me against the fridge. “He is on the FBI’s watchlist.”

“They should have realized when he started asking about concentrating the morphine dosages and altering its form that he was up to something. Lucien said there had been whispers on the dark web. That Kratos had been looking into it and researching it. He found some drug manufacturer who fancied himself as Walter White to tell him the exact process of how to do it and what equipment he needed. But this Walter White wannabe wasn’t able to give us any details concerning Kratos’s identity or how many people he planned to poison. Still, the FBI should have had no problem tracking that since they were already monitoring him.” But I knew it wasn’t that simple. Something that vague may have raised a few eyebrows, but they’d be looking into cartel connections and drug trafficking instead of individualized attacks.

Martin ran his thumb across my cheek. “What are you thinking?”

“Kratos needed the proper equipment to pull it off. We didn’t find anything in his mother’s house or at Matthew Delyle’s place. We know Kratos has another place, but we don’t know where. Maybe if we can track down the equipment purchased, we can get a location.” I pulled out my phone and sent Thompson a text with that suggestion.

Already looking into it. There are several suppliers, but given the way this guy disappears in a crowd, he could have snuck into a lab to do the work there and we would never know, Thompson replied.

Delyle taught high school. Maybe my Walter White comparison wasn’t that far off. I sent another text. Did you find Matthew Delyle’s work ID?

Three dots appeared, indicating Thompson was typing a response. Then they disappeared, and my phone rang. “What are you going on about now?” he asked.

Martin gave me a gentle peck on the cheek. “I’ll be upstairs. Find me when you’re finished.”

Nodding, I said to Thompson, “We know Delyle sent his family texts after he was dead. I’m wondering if his ID was scanned in at the school after his demise.”

“Think about this, Parker. Matthew Delyle’s cause of death is due to a morphine overdose. Now you’re suggesting that the killer upgraded those patches—” Thompson paused. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Delyle was the test subject to see how many patches it took to put him down. Nothing was dipped or soaked at that point. Since we’re assuming Pooley took the pain patches from Delyle’s apartment, he may have also taken Delyle’s access card, went to the high school, and broke into the chemistry lab to play out his Walter White fantasy.”

“I’ll check with the school and see what I can find in the morning.”

“Any progress on the video footage?”

“The lab is still working on it, but I doubt we’ll be able to determine what Pooley looks like from it.”

“We have to try.”

“I know,” he said. “We’re comparing it to the composites we have and some older footage we took from the Mexican restaurant. Since he must have scoped out that place ahead of time, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to add it to the mix while looking for overlap.”

“That’s brilliant.”

“Only if it works.”

Twenty-eight

I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of Martin getting violently ill. The bed beside me was warm, which meant he’d just gotten up. The light from beneath the bathroom door beckoned to me. Keep an eye on him, Mark had said. Now I knew why, even though Martin had insisted he felt fine and had demonstrated his man of steel act before we went to sleep.

I tried the knob, but he had locked the door. Before I could knock, I heard the water running. Not bothering to inquire as to how he was, I went downstairs to the kitchen.

A member of the security team turned, and I wished the t-shirt I had on was three inches longer or that I’d thought to put on pants. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Fine.” I grabbed a box of saltines, a bottle of electrolytes, and a few cans of ginger ale. “You were so quiet, I forgot you were here.”

“Mr. Cross—”

“I know.” I gave him a polite smile. “Where’s Bruiser?”

“Mr. Jones is asleep in the guest room.”

Usually, Bruiser caught me in compromising positions. I wondered if he’d be sad to have missed out on this one. “Are you hungry? There’s food in the fridge and snacks in the pantry.”

“I’m okay, Ms. Parker. Thank you.”

“Carry on then.” I gave him a final nod and returned to the bedroom.

I had just put everything down on the bedside table closest to where Martin had been sleeping when he emerged from the bathroom, his face washed, his hair combed, and his breath smelling minty fresh. He glanced from me to the bedside table.

“You’re not okay,” I said before he could insist the opposite was true. “Headaches, nausea, intestinal issues, those can linger for a while. They tend to be worse the longer a person goes untreated after an overdose. I don’t know how long you were down. If I hadn’t been running late, if I’d gotten to you faster and had the naloxone with me, maybe—”

His eyes grew dark. “If you want to play this game, sweetheart, I bet I can match you beat for beat, starting with your latest near-death experience, the one that still has me sticking scar tape to your side.”

Absently, I rubbed my ribs. “I don’t want to play this game, Martin. I’m so tired of this game.”

“Then let’s not.” He sat on the edge of the bed and opened the crackers. After pulling out one of the sleeves, he handed me the box. “Join me for a late night snack?”

“You should go to the doctor and get checked out to be on the safe side.”

“I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon.” He nibbled on a few crackers before reaching for the ginger ale. “How’s Gabriel doing?”

“He had a seizure which was cause for some concern, but his tests didn’t show anything out of the ordinary. I can’t say for certain, but I don’t think he has any lingering side effects. But he wasn’t down that long. Kellan was with him when it happened. I should have been with you.”

Martin put the sleeve of crackers down and put his fingers under my chin, forcing me to look at him. “There’s a simple solution to that. You never leave my side.” Devious thoughts twinkled in his eyes. “You come back to work at Martin Tech. You follow me around, and you let me follow you around. Every minute of every day. Or we can run off to a deserted island where it’s just the two of us and some banana trees.”

“Banana trees?” I couldn’t figure out what kind of dirty joke he intended to make, but it was the middle of the night and I’d been woken up abruptly, so I wasn’t at the top of my game. But I could imagine where this conversation was heading.

“The leaves provide great shade and can be used to build shelters and we’d need something to eat.”

“Bananas?”

His eyes twinkled. “I’ve watched you swallow a banana or two.”

I slapped his arm. “Martin, I’m serious.”

“Do you think I’d joke about bananas?”

I put the cracker box on my nightstand and sunk into the pillows. “Every time I ask how you are, you tell me you’re fine and try to distract me. How bad are your symptoms, really?”

“Not bad. They are more annoying than anything.”

“How do you feel right now?”

“Better.” He grinned devilishly. “Do you want to venture back into the land of comic books?”

“No.”

“What about fantasizing about that deserted island?”

“The banana trees are your fantasy, not mine.”

“You can’t blame a guy for trying.” He eased onto the mattress beside me. “I’m okay, Alex. The doctor’s appointment is to appease Mark. He’s been haranguing me to get checked out since the day after it happened. I never realized how much of a nag he is.”

“Try working for him. He learned it from ex-wife number two.”

“Huh. I never made that connection before.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not used to him ordering you around every minute of the day.” I rolled onto my side to face him. But since he hadn’t made a move to touch me, I kept my distance. Despite his words, he was far from a hundred percent. “Is there anything else I can get you? An ice pack? Some medicine?” I held up my hand. “If you say a banana, I will suffocate you in your sleep.”

“I’m okay now.” He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “I just need some sleep, and I think the same goes for you.”

*        *        *

“Ms. Parker, you have a message.” Janet held out the note. “Mr. Wallace was hoping for an update.”

I glanced at the paper she handed me. He’d called while I’d been in the morning meeting, but unlike yesterday, Janet didn’t think it was important enough to interrupt. However, today’s meeting had been a disappointment.

Amir was still trying to extrapolate Dutch Pooley’s face from all the different sources, but it looked like it’d be another day before we’d have that. Renner was out of pocket. Lucien didn’t seem concerned, so I figured the boss knew where he was or what he was doing.

Renner had been conducting surveillance on an unrelated case, but during all those hours of tedium, he’d been conducting threat assessments on our clients and previous cases too. However, like the rest of us, he had no idea why Dutch Pooley, a.k.a. Kratos, wanted to attack us where it hurt the most.

The police hadn’t made any amazing discoveries, but it was too early for Thompson to have gone to the high school. I hoped he’d have something actionable in the next hour or two, which meant I had a brief window to take care of the Wallace case.

“Hey, Parker, hold up.” Kellan jogged to catch up to me as I headed toward my office. “I wanted to ask if you had any updates.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’d be better if we had this asshole.”

“Me too.” Kellan pushed me toward the break room, so he could grab coffee and breakfast. After waiting a beat to make sure none of our other coworkers had the same idea, he closed the break room door and leaned against it. “I spoke to Bennett this morning. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but Bennett worked homicide under Dominic Moretti.”

“I know.”

“Moretti called Bennett a few days ago and asked if he had any idea why this is happening.”

I stared at him. “Is Bennett keeping something from Lucien? Did he find something?”

“No, but Bennett asked if Lucien had mentioned anything to us. You are Lucien’s favorite, and you and I are directly connected to Kratos’s two victims.”

“Don’t call them that,” I said.

Kellan sipped his coffee. “Has Lucien said anything to you?”

“If he had, I would have told you. Why? Do you know something I don’t?”

“No, but…it’s probably nothing.”

“Spit it out, Dey.”

“When Bennett first started out in homicide, Lucien was on their radar for a lot of things. Bennett never believed most of it. He’d met Lucien a few times and didn’t think he was a bad guy. He thought Lucien made a lot of noise and attracted a lot of attention, which is why the PD was always looking at him.”

“His father’s position didn’t help matters,” I said.

“Probably not.” Kellan took another sip from his mug.

“It’s too early in the morning for this. Get to the point.”

“According to Bennett, Moretti’s wondering if Lucien did something back then that set Kratos off. The guy’s been creeping around our mainframe for a long time. Maybe longer than any of us realizes. And like I said, back then, Lucien was making a lot of noise and attracting a lot of attention. The attacks seem personal. Kratos went after the one business partner Lucien had been pursuing for years and one of his newest friends.”

“Gabriel?”

“I’m guessing he’s Lucien’s newest friend. I don’t think he’s socialized with anyone else recently.”

“Why didn’t he go after you? You were at the bar with them.”

“Hell, I danced with him,” Kellan said.

“When this is over, I want to see that surveillance footage. But I still don’t get why you and I weren’t targeted instead.”

“Kratos has never hit Cross Security directly, not with an online attack and not with a physical attack. Doing so would be an act of war. Anyone as smart as he is would know that’s suicide. But if he can weaken our forces first, spread us thin, tax our resources to the breaking point, and compromise us mentally and emotionally, well, then he’d stand a fighting chance.”

“What do you think Lucien did that would result in a decade’s long vendetta?”

“I don’t know if it’s been that long, but if Moretti’s right, this has been going on for a while. Moretti’s still hung up over the body that turned up not that long ago.”

“The one Lucien was suspected of murdering?”

“Yeah.”

“But he was cleared.”

“I know, but the way he acted when he was in police custody convinced Moretti that one day a body will turn up, and Lucien will be responsible.”

“There is no body. You insisted Lucien was a good guy when that case came up. You vouched for him. You asked me to help him, to protect him. Now you’re telling me you were wrong?”

“I wasn’t wrong. Lucien is a good guy. But even good guys make mistakes. I’m starting to think he made a mistake.”

“What kind of mistake?”

“I don’t know, but it’s why Kratos has been trying to get into our files for years.”

“Have you reviewed Lucien’s old cases?” I’d asked if I could check his work, but he’d dismissed me without an answer. However, Renner was supposed to be conducting threat assessments. He should have had access.

“I looked into some, but I haven’t come up with anything solid.”

“Ask Justin,” I said. “He’d know. And if not, call Ace Darrow.”

Twenty-nine

“You found Sierra?” Leon Wallace asked. “You saw her, and she’s okay?”

“I spoke to her yesterday,” I said. “She needs more time to think things through.”

“But you know where she is.”

“Yes, but she doesn’t want us to share her location, and like Mr. Cross told you, we will honor her wishes.”

“But you saw her?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then how do you know she’s okay?”

For someone who hadn’t shown much concern over his wife’s absence, the question gave me pause. Was Leon hoping I’d slip and tell him how to find her? “I spoke to her. I spoke to her parents, and I spoke to her boss. Everyone has assured me she is fine and just needs time and space.”

“That’s all I needed to know. I was sure Sierra was fine, but I couldn’t quite shake that worried voice in the back of my head that kept getting louder as the days passed. Is she still mad about the kitchen remodel?”

“She didn’t provide specifics as to why she isn’t ready to return home.”

“All right. Will you give her a note from me? I’ve tried leaving her messages and sending her texts, but she won’t respond. I have no way of knowing if she’s gotten any of them or if she’s blocked my number.”

Leon had asked about this during our previous encounters, and Lucien and I had discussed it at length. As long as Leon didn’t try to pull a fast one by outfitting his message with some sort of tracking device, there was no harm in providing our client with that service.

“I can do that,” I said.

“Great. I’m on my way to a job site now, but I should be done around lunch time. Can we meet then? There’s a coffee shop situated between my first job of the day and my second.” He gave me the location.

“12:30?” I asked.

“That sounds perfect. I’ll see you then.”

“Don’t you need time to write your note?” I asked.

“I wrote it days ago, after our first meeting. If there’s one thing I know, it’s my wife. I figured she wouldn’t want to see me just yet. If she did, she would have come home by now.”

“Okay, Mr. Wallace. I’ll see you in a few hours.” I hung up and stared at the mess of notes on my whiteboard. Since Thompson hadn’t called, I called the precinct. Thompson didn’t answer his desk phone, but Heathcliff did. “Hey, have you been read in on the case?”

“The entire unit’s been briefed,” Heathcliff said.

“Have the police pulled anything off Enid Pooley’s phone that could prove useful?”

“I thought you were already given access to that information.”

“I was, but I thought maybe someone left something out of my briefing notes.”

Heathcliff pulled up the files and read the information to me. “What are you looking for?”

“A way to track down Dutch Pooley.” I updated Heathcliff on Cross’s latest revelations. “What about Matthew Delyle’s phone?”

“No messages were sent to his family members from his device. He never called in sick or asked anyone to find a substitute for his classes from his cell phone. The calls came from somewhere else, spoofed to look like they’d come from him.”

“According to his family and friends, Delyle reached out after his demise.”

“The texts would have been easy enough to fake.”

“What about the calls? A few people said they spoke directly to Delyle.”

“Maybe Pooley’s good at impressions,” Heathcliff suggested.

“Possibly, or he knows how to work the tech.” I searched the internet for Matthew Delyle, finding a few online videos that had been posted of him teaching his classes. I wondered if the audio would be decent enough for Dutch Pooley, a.k.a. Kratos the computer genius, to feed it into a program and have a virtual voice generated that mimicked Delyle. Without having to pose the question, I knew the answer was yes.

“The killer went through a lot of trouble to keep us from finding Delyle dead,” Heathcliff said. “Do you really think he left the tub faucet dripping on purpose?”

“I do. It’s part of his plan, his overly complicated plan. Everything Pooley does is a lot of trouble, from the untraceable weapons used to shoot O’Connell and kill his mother, to engineering a morphine goop that is easily absorbed through the skin and results in a potentially fatal overdose, to targeting Martin and Gabriel.”

“The guy has a god complex.”

“Which is why he calls himself Kratos.”

“Kratos?” Heathcliff typed something into the computer. “The Greek god of strength and power. Yeah, he sounds like he has a healthy self-image.”

“If you consider delusional healthy.” Unfortunately, Pooley/Kratos hadn’t made a single misstep to prove he wasn’t a god. I eyed my notes, hoping something would jump out at me. “He should have named himself after the god of invisibility since we have no idea what he looks like.”

“Is there a god of invisibility?” Heathcliff asked.

“I don’t think so, but who knows. Ancient cultures had gods for just about everything.”

“Those were simpler times.”

“Any idea what time Thompson is supposed to get in?” I asked.

“He should be here soon. His shift starts at eight.”

I checked the time. “If he gets there before I do, don’t let him leave without me.”

*       *        *

“Detective Thompson,” the principal said, “our school has security measures in place. The staff can only enter the building during off-hours by using their access cards. Those cards are checked by security guards, most of which are police officers.”

“I know who they are,” Thompson said. “Most student resource officers are assigned on a permanent or semi-permanent basis so they can become acquainted with the students and staff and be aware of any developing situations.”

“That’s right.” Principal Ames smiled. “Which is why I’m sure Mr. Delyle is the only person who used his access card to enter the building.”

“What about during regular school hours?” I asked. “Are IDs checked every morning?”

“Teachers usually arrive thirty minutes to an hour before classes start. They come in a dedicated entrance at the rear of the main building. They show their IDs and are waved in by the officer on duty.”

“Not everyone goes in the dedicated entrance, do they?” I asked.

“If a teacher or someone on staff is running late, they may enter when the students do, through the main doors.”

“What kind of security check do you have for that?” Thompson asked.

“Resource officers are positioned nearby to greet the incoming student body,” Ames said.

“But no IDs are checked. No one is stopped.”

“We have thousands of students entering at one time. There’s no way to do that quickly and effectively.” Ames pointed to the cameras near the main doors. “We have plenty of surveillance. If someone else entered, you should be able to pick him out of the footage.”

“Great, more footage,” Thompson muttered.

“We’ll take it,” I said.

Ames led us back to the office and asked the secretary to have the hard drives pulled.

“Do the teachers have to scan their cards anywhere else on campus?” Thompson asked.

“The classrooms are locked, but they have keys to their rooms. No scanning required. The teachers’ lounge requires a code on the door.” Ames thought for a moment. “The equipment room and art supply closets have keys or codes. The same is true of the chemistry labs.”

“We’re going to need to check out those labs and the equipment contained within,” Thompson insisted.

“What would Matthew Delyle, an English teacher, want in the chemistry lab?” Ames asked.

Before I could open my mouth, Thompson said, “We just need to see it, sir.”

“This way.” Ames led us away from the main office and up the nearest set of stairs. On the second floor, he took a sharp left, then another left, and led us to the room at the end of the hallway. “Class is in session.”

“Unfortunately, this can’t wait.” Thompson pushed open the door and nodded to the professor who was standing beside a projector, pointing to the chemical formula for glucose. “Sorry to interrupt. We need to see your lab.”

Ames scurried around, taking the lead once more. “This way, Detectives.” He led us around the back of the classroom.

Most of the students turned to watch us, more interested in our presence than the lesson being taught. Not that I could blame them. Besides learning not to mix bleach and ammonia, which I may have picked up from watching TV, I wasn’t sure I ever used anything I learned in high school chemistry. The teacher directed the students to a page in their textbooks before joining us near the door.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“These detectives need to check the lab for some reason.” Ames glanced at us. “It has to do with Mr. Delyle.”

“As far as I know, he’s never been back here.” The chemistry teacher took a keyring from his pocket. It contained four keys on a stretchy bracelet. He stuck the second key into the lock and opened the door. “This one’s for the cabinet.” He held up the third key before handing it to Ames. “Lock the door when you’re finished.”

The room was a little dusty and had the lingering scent of dissected formaldehyde frogs. “Does biology class share this lab?” I asked.

Ames gave me a quizzical look. “This used to be their lab, but when the new microscopes came in, we changed classrooms and labs so the biology students had more room to use the new equipment. How did you know that? Were you a student here?”

“It’s the smell,” I said.

Ames shrugged it off. “What exactly are you hoping to find?”

Thompson pulled the kit the crime lab had given him from his jacket pocket. Before we left, they’d given us a crash course in the kinds of equipment that would be needed to remove the drugs from the patches and reformulate it into a more concentrated and potent consistency. “Drugs.”

Ames didn’t look shocked. “You think Mr. Delyle was involved with drugs? He had a stellar record. Excellent attendance. The students loved him. The other teachers loved him. He went above and beyond for his job.”

“What about after his accident?” I asked, distracting the principal while Thompson unlocked the cabinet and examined the equipment inside.

“When he came back, he was even more invested. When he was out, his students, current and former, made him cards, sent him get well gifts, and checked up on him regularly. He told me that’s what got him through the hardest parts, knowing what he did mattered, that it made a difference.” Ames shook his head. “I don’t know why you’d think he was involved in drugs. Nothing indicated he’d gotten hooked.”

“Do you think he was in pain?” I asked.

“Was he on drugs?”

“No, sir,” I said, watching as Thompson swabbed the outer edge of a glass bowl connected to some fancy apparatus. When he placed the swab in the solution, it turned bright purple. “The person who killed Mr. Delyle found an old stash of his pain patches. Were you aware he had those?”

“Parker,” Thompson gave me a warning look, “why would Mr. Ames know anything about that?”

“He never mentioned it to me,” Ames said. “The school does random drug testing. If he was using a prescription, he would have disclosed.” Ames turned to see what Thompson was doing. “You found something?”

“A crime scene unit will need to print this entire room. I’ll need whatever security footage you have that covers this room, the class schedule, when the room is empty, and the last time Matthew Delyle showed up to work.” Thompson pulled out his phone and called for CSU.

“No problem.” Ames eyed the purple swab. “Are the students in any danger?”

“We have no reason to think that.” Thompson took a step back, finding the room devoid of cameras. “Whoever used the equipment did so at least a week ago. Has any student experienced a medical emergency or overdosed?”

“No.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” Thompson said, “as long as they don’t touch any of this equipment.”

Thirty

Thompson turned to me. “Do you think this is another reason Pooley killed Matthew Delyle?”

“At this point, I don’t know. Delyle seems to be the one stop shop for all his murderous needs.” I checked the time. The crime scene unit had arrived, but they’d be here for hours.

“Do you have somewhere you need to be?” Thompson nodded at my watch.

“I’m supposed to meet Sierra’s husband. He has a note he wants me to bring to her.”

“So she contacted you?”

“Finally,” I said. “She doesn’t want to see him. I asked if there was a reason, if she needed our help, mine or yours, but she said no.”

“Do you believe her?”

I hadn’t seen the woman, but if she’d been covered in bruises, her parents or friend would have mentioned it. By now, any marks would have faded, unless they’d been that severe, in which case she would have been in the hospital. “I have no reason not to, but I’m not telling him where she is. All I’m doing is bringing her a letter he wrote.”

“Couldn’t he have just texted or e-mailed you whatever he wanted to say and you could have forwarded it to her?” Thompson asked.

“I’m guessing he doesn’t want me to read it.”

“Are you going to read it?”

“Of course.”

Thompson chuckled. “If you told him that up front, you could have saved yourself the trip.” He caught my eye. “Except you don’t want to alert him in case he’s threatening her or trying to pull a fast one on you.”

“Wow, you’re catching on. I never realized you were that smart.” I bumped against his arm, hoping he’d know I was joking. “How long do you think it’ll take to parse the security cam footage?”

“I’m hoping not long, but there are a lot of cameras, and since we don’t have the exact date narrowed down yet, it could be a couple of hours.”

“I’m going to take off, hopefully finish up my only other open case, and I’ll meet you back at the precinct when I’m done.”

“Call first,” Thompson said. “I need the advanced notice so I can make myself scarce.”

“You know you love me,” I said, walking away.

“You wish, Parker.”

Since we had driven separately, I didn’t have to worry about going back to the precinct to get my car. Instead, I braved lunchtime traffic to make my way to the coffee shop where Leon Wallace insisted we meet.

Parking was a bear, but I lucked out when someone pulled out of a spot half a block from the shop. I hurried to slide my car into the opening before someone else snatched it. After checking my messages one last time, I got out of the car, nearly getting sideswiped by the passenger side mirror of a delivery truck.

I jumped onto the curb and looked around, but nothing indicated that had been intentional. “I hate the lunchtime crowd,” I muttered.

The line for the coffee shop extended to the sidewalk. I studied the people waiting as I approached, but I didn’t spot Leon. While the line crept to the door, I sent him a text to let him know I had arrived. I was almost to the counter by the time he responded.

Sorry, I couldn’t wait. I had an emergency call. I left the envelope with the lady taking orders, he replied. Make sure Sierra gets it.

“Hi there. What can I get you?” the over-caffeinated barista asked, already reaching for a cup.

“A man said he left an envelope for me to pick up.”

She smiled. “Alex, right?”

“Guilty,” I said.

“Not a problem.” She put in an order for a white chocolate mocha with extra foam and sprinkles before reaching beneath the counter and pulling out a sealed manila envelope. “Leon paid for your coffee and wanted me to tell you he said thanks. You can pick it up at that window. Have a great day.”

I opened my mouth to ask her how she knew what I wanted, but she was already taking orders from the next person in line. Picking up the manila envelope, I moved to the next window, like she had directed.

“Order for Tony.” The barista put a cup down and stepped away. A man with a barrel chest and paint-splattered coveralls grabbed his cup and headed for the exit. “Order for Alex.”

I glanced around, making sure Tony didn’t have a friend with him before scooping the cup up. I read the scribbles on the side. Wh. Choc. Xtr/Whip Sprkl. That was my coffee order on days I wanted to indulge or things were going very wrong. How did Leon Wallace know that?

I thought back, but I didn’t have a coffee cup with me when we had our consultation. Could it be a lucky guess? But I knew better than to believe in coincidences.

The hairs at the back of my neck prickled, but I didn’t throw out the coffee, which is what every instinct in my body told me to do. Instead, I carried it out of the shop, put it in the cupholder in my car, and studied my surroundings. The sandwich board in front of the coffee shop listed a few of the day’s specials, the white chocolate concoction being one of them. Maybe it had been a lucky guess, but I still didn’t believe it.

I put on a pair of gloves before undoing the brass clasp on the manila envelope. Inside was a white envelope made out of fancy cardstock. It was sealed with Sierra written in a man’s script on the outside. I’d seen this type of envelope before. Three times to be exact.

After removing the medical kit from the trunk and making sure I had the naloxone handy, I slid one of my lock picks beneath the sealed flap. It opened easily enough, as if it hadn’t been completely sealed, revealing the bright, shiny silver interior of the envelope.

I didn’t remove the letter, but I pushed down one side as best I could and used a second lock pick to separate the pieces so I could see if there was anything written on the page. The same masculine script appeared:

Dear Sierra, Words cannot begin to express how sorry I am for our fight. It was stupid. I just want you to come home. If you want to stop the renovation, we can. It’s not too late. I just want to make you happy. All I’ve ever wanted…

The rest of the text disappeared beyond the fold of the first flap.

Carefully, I released the edges, tucked the letter back inside, and slid the white and silver envelope back into the manila. Then I stuck the lock picks into an evidence bag, afraid they’d been contaminated with the same drug that had coated Martin’s letter opener, sealed the evidence bag, and placed the manila envelope into a larger evidence bag. I removed my gloves, flipping them inside out as I took them off, and put them into a third bag. Paranoid much, Parker?

The coffee cup stared at me from the cupholder. I wondered if that had been tainted too. Would I take a sip and ingest a lethal dose of morphine? That seemed unlikely given that my beverage was handled by the staff at the coffee shop, but I wouldn’t put anything beyond Dutch Pooley’s capabilities. Unless I was completely off my mark, Leon Wallace was Dutch Pooley. He’d been closer than we realized this entire time.  

“You son of a bitch.” I didn’t want to leave evidence in the car, and I didn’t want to go back inside, in case he was watching from somewhere or monitoring the coffee shop’s camera feeds. Instead, I pulled a surveillance camera from the back seat, the one that Lucien had wanted me to return a week ago, and zoomed in on the interior of the shop.

After getting clean shots of each of the baristas and everyone inside, in case I was wrong or Leon was working with Pooley, I put the camera down, gave the evidence bags one last look, and called Lucien.

“Hey, I was just about to call you,” he said. “Amir’s finished with the extrapolation.”

“Does the bastard look familiar?”

“A little, but it is still too generic. He has our suspect’s coloring correct, and we know his height, weight, and the length of his nose, the width of his cheeks, but—"

“Compare it to Leon Wallace,” I said. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s the bastard we’re hunting.”

“What the—” He started again. “Are you sure?”

I gave the coffee cup another look. “Yeah, but have Amir run a comparison. Let’s make sure I’m not certifiable.”

“I don’t think those are related events.” Lucien spoke to Amir. “There’s a good chance they match. Where is Leon Wallace now? Are you safe?”

“That remains to be determined. He was supposed to meet me for coffee to give me a letter for his wife. The envelope matches.” My heart rate kicked up a few notches. “Do you think Sierra’s a part of this or,” I didn’t want to say it, but I had to, “another of his victims?”

“Alex, focus. One thing at a time. You said he left you a letter. Did you touch it?”

“No, Lucien. I’m not suicidal. I handed it to the nearest person I found and told them to lick the paper so I could see what happens.”

“Was it tainted?”

“I was being sarcastic. How should I know if it’s tainted? All I know is the envelope matches the ones Martin and Gabriel received.” The cup taunted me from the holder. “He knows how I take my coffee when I’m having a bad day.” Another horrifying thought crept into my brain. “If Sierra isn’t involved, if he tricked her into thinking he’s someone else, the same way he tricked us, if I hadn’t opened the envelope, if I’d done what he had asked, she would have touched the letter. We would have been responsible. The police could have charged us with attempted murder or murder. But that’s if she’s innocent and still alive.”

The words Leon had spoken to me about marriage rang through my head. The context had drastically changed. Was he talking about Martin and me? Or could he have been talking about Sierra? Did a psycho find another psycho to be his soulmate? Every cell in my body believed she was another victim. If he hadn’t done something to her yet, he would. The only question that remained was if he knew where she was.

“Do you know where she is now?” Lucien asked.

“She should be at the apartment she’s renting, but I can’t be certain.” A thought ran through my mind. “I’ve never seen her.”

“But you spoke to her. Her parents spoke to her.”

“The same could be said of Matthew Delyle.” I checked my mirrors, waiting for enough of an opening to pull out of the parking space. “Find Leon Wallace. I’ll find Sierra.” Without waiting for him to agree, I disconnected and dialed Thompson.

“Now what do you want, Parker?”

“I need units sent to Sierra’s apartment. She may be in danger or dead, I don’t know. Maybe she’s part of this.”

“Is this a joke?”

“No. Leon Wallace is Dutch Pooley.”

“How the f—” Thompson cut himself off. “You’re going to explain that later. Right now, I have calls to make. Where are you?”

“On my way to Sierra’s apartment. Send units to her parents’ place and to her friend’s house. Her name is Amanda Denning.”

“Don’t get killed. Nick will hold it against me.”

“Maybe I’ll do it just to spite you.”

By the time I arrived, two patrol cars were parked outside. Their lights remained on. I went up the steps and straight to the apartment I’d visited the previous day. The ceiling didn’t show any signs of leaks, and the carpet wasn’t squishy. Hopefully, that was a good sign.

The door to the efficiency was open. Two officers stood outside while another two searched inside. The ones guarding the door stopped me from entering.

“I’m Alex Parker.” I flashed them my PI license, hoping it’d hold the same weight as a badge. “Is Sierra inside? Is she okay?”

The officers exchanged a look before the one on the right keyed his radio. He whispered into it. After a response came back, he looked over his shoulder and called to the cops inside, “You have incoming.”

An officer approached the doorway. “Parker?”

I didn’t know him, but my name must have circulated over the radio thanks to Thompson. “Is she in there?”

“No one’s here. You want to check for yourself?”

I squeezed between the two officers standing in front of the door and entered the efficiency. It looked exactly as it did the previous day. The same coffee cup sat on the desk, no condensation, still partially full. Using a pen, I hit the spacebar on her computer, finding the same spreadsheet open. Nothing had changed. Everything remained where it had been the last time we visited. She’d never returned.

“What’s going on?” the cop asked. “We didn’t notice any signs of foul play. She’s probably out to lunch or at work.”

I wanted his words to be true, but I knew better. Still, I dialed the number I had for her.

She answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, Sierra,” I said, fighting to keep my voice neutral despite the sick feeling that wormed its way from my gut through the rest of my body, “Leon wrote you a note and asked me to hand-deliver it. Do you think we can meet?”

“What does he want?”

“I don’t know. He asked me not to read it. Do you want me to open it and find out?”

“No,” she said, her voice flat, “it may be personal.”

“Do you think he’d try to blackmail you?” I asked. “Share private photos or something like that? It’s a pretty big envelope.”

She didn’t respond to that. “Can you drop it off at my apartment at your earliest convenience?”

The cops gave me confused looks, but I silenced their unasked questions with stern looks. “I guess I can do that,” I said. “What time will you be home?”

“I’m home now,” she said. “I’ll be in most of the day.”

Closing my eyes, I bit my lip to keep from blurting out the first thought that came to mind. I wasn’t speaking to Sierra. That may have been her voice, but it wasn’t her. Kratos had come to play.

Don’t jump to conclusions, I chided. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she was walking back from picking up a sandwich at this very moment. Maybe that’s why she said she was home even though I was standing inside her apartment with four police officers to keep me company.

Think, Parker. How do you want to play this? The loudest voice in my head suggested I call her out, tell her I was here and she wasn’t. But if I was right, and I was speaking to Pooley/Leon/Kratos, then we’d lose this opportunity to trap him.

“I have a few things to do. How does an hour sound?” I asked.

“I’ll see you then.” The call disconnected.

“I thought you said this woman was in danger, that she might be dead,” the cop said.

The sick feeling was getting worse. “I’m pretty sure she is.”

“Didn’t you just speak to her on the phone? Didn’t you make plans to see her?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think the voice on the other end of the line belonged to her.”

“Who do you think it belonged to?”

“A killer.”

Thirty-one

It took a few calls from Thompson and Lt. Moretti before the officers who’d gone to Sierra’s apartment agreed to vacate. I didn’t want to tip off Pooley/Kratos/Leon Wallace to the fact I was on to him. And two police cruisers parked out front would definitely do that. Sure, Leon, or whatever his name was this week, wanted me to know he was Pooley. That was the only explanation I could come up with for why he left me that envelope and a suspicious cup of coffee. So I had to play dumb. If he thought I had held up my end of the bargain, that I hadn’t opened the letter he left, then we had some time to find him.

“Do you have any idea where he is now, Lucien?” I asked, my head on a swivel as I sat in my car, watching everyone and everything near Sierra’s apartment building.

“We’re working on it. It’ll be easier to find him now that we know what he looks like. Are you sure he wasn’t still at the coffee shop?”

“I didn’t see him. I sent you the photos. He didn’t want to get caught.”

“I thought he may have wanted to watch, to see if you’d open the envelope.”

“Do you think this is about me?”

“You tell me,” Lucien said.

“You think everything’s about you,” Thompson muttered beside me, but I knew why he did it. He wanted to distract me from going down that rabbit hole.

“I don’t know. All I know is we need to stop him before he hurts someone else. Leon said he had a few jobs today. He provides freelance tech support, if any of that is even true,” I said.

“That doesn’t mean much. He could have fabricated that,” Lucien said.

“I thought you looked into him before he hired us.”

“I did, but if you’re right and we are talking about Kratos, every part of Leon Wallace’s background could be planted.”

“Wouldn’t you have noticed?”

“Not if he went about doing it legitimately. Do you want me to explain the intricacies of pulling something like that off while legitimizing it, or would you like me to find this bastard?” Lucien asked.

If it hadn’t been for Sierra’s parents, I would have wondered if she was a fabrication too. “Any luck pinging Sierra’s number?” I asked.

“Supposedly, she’s at the apartment, but if she’s redirecting the calls through an internet number, her phone could be there and she could be anywhere.”

My thoughts went to shallow graves and garbage bags. “Could he be using her number and speaking through a virtual voice that is supposed to sound like her?”

“Conceivably.”

“That’s what he did with Matthew Delyle,” Thompson said. “We can’t confirm, but that’s the conclusion our techs reached.”

I nodded to Thompson and repeated that to Lucien, but there was no way to find out for sure unless we gained access to the equipment and programs the bastard was using, and we’d have to find him first.

“How are you going to play this?” Lucien asked.

“That’ll depend on several factors. The main one being if Sierra shows up. The bastard may be able to fake her voice, but I don’t think he could make her appear out of thin air.”

“Unless she’s part of this,” Thompson said.

“What do the police want you to do?” Lucien asked. “They better not be using you as bait.”

“They’re not. I’m calling the shots.”

“Yeah, right.” Thompson snorted. “Like I’m going to make that mistake.”

I glared at him.

“Fill me in,” Lucien insisted.

“Sierra said she’s home, but she isn’t. She hasn’t been. The place is untouched. It is exactly the way it was when I paid her a visit yesterday. Whoever I spoke to who sounded like Sierra doesn’t know I already stopped by. I said I had things to do and would be there in an hour. Right now, we’re running the clock.”

“I sent a team to her parents’ place. Kellan went with them. He wanted to ask them a few more questions.”

“The police also sent units,” I said.

“I’m aware.” Lucien’s tone indicated he wanted to berate me, but he didn’t waste his breath. Now wasn’t the time, but I was sure to hear about it at a later date. “You sent cops to intercept Amanda Denning too.”

“Leon made it sound like they were allies when his wife became hard to handle, but after I spoke to Amanda, Leon called and chewed me out, saying she was angry and had confronted him. He may lash out at her, if any of that was even true.”

“You’re assuming she’s a real person.”

“She is. Donovan and Liliana have met her. There were photos of Sierra and Amanda inside their house. I saw them while we were talking, and I recognized Amanda from her ID.” I glanced at the screen on my phone before returning my attention to my surroundings and the apartment building beside me. No texts or messages. I covered the mouthpiece. “Did the police find anything? A body? Signs of foul play?”

“Nothing,” Thompson said, alternating his gaze from his phone to the exterior of the apartment building. “They tried calling, but since you said we can’t trust our ears or technology, a patrol unit is on the way to Amanda’s place.”

“Do you have any ties to Sierra Wallace?” I asked Lucien.

“You mean Sierra Jeffries,” he corrected, “and no. I don’t.”

Everything the Jeffrieses had told me the day before came to mind. “Sierra and Leon had a whirlwind romance. He was in a rush to marry her immediately. They haven’t even been together that long. That was all a set-up. They got married around the time Dutch Pooley’s internship started. That explains why he wasn’t staying at his mom’s during the week.”

“I’ll have Kellan ask the Jeffrieses if Leon was absent most weekends,” Lucien said. “If Sierra’s not involved, she may have complained to them about her absent husband.”

“What did Amir say? Did he match Wallace to Pooley?” Thompson asked, reaching his hand out, almost as if he wanted to take my phone and ask Lucien the question himself.

“Hang on.” I repeated the question into the phone.

“You could just put it on speaker and save us all some time and trouble,” Thompson said.

“Lucien won’t talk to you,” I hissed.

“Amir said there’s an 87% match. He’s running another test to compare it to the photos we have of Pooley as a child,” Lucien said.

“Check it against Parr too,” I said. “I’m positive, regardless of what we call them, they are all the same person.” That made this Pooley’s fourth identity that we knew about, and I didn’t think we’d even breached the surface.

“O Romeo, Romeo.” Cross sighed. “Watch your back, Alex. Are you sure you don’t want a security team to meet you?”

“I don’t want to spook him. If he senses this is a trap, he’ll make himself scarce. He’s already climbed out one window. I don’t want to lose him again. I owe it to O’Connell, Kellan, and Martin.”

“You should have thought about that before you called the cops.”

I didn’t have time for this. The digital clock on the dash indicated it was showtime. “I’m putting you on mute, but I’ll keep the call connected. However, no one has entered or left the building since we’ve been sitting here, unless there’s another way in that I don’t know about, so I’m not sure this will be all that thrilling for you.”

“I hope it’s not,” Lucien said.

After muting the speaker, so his voice wouldn’t give away the cell phone in my jacket pocket, I turned to Thompson. “Are you ready?”

“Go ahead. I’ll keep an eye out from here. If you get in hot water, I’ll be there.”

“Before or after I get killed?” I asked.

“You already know the answer to that.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I winked. “Don’t forget what Nick made you promise.”

I went back to Sierra’s apartment and knocked on the door. As I suspected, there was no answer.

“Sierra, it’s Alex,” I called from the hallway, even though I knew it was pointless.

My phone buzzed, alerting me to an incoming text from Sierra’s number. I read the waiting message from the preview without opening it. Come inside.

“All right. I was texted to come inside, so I’m going inside,” I said for Lucien’s benefit and Thompson’s.

Turning the knob, I wasn’t surprised when the door opened. The police had used a bump key to enter the apartment, which had damaged the pins and left the door unlocked. Sierra would have noticed that when she returned home, which meant she still wasn’t here. So why did she invite me inside?

“Sierra,” I called, “I’m here. Where are you?” That was a dumb question since it was an efficiency. The only place she could be that I wouldn’t be able to see was the bathroom or the closet.

No response.

I entered the bathroom. The door was open and the room empty. Next, I tried the closet. It was filled with clothes. I knocked against the wall, making sure there wasn’t a false back.

“Sierra?”

“Here,” a disembodied voice said.

I spun, my hand on my weapon, but there was no one inside the apartment. “Where?”

“The table.”

The screen on the laptop illuminated. A video chat window was open on top of the spreadsheet. On the other side of the screen was Sierra, wearing the same shirt she had on in her ID photo.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“I had a last minute work thing. You can leave the envelope on the table.”

I didn’t move. Instead, I stared at the woman on the screen, hoping to notice some sort of blip or discrepancy. “Are you at the office? Your boss told me you work from home.”

“They needed me to come in.”

“You work for a streaming service. I’d love to see what that place looks like.” The background behind her looked like a typical cubicle with a few out-of-focus notes and posters behind her.

“It’s nothing special.”

“What does that sign say behind you?” I pointed at the screen. The normal human reaction would be to turn, but she didn’t. “It’s right there. The one right behind you. It’s a greenish color.”

The screen pixelated briefly, as if the internet connection was bad.

“Why did you leave your front door unlocked if you were at work?” I asked.

The pixels moved a little. They cleared up, but when she moved, it was jerky, as if the connection had a lag. “I didn’t.”

“In that case, someone must have broken in.”

The screen cleared. “Do you think it was Leon?”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, which was still connected to Lucien. But I didn’t flash my screen at the camera. “If it was, it’d be best if you came home right away to check things out. He’s getting a little obsessed with finding you. I don’t know what he wrote, but it could be important.” I held a different manila envelope up, showing the clasp hadn’t been opened. “I’ll call your boss and explain the situation. We had a lovely chat the other day. I’m sure she’ll let you go home early.”

“No. Don’t.” But her voice remained level and neutral. “Why don’t you open it up and read it to me?”

“You want me to open this?” I held up the manila envelope again. “Leon asked me not to, and he is my client.”

“No, you should. Like you said, he’s gotten obsessed with finding me. I need to know what he wants.”

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that. I’ll just call your boss and ask if she can spare you for an hour or two. If we need to take action against Leon, you’ll have to be here in person to file a police report and get the ball rolling.”

The figure on the screen turned to the side, reaching for something, causing the image to glitch, revealing a man beneath.

“Cat’s out of the bag, Leon,” I said, hoping to clue in Thompson and Lucien. My best bet was to get him talking and hope he said something useful. “Where is she?” I asked. “What did you do to Sierra?” But I didn’t get a response. “Why are you doing this?” I waited, but the image on the screen stared at me with wide, innocent doe eyes. “Let me ask you something else. Which name do you prefer? Dutch? Leon? Kratos? Personally, I’m fond of shithead.”

He removed the carefully crafted avatar from the screen and stared at me from the other side. He had the same attractive features as he’d had when we spoke at Cross Security, except he’d combed his hair back, gelling it to hold it in place. He didn’t wear glasses, and his teeth looked straighter and a little whiter.

“I thought you’d be smarter. I wondered how long it would take you to figure things out. You’re supposed to be Cross Security’s best,” he said.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Cross had you work on his case. That makes you the best he has to offer, but I’m not particularly impressed.” He studied my face. “Except you already knew, and you were playing with me. When did you figure it out?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It was the envelope, wasn’t it? I knew I’d have to spell it out for you. Cross Security is a joke.”

I wasn’t playing this game. “Why did you kill your mother? Were you afraid she’d give you up?”

“You don’t know anything.”

“You’re probably right.”

The screen flickered again, the backdrop around Sierra evaporated, replaced by a solid wall that gave nothing away. He mussed his hair and put his glasses on. The reflection from the ring light made it hard to see his eyes. He chuckled and rubbed his chin. “Since you like games, we’re gonna play a little game, Ms. Parker. You, me, and everyone Lucien has on the team, even the players he keeps on the bench. The rules are simple. You take too long to figure things out, and Sierra dies.” He gave me a look. “If you’d looked for her when I first showed up at your office, maybe things would have been different. Maybe someone else’s life would be hanging in the balance right now. But it doesn’t really matter. We’ll start with Sierra. You fail, she dies. And we’ll keep playing until no one’s left. All that matters is Cross Security learns their place and the world learns that the promises Lucien Cross makes are nothing but lies.”

“What promises?”

“All of them.”

That wasn’t getting me anywhere. “Where’s Sierra?”

“You should already know.” He smiled. “Go find her, but if you’re too late, which I suspect you will be, let me tell you what happens next. Someone else Lucien cares about will face mortal peril, and they don’t even know it yet. Figure out who, and how to stop them from meeting their maker, or Lucien will be posting a new job listing on the website by tomorrow night.”

“If you so much as—”

“Listen for the sirens at night, Ms. Parker. They’ll tell you where to look.” He winked. “Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”

The screen went dark. The light beside the built-in webcam never turned on, but I was sure he could see me while he was talking. I suspected he still could. Since he had remotely accessed the computer, I tried to figure out what to do to safeguard him from tampering with it or deleting crucial information. But I didn’t spot a router or modem anywhere. Before I could attempt to put it into airplane mode, the door behind me swung open.

I pulled my weapon and aimed. I expected Thompson, but I didn’t expect Lucien to be beside him. Two members of the security team followed them inside. Cross had his weapon out, but he kept it down at his side, giving mine an annoyed look before moving behind the computer and physically blocking the camera with a piece of tape before moving around the table, plugging in an external drive, and running code.

No one had spoken a word, but I knew better than to say anything or ask how or why he showed up so quickly. He must have been on his way when we were on the phone. He had tried to delay me by asking questions. I’d thought he’d been speaking to Amir at the office, but he must have been using a second phone or radio.

Lucien caught my eye and jerked his chin to the door. “Go,” he mouthed.

Thompson tugged on my elbow, urging me to leave the apartment. “Five minutes,” he mouthed to Cross.

I went out the door, down the stairs, and to my car. Another Cross Security tactical team was outside, keeping watch on my car and the building. Two police cars pulled up. A few members of the cybercrimes unit stepped out. I recognized them from when we’d spoken a few days ago.

“He’s inside with the computer,” Thompson said. “If he screws us over, let me know. I’ll personally take it up with the commissioner.”

Thirty-two

“Bastian, do you have anything?” I asked. “A woman’s missing. He said if I don’t find her in time, she’s dead and he’ll move on to someone else.” Someone from Cross Security.

“Did he provide a list of demands?” Bastian asked.

“This isn’t about that. He wants to play a game.”

“Fucking tosser.” Bastian crunched on something. “Jules and Donovan can get to you in eight hours. Boots on the ground and all that. Hans and I can stay here and work the computers, so we don’t lose any time tracking him.”

“Can you track him?”

“Not yet, love.”

I stared at the corkboard beside Thompson’s desk. Our notes and theories had been removed and replaced with new facts. Leon Wallace was Dutch Pooley. That changed everything. “I am grateful for the offer, but—”

“I’ll tell Jules to stand down,” Bastian said. “However, we will continue the hunt from here.”

“What do you have so far?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. Kratos isn’t the typical hacker. He’s gotten into your government databases, but he’s only poked around at insignificant things. Marriage licenses and birth certificates. He took a few looks into adoption files and court records. He’s looked through drivers’ licenses and social security information. Nothing large scale. All of it pertains to how he creates his alternate identities and how he’s made previous versions of himself disappear.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to hack into the banking system and steal whatever he wants?”

“Do you believe money is his motivation? Nothing indicates he’s benefitting financially by assuming these new personas.”

Bastian was right. Money didn’t motivate the killer. Something else was fueling his desire to recreate himself and annihilate his former incarnations. Whatever that was had something to do with Lucien Cross.

“Do you know what his real name is?” I asked.

“I can’t say for certain, but the earliest version we found is Dutch Pooley. That would make sense. You located his mum. She told you about her son.”

“Could her identity have been fabricated too?”

“Do you think they were in witness protection or running from someone?” Bastian asked.

The thought had crossed my mind. “If that were true, his mother would have been given a new identity and they would have relocated. It makes no sense how he changed his looks and name between middle school and high school, skipped a grade, and his mother let him do it.”

“There were a few discrepancies when I looked into her, but she hasn’t been my main focus. Do you want me to make that my primary mission, love?”

The police were desperate to find Sierra Wallace and track down her so-called husband. Finding Sierra was their priority. Leon had made it mine when he hired me and again when he revealed himself to be Kratos and threatened her life if we didn’t find her in time. But I knew what this was. It was a misdirect, so we wouldn’t have the resources or manpower to hunt him down.

“Keep your attention on Kratos,” I said, “but find out everything you can about his mother. She’s where he began, quite literally.”

“All right, love. Stay strong. I’ll be in touch.”

Putting down my phone, I stared at the notes on the board. Thompson had Sierra’s parents brought to the precinct for questioning. He was speaking to them inside a conference room, where he had the unfortunate job of telling them their daughter was in danger. Luckily, I’d been exempt from having to witness that by making an overseas call.

“Denning’s in interrogation room two,” an officer said when he saw me looking around the bullpen. “Detective Heathcliff is questioning her.”

“Thanks.” I stood, unsure where I should go or what I should do. Remaining in the precinct wouldn’t help us find Sierra, but wandering aimlessly through the city wouldn’t help either. I wasn’t sure what Lucien was doing, but the last time I’d seen him, he’d been speaking to a few of the PD’s computer whizzes.

Thompson caught my eye through the window and shook his head before I could pull the door to the conference room open. He didn’t want me to interrupt, so I backed away from the door and wandered down the hall to interrogation.

Heathcliff was set up in interrogation room two. I opened the door and slipped inside as quietly as possible. Amanda Denning didn’t turn, so she may not have noticed me.

“You said you haven’t seen Sierra in almost three weeks. Is that normal?” Heathcliff asked.

“Pretty normal. Sierra’s turned into a homebody ever since she got married. She always worked from home a lot. But she rarely goes out now.”

“What about before Leon?” Heathcliff asked.

“We’d get drinks or go to movies. She used to come over and hang out. We’d run errands or just do whatever. But now I only really ever see her when she wants to complain about him.”

“Leon?” Heathcliff asked.

“Well, duh. Who else would she have to complain about?” Amanda asked.

I moved closer to the table, catching Amanda’s attention. “Did Sierra camp out at your place when she and her husband fought?”

“Sometimes. She didn’t like conflict. She always wanted to get away from that, so she’d come over. She knew she could crash on my couch anytime she wanted.”

“But she didn’t stay with you after their latest fight?” I asked.

“No.”

“Did she tell you about their fight?” Heathcliff asked.

“I guess she called or whatever. Maybe I called her. I don’t really remember, but she said she left him and that she was thinking about staying gone this time. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be married anymore.”

“Did she say why?” Heathcliff asked.

She shook her head.

“This is important, Ms. Denning,” I said. “Do you think Leon was abusive? Is that why she wanted to leave?”

“I doubt it. He was rarely around. She barely ever saw him. That’s why they’d fight. He’d show up and have some ridiculous project in mind, like redecorating. Then he’d dump it in her lap, disappear with work or whatever, and leave her to deal with it. She didn’t like that. It was like he always wanted to keep her busy so she wouldn’t notice he wasn’t around.”

“Would you tell Leon when she was staying with you?” I asked.

“I had to. If I didn’t, he’d text and call nonstop. These last few weeks have been insane. I finally had to tell him to stop. He got obsessed.” Amanda looked from me to Heathcliff. “Do you think he did something to Sierra? Is that why I’m here? The cops who showed up at my house said there was a threat. Did he threaten me? Did he threaten Sierra?”

“We are trying to locate Sierra,” Heathcliff said. “We have reason to believe she may be in danger.”

“Do you think Leon did something to her, that he’s responsible?”

“It’s possible.” Heathcliff didn’t want to give too much away. For all we knew, Leon may not have been working alone.

“I wouldn’t put it past that creepy son of a bitch. There was always something off about him. He never said much about himself or his past. It’s like he came out of nowhere.”

“How did Sierra meet him?” I asked.

“He showed up to provide tech support for some computer issue she was having. She had another issue a few days later, and he showed up again. And then it happened again like two weeks after that. Finally, the computer shit was fixed, some kind of bug that was in an upgrade,” she shook her head, “I don’t know, but he asked her out and after a month or two, he proposed.”

“That’s quick,” I said.

“Tell me about it, but Sierra didn’t date a lot. She had a close call in college with some frat guy at a party. After that, she turned into a serial monogamist, but when she and Ben broke up, like two years ago, she never really got back out there, and with her job, it wasn’t like she was going to meet someone unless she was actively looking, which she wasn’t. That’s probably why she was so happy when she found Leon.”

“They didn’t meet on a dating site?” Heathcliff asked. “I figured if they were both into computers and tech—”

“That’s not what Sierra told me, but she didn’t tell me a lot of things because she didn’t want to hear my opinion on them.”

Heathcliff reviewed his notes. “I’d like you to stay here a little longer in case we have more questions. Is that okay?”

“Do you think Leon would try to hurt me?”

“We don’t know,” Heathcliff said. “We’re still figuring things out.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, fine. Whatever. But I better not find him lurking around my place. I don’t need this shit.”

We left Amanda Denning to be escorted some place more comfortable by an officer. Heathcliff handed me the legal pad where he’d taken notes, and I read his perfect print as we made our way back to the bullpen. She hadn’t said much that we didn’t already know.

“He chose Sierra for a reason,” Heathcliff said. “From what I’ve been told, he may have created the computer issue to ensure there would be a call for tech support and a need for repeat visits.” He took the pad back from me and dropped it on his desk. “What are we even calling this bastard? Leon Wallace? Dutch Pooley?”

“Kratos,” O’Connell said, stepping out of the break room with a coffee mug in his good hand. He was dressed as he usually was for work but with his arm in a sling and his bandages peeking out from beneath his collar. “It’s the best name we have for him right now.”

“What are you doing here, Nick?” I asked.

“It looks to me like you could use the help, so say thank you, Parker.” O’Connell put the mug down. “The LT knows I’m here. He said I could help as long as I don’t do any police work outside of these four walls. I’m okay with that.”

“What about Jen?” I asked. “Does she know you’re here?”

“No, and whatever you do, don’t tell her.” O’Connell gave me a look. “I mean it.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Good.” He slowly sunk into his desk chair and nodded at the board. “So who’s gonna catch me up to speed?”

Thompson came out of the conference room. “Does Jenny know you escaped?” he asked.

O’Connell glanced at me. “The two of you have been spending way too much time together.”

“Agreed,” Thompson and I said at the same time. Thompson glared at me. “However, that has nothing to do with knowing your wife will be on the warpath. This is just like the time you left the hospital without permission. Do you remember who had to haul your ass back into that bed last time, man?”

O’Connell ignored him and jerked his chin at the corkboard. “Sierra Wallace is his next target?”

“That’s what he told Parker. We believe he’s already done something to her.” Thompson handed O’Connell his notepad, filled with the details the Jeffrieses had provided him. “We have yet to locate her. Until today, we had no way of knowing she was in danger, but his alter ego hired Parker to look for her almost a week ago. Make of that what you will.”

I wondered if Thompson was going to suggest I should have done a better job, but he didn’t.

“As far as her boss and coworkers were concerned, Sierra had been working regular hours. She never fell behind. She conference called. She e-mailed. Everything was normal,” Thompson said.

“At least we know how Kratos pulled that off. He had a skin created of Sierra that he put on top of the video calls he made and a virtual voice that mimicked hers. He tried to trick me with it, but there was a lag that resulted in a glitch,” I said. “I’m wondering if that glitch was intentional. He gave me the envelope. He’s growing impatient. He wants us to know he’s responsible for all this shit.”

“He used the same tactic to make it seem like Matthew Delyle was still alive,” Thompson said.

“What did you get from the high school?” I asked.

“We pinpointed Kratos on the footage as soon as we knew who to look for. He was careful, like he was in the restaurant where he attacked Gabriel. He always kept his head down and wore a cap and glasses. But with all the reflective surfaces at the school and in the lab, we were able to enhance one of the reflections and ID him that way.”

“So he used the school’s lab equipment to create his murder weapon,” I said.

Thompson nodded. “According to the details Cross Security provided us and what the pharmacy has told us, Kratos may be out of lethal doses of morphine by now. Concentrating Delyle’s pain patches would have reduced the number of uses.”

“And he wasted five of them on Delyle when he was testing things out.”

“Exactly.”

That was the good and bad of it. But now Kratos would have to find other methods of attacking his victims.

O’Connell watched our back and forth like a tennis match. “Do we have any idea where he is now?”

“No.” Thompson sunk into his chair.

“Cross Security is working on it,” I said, “so is Bastian.”

Heathcliff eyed me. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Mercer and his team aren’t coming here,” I said. “At least not yet.”

“Are we thinking Kratos has taken Sierra hostage?” Heathcliff scanned the notes on the board, but that had never been a theory.

“That’s not why she called them.” O’Connell cursed in pain when he leaned forward to grab a pen. “What are you thinking, Parker?”

I didn’t want to say it because I didn’t want it to be true. But there was a good chance when we found Sierra, if we found her, that she was already dead and had been for a while. “Sierra supposedly left Kratos about three weeks ago. We can place her at the hardware store where she and her husband fought. I’m pretty sure she met up with her father at some point after that.”

“She did,” Thompson said. “He helped her get set up at the efficiency. He gave me the dates and times, which still need to be verified. That was the same day she walked out of the hardware store. He stopped by to see her once after that, which was eight days ago.”

“We’ll assume those dates are accurate at this point.” O’Connell narrowed his eyes at the board, as if searching for answers that were hidden among the mess. “But no one has seen her in person since.”

“Amanda Denning, her best friend, hasn’t seen her in almost a month,” Heathcliff said.

“We pulled security footage from her apartment building and the surrounding area.” Thompson checked to see if there were any updates on that, but shook his head. “They’re still reviewing the footage and hoping to establish a timeline.”

“Kratos could have altered the footage,” O’Connell said. “He could have wiped Sierra off of it.”

“She hasn’t been there in at least a day, probably longer. She had a coffee cup beside her computer. If you can find out when and where she placed that order, that may be our best bet of determining her last known whereabouts,” I said.

“We’ll get on that,” Heathcliff said.

O’Connell met my eyes. “You think Kratos was getting impatient, that we were taking too long identifying him?”

“He wants to play with us. That’s why he traipsed into Cross Security and hired me to find his wife. It’s why he left the envelope for me, knowing I would recognize it, and it may be why he said that shit about marriage the night I was supposed to meet Martin. He wants us to chase him,” I said.

“That seems counterintuitive,” Heathcliff said, “after he took all those precautions to hide his identity.”

“This is all part of his game,” O’Connell said. “It’s why the fingerprint was left inside the envelope he used to poison Martin and why he didn’t remove it from that obscure database which led us to his mother.” O’Connell turned to me. “Are you sure you have no idea why he’d go to this much trouble?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping Lucien might.”

“We can take it from here.”

“Are you sure? You should be home recovering.”

“I’m fine.” He tilted his head gently toward the door, so as not to aggravate his collarbones. “Go. Do what you have to. Just remember, we all want this guy. Open two-way communication. You got me?”

“I got you.” I nodded my goodbyes to Heathcliff and Thompson and went out the door. The police would find Sierra. I had to find Kratos.

Thirty-three

Every cell in my body was conflicted. What if I was wrong? What if Sierra was alive? Kratos would kill her if we didn’t get to her in time. In fact, a tainted envelope could already be in her possession if we’d miscalculated the number of pain patches he’d gotten from Matthew Delyle. That was also assuming she had left the efficiency voluntarily and had gone to stay somewhere else.

Had I ever even spoken to her? I had no way of knowing that either, given the tricks Kratos had used to clone Sierra’s voice and visage on the video call. Things used to be simpler. Surveillance footage used to be trusted. Seeing and hearing a person was one way to know they were safe. Now, it meant nothing.

The police were canvassing the apartment building where Sierra had been staying temporarily. But I didn’t expect her neighbors to have anything more helpful to say than Enid Pooley’s. How could this bastard come and go while remaining invisible?

I got up from my desk, only to sit back down. Should I look for her? I didn’t want Sierra to die. I didn’t want anyone to die. And that bastard had put it on me, on all of Cross Security, saying we had to find her in time, if not he’d come after one of us. As if we weren’t already motivated enough.

This bastard nearly killed Martin and Gabriel. Kellan and I wanted blood. So did Lucien. I didn’t think anyone else at Cross Security felt differently. We may not be that close-knit, but an attack on one of us was an attack on all of us.

Find Kratos and you’ll find Sierra, I repeated this over and over while I reworked the evidence and notes on my board. The biggest question I had was why. Why was Kratos doing this? Why did he kill his mother? Why was he intent on killing his wife? Why did he even marry Sierra in the first place?

I went back to the computer, searching for Sierra, but she’d never been a client. I looked into the streaming service where she worked, but Cross Security had never provided them with any services.

Something Amanda Denning said came to mind. Sierra had a close call with a frat guy. Amanda hadn’t gone into detail, but it sounded ominous. The only thought that came to mind was an attempted sexual assault.

Not bothering with a phone call, I opened the backdoor into the police databases and checked, but Sierra didn’t file a report. Where did she go to college?

I looked up the information and picked up the phone. Even though we were well past business hours, campus security worked twenty-four hours a day. When someone answered, I said I was consulting with the police and needed information about an old case.

“Sierra Jeffries,” the security officer read, “she filed a report against a frat house, but nothing ever came of it. She didn’t want to name the student who allegedly attacked her, so there wasn’t much we could do.”

“Attacked her? Do you know the extent of—”

“She said she got away, but the fraternity provided its members with the means and opportunity to endanger young women. Those are her words, not mine.”

“What happened to the frat house?” I asked. “Was it shut down?”

“I brought her report to the attention of the administration. They investigated the claim and the way in which the fraternity conducted itself on campus and determined there was no foul play involved. That, if anything even happened, it was a student acting on his own.”

I fought my desire to point out everything wrong with that statement. “Did you report it to the police?”

“What was there to report? She didn’t name her attacker.”

“What about a description?”

“No.”

“Did any other students come forward around the same time with similar claims?” I asked.

“Let me run the records. Hang on.”

While I waited for him to get back to me, I checked to see if Cross Security had taken on any cases involving alleged sexual assaults around the same time, but I didn’t find anything.

“There are a few reports, but I have no way of knowing if they are related.”

“Send them to me.” I gave him my contact information and hung up before picking up the phone again and waiting for someone in reception to answer. “Is Lucien back yet?” I asked.

“Not yet, Ms. Parker. I’ll let you know as soon as he is.”

“Thanks.” I put the phone down.

I was chasing a thought wisp, but I couldn’t quite figure out how it connected to Kratos. If he had been responsible for the attempted assault, Sierra would have recognized him. She never would have dated him, let alone married him. But I had to assume he chose her for a reason. Everything else he did had a reason. Was she the convenient choice, like Matthew Delyle?

Besides the possibility Kratos was jealous of his mother taking care of an injured neighbor, I couldn’t fathom what kind of animosity Kratos would have had toward Delyle. None of Delyle’s friends knew anything about any of the names we floated by them. Then again, we didn’t know all of Kratos’s aliases.

“Stop it, Parker. Occam’s razor. Simplest solutions are usually the right ones.” But nothing Kratos did was simple. None of it made sense to me, but it must have made sense to him. This couldn’t be random. He had a vendetta against Cross. He’d made that obvious with his actions and words.

That told me one thing. Kratos wanted to hurt Cross, and wherever he was, he’d be able to keep an eye on him or this investigation. Again, I thought about everyone who worked in this office. Every investigator had been at the morning meeting except Bennett Renner. We’d spoken to him on the phone, but I hadn’t seen Renner in days, not since this started.

“Fuck it.” I grabbed my keys and called Renner. If Kratos could pretend to be Sierra, I didn’t doubt he could impersonate Bennett Renner too. “Where are you?”

“Conducting surveillance,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s about as far from okay as possible. Give me an address. I’m coming to you.”

“It’s that bad?”

“I sure hope not.”

Before I could make it out of my office, my phone rang. “Ms. Parker, Mr. Cross just arrived.”

“Thanks.” I put the phone down. First Lucien, then Renner.

“Alex,” Cross unlocked his office door and went inside while I trailed behind him, “any updates?”

Everything spilled out of me like water through a sieve. “Kratos is obsessed with you. I’d say he wants to hurt you, but it’s almost like he wants to test you. He said I was the best you had. That Cross Security was supposed to be the best. Coupled with what he said to me when he showed up as Leon Wallace, how he questioned if we didn’t want his case because his money wasn’t good enough for us, I just…” I stopped. “You spoke to him face-to-face. He signed the contract. He would have left his prints on the paper, on your desk, on the pen. If we’d known, if we’d caught on, we would have known he sent the envelope to Martin.”

Cross looked concerned, as if he didn’t want to be in the blast radius when my head exploded. “He never let on. I was already suspicious of him when he walked in. I thought he could be abusive. When he seemed a little on edge, I assumed it was because of the questions I asked. The anger, the indignation, that was to be expected.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No.” Cross put on a pair of gloves and pulled the signed contract from the cabinet. “I’ll have this printed and tested for any trace. I doubt it’ll reveal anything we don’t know, but twenty-twenty hindsight.”

“He wanted you to catch on. Hell, he wanted me to catch on. But we didn’t.”

“We had no reason to,” Cross said. “We didn’t even know he was gunning for us until after those meetings.”

“Well, after the first one. You met with him after Martin was poisoned.”

Cross thought about it. “There was no connection. There was no reason to think—”

“I know. I’m not blaming you.”

“Don’t blame yourself either. He put us on tilt.” Cross stared through me. “It was a test to see how we’d react. He wondered if we’d take extra precautions, jump at shadows, take paranoid preventative measures. It was a test.”

“Maybe we should have done those things.”

“We didn’t move fast enough. We aren’t meeting his expectations.”

“He’s going to kill Sierra, if she isn’t dead already.” The thought made me queasy and a little dizzy. “I’m not sure he’s testing us. It’s more like he wants to prove we’re incapable.”

“We’re not the best,” he mused, deep in thought.

“Fuck, Lucien, I would have told him that if he asked. No one needed to die.”

“He thinks he’s the best. That’s why he’s pitting himself against us, against Cross Security. He wants to show us up. Discredit us. Prove he’s better.”

All this nonsense about who was number one was making my head spin. “You failed him,” I said.

“I what?”

“This is about you, possibly your company. He’s targeting you. He wants to hurt you. We’ve already established this.”

“I’m aware.”

“What reason would he have to do that if this wasn’t personal, if you hadn’t failed him?”

“How could I have failed him?”

“You tell me.” I took a frustrated breath, realizing I’d been forgetting to breathe. “Let’s start with unsolved cases.”

“We don’t have any.”

How was that even possible? But I didn’t ask. “What about cases you refused to take?”

“We could be here for weeks.”

“Kratos must have asked for your help, and when you said no, he tried to poke around in your servers.”

“Maybe he didn’t come to us for help. Maybe someone else did, someone connected to him.”

“Regardless, you must have turned them down or turned them away,” I nodded to the filing cabinets lining the wall, “unless you got something wrong.”

“Like what?”

“You reached the wrong conclusion. It happens to me a lot. We’re living a case in point right now.”

“Are you going to explain how this is helping us figure out where Kratos is, or are these insults just for your personal enjoyment?”

“I’m trying to figure out motive.” I grabbed a pen and pad off his desk. “We’ll say you refused to take on a client. That must have been when he first tried to hack into Cross Security.” But that didn’t make a lot of sense, unless he wanted the preliminary research Cross had done before saying no. “Scratch that. More than likely, it’s a case you solved.” I put air quotes around solved. “He would have wanted to see your notes, your research, figure out how you reached the wrong conclusion. He probably put up a fight when you gave him your report.”

“Half our clients fight us on what we determine, but again, he was never a client.”

I ignored his insistence. Kratos changed identities as often as people changed clothes. “I don’t think this would have been an adultery case. Then again, his comment on marriage and all this shit with Sierra could indicate otherwise, but he’s young. I doubt he was married before.”

“Which version of him?” Cross asked.

I rocked back in the chair, cursing to myself. Closing my eyes, every thought, every theory, every piece of evidence swirled through my brain. “Sierra was attacked in college. She may have been the victim of a sexual assault, or she came close to it.”

Cross leaned forward. “I’ve looked into a few cases involving colleges, but she was never a client.” He went to the filing cabinet and unlocked the bottom drawer.

“Kratos picked Sierra to be his wife for a reason.”

The look in Cross’s eye told me he had a theory. He entered a few names from the files into his computer and did a quick comparison. “I don’t see any connections between these clients and Sierra. But I wonder…” He jotted down a note. “Jade helped at a few shelters here before she moved away. If Sierra had been attacked, she may have gone there for counseling or free legal advice. Those were services provided to anyone who’d been the victim of domestic or sexual abuse. It was all supposed to be kept private.”

Thoughts of Lucien’s phone call which Justin and I had interrupted came to mind. “You were speaking to Jade the other day. It sounded like something was wrong.”

“Yeah.”

“Lucien, could it be connected?”

A protective fire burned in his eyes. “It better not be.” He jotted down a note before his pointer finger drummed a beat beside the pad. “If it is, I will fucking kill this bastard.”

No wonder Lt. Moretti wondered when a body would turn up. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not yet. Jade’s in Colorado. She should be far enough away to remain safe, but I will call Will Russo as soon as our meeting is over and have him send Nero and Omar to make sure.”

“He could have sent something in the mail,” I said.

“Don’t you think I fucking know that?” Lucien looked like he was about to come untethered, which is exactly how I’d been feeling. He was right. Kratos had us on tilt. “Let’s get back to it. What else do you have?”

“He killed his mother.”

“And now he’s gunning for his wife. He’s a misogynist. He hates women.”

“I don’t think so. He killed Matthew Delyle. His mother had something to do with that. He had her shoot O’Connell before he shot her. Nothing indicated she’d been physically abused. She may have been in fear for her life, but Kratos did not beat her. The way she spoke about him, she doted on him. She wasn’t bitter. She wasn’t angry.”

“Alex—”

“Just wait.” I held up my hand, feeling a breakthrough was close. “He stayed with his mom, even though another version of himself was married.”

“I don’t think he and Sierra have a very good marriage.”

I gave him a sharp look, and just like that, it was gone. Whatever I was chasing had slipped away. I wanted to cry or scream. “Sierra didn’t know about his mother.”

“As far as her family is concerned, Leon Wallace had no living relatives. He was an orphan who took out of town jobs on the weekends.”

“Bastian said Kratos has been in and out of different databases. He reviewed birth certificates and adoption records.” And then it clicked. “How much do you want to bet Enid Pooley wasn’t his biological mother?”

Cross reached for the phone. “I need the DNA comparison we ran against Enid Pooley, and I need it now.”

Thirty-four

While we waited, Cross made the calls he needed to ensure Jade’s safety. I just hoped that doing so wasn’t somehow playing into Kratos’s hand. At this point, I wouldn’t put anything past the bastard.

“Did he poison my coffee?” I asked when Cross had finished his own personal doomsday prep.

“No. The cup you gave us to test was clean.”

“What about the letter he wrote to Sierra?”

“It wasn’t tainted either. The text was perfunctory. It was a half-hearted apology, begging her to come back. It didn’t give anything away.” Cross brought up the scanned image and let me read it. There were no hidden clues or messages. “The envelope was the clue. That was what was meant to tip you off. The rest I’m guessing is meant to cover his ass. He’s laying down clues that could be interpreted in a variety of ways, ways that make him appear innocent.”

“I’ve already thought of this,” I said. “But that’s only if we find him and the police arrest him.”

“He wants to have a defense, something that would confuse a jury if nothing else.”

“Decisions would have to be unanimous.”

“He’s establishing doubt.”

Amir entered with the reports Cross requested. “I had to gather everything the PD collected. The DNA on the toast in Enid Pooley’s kitchen didn’t match her DNA. We were able to match it to the flatware you took off the table in the Mexican restaurant. Neither shows any familial links to Enid Pooley.”

“That’s why Kratos killed her. Enid Pooley wasn’t his mother,” I said. “That’s why he tried to keep us from getting his DNA. It’s why everything was wiped down. It even explains the new sheets and the plastic on the bed. He didn’t want us to know.”

“I’m not sure why it matters,” Cross said. “His DNA isn’t in the database. He’s never been convicted of a crime or even suspected of one.”

“She’s not his mother,” I said again, letting it sink in, “but everything we found on them indicates she is. There’s even a birth certificate.”

“It could have been faked.” Cross reached for the phone again.

“But we found it in an official database.”

“It would have taken someone with wicked skills to make that happen, but it is possible.”

“Kratos has those skills.”

“I doubt he had them when he was four years old and she first enrolled him in school. Someone else did this.”

“I’ll ask Mark and Bastian to look into it.” Between the FBI and my own private elite hacker, someone would figure this out.

“I’ll make some calls too,” Cross promised. “But that explains why she let him redefine himself in high school. She couldn’t risk drawing any attention to whatever it was she’d done.”

“She’s not his mother.” I had to latch onto that fact before I lost sight of the forest for the trees. “How did she get him? Could she have been a surrogate? It would explain the birth certificate. It wasn’t a fake. It was just wrong.”

“Amir, look into it,” Cross said to the man who hadn’t spoken since we started theorizing.

“I’ll get on it.” Amir left without another word.

“I’m guessing you already looked into this, Lucien.”

“You think he came to me about a child abduction and I dismissed him?”

“Maybe you passed it off to the police or another PI firm. Maybe you didn’t find anything because it all looked legit.”

“I don’t remember ever looking into any of this. I’m sure I would have remembered the names if nothing else.”

“Maybe it wasn’t you personally, or the client didn’t provide you with the proper details. Maybe he came to you with hypotheticals.”

“We’ve checked all Kratos’s aliases against our databases. As far as we know, Kratos has never stepped foot inside this building until he became Leon Wallace.”

“But we don’t know for sure. It’s also possible his real parents tried to hire you to find him and you turned them down.”

“That doesn’t explain why he threatened to kill Sierra. How does she factor into any of this?” He pointed a finger at me. “Do not say she’s his sister. This is not a daytime soap opera.”

“I think she connects to you or Jade.”

Cross ran a hand through his hair. “Unfortunately, I think you might be right. He’s been coming after people we care about. Finding someone connected to Jade would be a kick in the balls.”

I didn’t want to remind him of Kratos’s other warning, that someone else would die if we didn’t get to Sierra in time. Lucien would assume Jade was the target, which she might be, but it’d distract him more than he already was. The attack against Martin left me compromised. We were too distracted. This is why I feared Kratos would win.

“We still need to figure out who Kratos is now that we know he isn’t Enid Pooley’s biological child.” I reached for my phone. “I’ll see what O’Connell can dig up on child abduction cases involving surrogates.”

“You want him to look through almost thirty-year-old case files?”

“He’s stuck behind a desk. It wouldn’t hurt.”

“More than likely, if Enid Pooley disappeared during her surrogacy, she would have had to relocate, change her name, her looks, the whole shebang.”

“Which is why she allegedly has no relatives and why her friends and coworkers don’t seem to know much about her. She had to keep things quiet. She was afraid she’d get caught.” I rolled my shoulders. “I’ll put Bastian on this. He’s our best bet.”

“No offense to the former SAS, but I’ll put our people on this too,” Cross said. “However, Cross Security wasn’t in business twenty-eight years ago when all of this was happening, so I don’t see how it connects to what we’re dealing with now.”

“Kratos must have waited until he was at least eighteen before seeking help. He must have known he’d been lied to most of his life, which could be why he keeps reinventing himself since he doesn’t know who he is.”

“That was ten years ago. I was working on Wall Street then.”

“So he waited until he was twenty-one to ask for help, and no one did anything to help him. He’d never been able to find the information himself, despite his mad skills, despite all the practice he had.”

“And Cross Security was supposed to be the best.” Cross cursed. “I’ll dig through everything we have, but I don’t think we’re going to find some long forgotten case.”

“We still need to find Sierra,” I said. “If we don’t, she’s dead, and someone else will be next.”

“The police can handle it. You know I stay out of murder investigations.”

“You think we’re too late to save her.”

Cross gave me a grim look. “We need to find him and stop him before he strikes again. Phone whoever you want, then call it a night. There’s nothing else to do until we have more information. Right now, we are running hot and totally blind. We need to take a breath and regroup.”

There were a million things to do, but I understood my boss’s point. So I dialed Bastian, filled him in on our latest theory and apologized for treating him like a yo-yo, then I left Mark a voicemail, begging for whatever assistance the OIO and FBI could provide, before dialing O’Connell and updating him on the situation. I would have called Thompson, but since O’Connell had gotten shot because of this, he deserved to hear the news directly from me.

Once all of that was done, I went to meet Renner. He’d dropped a pin, which made it easier for me to find him. The Cross Security company cars were silver and a common model. The point was to make it easier for us to blend in, but I spotted it immediately.

However, parking the exact same car behind it wouldn’t be a good idea, so I parked half a block away and made my way to him, keeping my head on a swivel. I couldn’t be too careful. This could be a trap, something Kratos had designed or orchestrated, but when I got to Renner’s car, I spotted him behind the wheel. He leaned across, unlocked my door, and brushed the empty takeout bag onto the floor.

“You’re okay,” I said, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He cocked an eyebrow, but he kept his eyes on the viewfinder of the camera he had aimed at the nearest office building. “Did something happen? You didn’t sound so good on the phone.”

“This Kratos mess is getting to me.” I told him about how Kratos had faked my conversation with Sierra.

He chuckled. “You were worried about me.”

“I’m worried about everyone.”

“How is O’Connell?” Renner asked. “I plan to stop by and see him as soon as I finish this up.”

“Nick’s okay. He’s back at work, desk duty only. He doesn’t want to sit this one out.”

“I don’t blame him. If I were in his shoes, I’d want to make sure the bastard got caught.”

I closed my eyes and rested my head against the seatback. The theories, the evidence, the intel continued to flash beneath my eyelids. “Any idea where Sierra might be?”

“I’m the least qualified person to ask. I’ve been doing internal audits in between this shit.” He nodded to the building.  

“You went through Lucien’s case files.”

“The ones he sent me.”

“Did you find anything?”

“That’s why you’re here. You were hoping I’d give you dirt on the boss.”

“You investigated him when you were a cop. He’s always been on your radar. Unlike the rest of us, you’d see a red flag a mile away.”

“I didn’t see this one coming. I don’t think anyone could have.”

“Kratos must have crossed paths with Lucien before.”

“Maybe it didn’t happen at the office.”

“Lucien says he doesn’t remember.”

“Do you remember every person you’ve spoken to at a bar or conference? When I was a cop, I used to get it a lot more. I’d be at a dinner party or at a gathering at one of my ex’s friend’s houses. Inevitably, I’d get introduced as a homicide detective or get asked what I did for a living, and then it would start. Sometimes, they wanted to hear crazy stories, which were always fun to tell, or they’d tell me their neighbor or boss or whoever might be a serial killer.”

“I bet at least one of them was right,” I said.

“Only if they were murdering Capt. Crunch.” Renner snapped a few photos, examined the viewfinder, and went back to his story. “Sometimes, they’d ask legal questions, hypotheticals about if they could be charged with murder under xyz conditions.”

“Those might be red flags.”

“When I first started out, I thought they were. You don’t want to know how many background checks I ran and how much off-the-books surveillance I conducted. Come to think of it, that may have had something to do with why things didn’t work out between me and the missus.” He laughed a little to himself. “Anyway, I’m sure you can relate.”

“I can.”

“I bet Lucien can too.”

“So you think Kratos approached him outside the office?”

“I have no idea, Parker. But it’s another angle to pursue.”

“Except there’s no feasible way to pursue it. We’d have to narrow down the timeline, which I’m guessing would be around the time of Kratos’s first attempt to infiltrate the Cross Security servers.”

“Sounds like you already have it narrowed.”

“Then we’d have to figure out every place Lucien went when he wasn’t at work, which would lead to a dead end. No footage would still exist. No one would remember any of this.”

“I didn’t say it was a good idea,” Renner said. When the silence dragged for too long, he asked, “What are you thinking?”

“We don’t need to retrace Lucien’s steps. We need to trace Kratos’s.”

“Brilliant, but how are you going to do that?”

“I don’t know.”

After leaving Renner to his surveillance, I considered revisiting the efficiency, but the police cars outside the building told me that was a waste. By now, they’d pulled footage from every camera in the vicinity, spoken to the neighbors, and were searching for any clues we may have missed. If they’d found something, I would have heard about it.

I’d been inside the efficiency three times. There was nothing to find. The only clue was the coffee cup. That particular chain had two dozen shops in the city. I ducked into the one closest to the efficiency and spoke to the baristas.

“Do any of you know Sierra Wallace?” I asked, showing them her photo.

“The police came by earlier,” she said. “She doesn’t look familiar.”

The cup I’d seen beside Sierra’s computer didn’t have a name, but it had the order marked. “What about a half-caff, soy milk, with two pumps of vanilla bean?” I thought about the cup size. “Twenty ounce. Iced.”

“Um…” The barista exchanged looks with her two coworkers. “I guess we could go through the order history, but it’s going to take a while. We get hundreds of orders every day.”

“You can’t just search?” I asked.

She stared at me like I’d suggested she ask a magical, talking unicorn for the answers. “The system doesn’t work that way, and I could get in trouble for doing it. It’ll take hours. I’d have to do it after we close.” She wanted money.

Despite this being a long shot, I pulled a hundred dollars and a business card out of my wallet. After writing my cell number on the back, I handed her both. “I’m going to need to know the exact time and date the order was placed, and I’m going to need the corresponding security cam footage to go with it.” I nodded to the camera posted above her head. “And whatever payment information you have on the person who placed the order. When I come back to get the footage, I’ll bring Mr. Benjamin here a few of his twin brothers to keep him company.”

The barista stared at the hundred dollar bill before nodding. “No problem. I’m glad I could help you out.”

“If I don’t hear from you by the morning, I’ll be back with friends, and they’ll have uniforms and court orders.”

“No worries,” she said. “If someone placed that order, we’ll find it.”

Thirty-five

The Cross Security vehicles remained parked outside Martin’s estate. The town car in the garage told me he was home, that everyone was here, just like they’d been ever since the night of the attack. I went up the stairs, wondering if coming home was a good idea. I should have stayed at the office or went back to the precinct. Surely, there was something I could be doing to find Sierra before it was too late, if it wasn’t already.

When I pushed open the door at the top of the steps, I was surprised to find Martin lying on the couch with no one else in sight. Martin didn’t move from his spot, but he turned his head to look at me. Fear gripped my insides. He had his doctor’s appointment today.

Play it cool, Parker. Play it cool. “Hey,” I went to him, dropping my things on the chair, “where is everyone?”

“Jones turned the downstairs home office into the security center. Everyone’s in there.” Martin gave me a worried look. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you. How did your appointment go? I should have texted. I meant to, but things—” I sucked in a sharp breath, feeling shaky and a little panicky. None of that mattered now. The only thing that mattered was Martin. “How are you? Are you okay?” I knelt on the floor in front of him, finding his usual bright green eyes dull and dark.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

He brushed my hair behind my ear before rubbing my cheek with his thumb. “It’s no big deal.”

“You’re watching a cooking show, Martin. It’s a very big deal. What’s wrong? What did he say?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine.” If he said it one more time, I’d believe it even less. “I was told to take it easy for the next week or two, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“You’re taking it easy? You don’t know how to take it easy.”

“I’m trying.” He scooted backward, making a space on the cushion in front of him and giving it a pat. “Why don’t you lie down with me for a while? We could both practice taking it easy.”

I ran a hand through my hair, leaning away from him. “Did you eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Are you supposed to eat? Not supposed to eat? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here.”

“Sweetheart, hey,” Martin sat up, gently taking my face in his hands, “look at me. I’m okay. I told you that. I feel great, almost perfect. But not quite perfect. That’s why I was told to take it easy, so I can get back to perfect. You know how much I like being perfect.”

“Martin, I’m serious.”

He gave me a gentle kiss. “I know. The doctor said there’s no permanent damage, but symptoms can linger. The better I take care of myself and the more rest I get, the faster I should recover. So that’s what I’m doing.”

“What symptoms? Is there more you haven’t told me?” Most of our relationship involved half-truths and omissions.

“No.” He shook his head for added emphasis.

“Pretend I haven’t been paying attention,” I said. “What are your symptoms?”

“My stomach’s not quite right and I can’t quite shake this headache. It’s really not a big deal. The doctor compared it to recovering from a bad cold. It takes time. There’s nothing to do but get rest, fluids, and proper nutrition, y’know the usual things.”

“Are you taking off work?”

He laughed. “Let’s not get crazy. But I’m going to try to cutback. Work nine to four, and leave work at work. Hence, cooking shows.”

While what he said should have been good news, finding Martin watching TV wasn’t something I was used to seeing, and it scared me. I’d already been frenzied before I stepped foot inside. Now the panic was closer to the surface, even though I knew it shouldn’t have been. I needed to do something to get ahead of it, to tamp it down before it buried me.

“Let me make you dinner,” I said. “You have to eat. Proper nutrition, right?”

“I appreciate the thought, but I really don’t want anything.”

“Every time I’ve said that, it’s never stopped you. Whenever I’m hurt or sick, you always make me dinner. It’s about time I return the favor, handsome.” I got off the floor, but he grabbed my hand.

“If you want to return the favor, lie down with me.”

“Martin, I have to do something. I need to do something.”

He could see it in my eyes. “Fine, go make us something to eat, and I’ll keep your spot warm. But pick something you like. I didn’t think to bring you dinner home.”

“I am capable of fending for myself.”

“Really? Are you sure?” he teased.

“I’m making soup,” I said, ignoring him. That would keep me focused and distracted from the encroaching terror.

“Okay, but we don’t have any cans so...”

“I can make soup that doesn’t come in a can, Martin.”

His green eyes twinkled. “We don’t have instant ramen or that powdered stuff that you add water to either.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

“I’ll be here all week.”

You better be. But I didn’t say it. It was too real, and we weren’t doing that now. “Like I said, I’m going to make soup. Do you have a preference?”

“Sweetheart, we can order out. Marcal will pick it up for us. Whatever you want. Soup, pasta, pizza, tacos, whatever.”

I was going to ask if he had a craving for something specific that wasn’t soup, but I could see it in his eyes. He had no desire to eat and didn’t want me to go to the trouble for nothing. But he had to eat, so I’d make him something that would be gentle on his stomach. “I’m cooking, Martin. I know how to do it. I just don’t like to do it very often. But your cooking show has inspired me. It looks like fun. See?” I pointed to the screen where a chef was mixing something in a fancy stand mixer.

“You are not playing with the mixer.”

I eyed the counters in the kitchen. “You have a stand mixer?” I went into the kitchen and opened and closed every cabinet. “Have you been hiding it from me this entire time?”

“Sweetheart, you don’t need the stand mixer to make soup.”

“So you have been hiding it.”

“There are a lot of buttons and attachments.”

“Are you telling me it’s in the bedroom?”

“I thought you were opposed to buttons and attachments in the bedroom.” He gave me a wicked look. “If you’ve changed your mind, a shopping trip is in order.”

“I have not.” I followed his gaze to the pantry and opened the door. On the top shelf was an oddly shaped item protected by a blue cover. Beneath the cover was the stand mixer. “Ha. I found it.” Though, I’d been playing along, those words caused a stabbing pain in my chest. If only I could find Sierra and stop Kratos.

“Do you need help?” Martin asked, leaning over the back of the couch so he could watch me.

I left the mixer where it was, grabbed a carton of broth from the pantry, and closed the door. “I got it. You’re relaxing, remember?” I checked the fridge and freezer twice before grabbing the recipe box Martin kept on the counter. “Remember that soup you made when I couldn’t stomach much of anything, what was that called?”

“Vegetable soup.”

“No, it was different. It had more liquid and those little stars in it.”

“I doubled the broth and added some pasta.”

“Did you learn that from watching a cooking show?”

“It’s called common sense.”

I tried to focus, ignoring the increased thumping in my chest. “Hey, have you ever thought of adding cereal to soup? I bet that’d be a good use of those boring Os and flakes you buy. It’s not like putting them in soup could make them any worse, though it could ruin the soup, I guess.”

“I’ll pass, but feel free to try it,” he teased.

“Y’know, they make much tastier cereals for a reason.”

“You mean the ones you like with cartoon characters and toys inside the boxes.”

“Tastier and much more fun. Don’t you think you could use more fun in your life?” The edges of my vision started to blur, but I blinked back the darkness and ignored the way my hands shook as I flipped through the cards until I found the recipe. Since Martin hadn’t gotten up to assist, he mustn’t have felt well, but he’d never admit such a thing. That thought gnawed at me as I repeated my search of the cabinets and fridge, collecting ingredients as I went.

Martin grinned. “That sounds like a challenge. I’m up for as much fun as you can throw at me.”

“You’re recovering,” I muttered.

“I can do both.”

“Prove it by eating your soup first,” I said. This is what I needed. A project. Something tangible that I could do that would fix things. That thought made me gasp, the panic getting closer. But I forced it down, piled the ingredients on the counter, and went to work washing and peeling the vegetables.

I chopped everything, letting out some of the nervous energy with every slice of the knife. The cutting grew faster and more frenzied. Luckily, my fingers survived the shaky strokes.

I tossed everything into the pressure cooker, poured the container of broth into the pot, and sealed the lid. Once the timer was set, I cleaned the kitchen, hoping the familiar task of washing dishes would calm me, but it didn’t.

“I’m impressed, Alexis,” Martin said.

“You know I’m capable of cooking. Though, this was more washing and chopping. Next time, I’m making something that requires the mixer. Ooh, maybe mashed potatoes.”

He could hear it in my voice or see it in my eyes. “Whatever you want, Alex,” he said softly.

Flashes of Martin bleeding out ran on repeat through my head, combined with images of him recovering in a hotel suite afterward. This felt the same. I couldn’t stop him from getting hurt then. I couldn’t stop this now. And I didn’t think I’d be able to save Sierra either.

My heart pounded so fast and hard against my sternum it made my entire body jerk. “One minute,” I gasped before leaving the kitchen and hurrying to my room. By the time I got there, I couldn’t breathe.

I barely got the door closed before I dropped to the floor. Everything had grown dark. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t see. It was too much. I couldn’t lose him, but I had no way to protect him. I hated it. I hated feeling helpless. First, Martin. Now, Sierra. It wasn’t fair.

I curled into the fetal position, pulling my knees to my chest and hugging them while I rocked a little back and forth and tried to suck in some oxygen before I passed out. I had to pull it together. I couldn’t let Martin see me like this. He didn’t need to stress out. I had to be okay for him.

You’re okay, Parker, the voice in my head said. But other memories tried to drag me deeper into the fear and despair. Stop it. I balled my hands so tightly into fists my fingernails bit into my palms. I squeezed harder, focusing on that until my vision cleared.

Once it did, I sat up and took several deep breaths. Box breathing was supposed to calm me. I’d never been able to get that to work, but I tried anyway, counting on the inhales, the holding, and the exhales. I ran through the other exercises, using my other senses to ground myself in the here and now.

Martin was okay. But I knew that was only because we’d gotten lucky. We’d gotten lucky every time, which meant our luck was bound to run out soon. And when it did, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

“Alex, are you okay?” Martin called.

“One minute.” Pull it together, Parker.

After splashing cold water on my face, I returned to the kitchen. Martin peered at me from the couch. He had never moved, which made the tightness in my chest that much tighter, but I was holding the fear at bay for now.

“The soup won’t be ready for at least a half hour.” He patted the cushion beside him. “Come here, sweetheart. We can get a jump start on that fun you mentioned. After all, I’ve missed you.”

I fought to keep my chin from trembling. That man could break me without ever realizing it. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy. You should retire your man of steel act for now.”

“Funny, the doctor didn’t say anything about that.”

“Did you ask?”

“He said I should do whatever I feel up to doing.” He stuck out his bottom lip, giving me sad puppy dog eyes. “Alex, please. No funny business or superhero impersonations, I promise. Just cooking shows and cartoons. I’ll even let you hold the remote.”

“That sounds dirty.”

He winked. “Fine, the TV remote.”

I moved closer to the couch. “Is this what you watch when you aren’t watching the DOW scroll across the screen?”

“Sometimes.”

I kicked off my shoes and lay down beside him. “I’ve never seen you watch a cooking show before. Do you do it in secret so you can impress me with your mad kitchen skills?”

“That’s exactly what I do.” He wrapped his arms around me. The look on his face said he knew something was wrong. “Are you okay?”

How did he always know? “Yeah, why?” At least I knew better than to say I was fine. That was a dead giveaway. Pun not intended.

He kissed my neck, checking my pulse with his lips. But he didn’t say anything about my racing heart. “You’re vibrating.”

“Vibrating? Are you sure that isn’t your phone or my phone? Is this about the attachments and buttons? Because you said no funny business.”

“No.” He was serious now. “It’s you, sweetheart.” He pressed his hand against my solar plexus, feeling my rapid breathing and pulse coupled with my shaky nerves. “What’s going on? You can talk to me about anything, Alexis. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Maybe I drank a triple shot with a few energy drink chasers.”

“I was informed that’s not a good idea.” He brushed my hair back, hoping to get me to look him in the eye, but I wouldn’t. “Talk to me. Did something happen?”

“I worry about you.” I forced the lump down my throat. “The thought of something happening to you…I don’t want to think about it.”

He kissed my temple. “Ditto.”

Thirty-six

I opened my eyes to the sound of my vibrating phone. “It’s not me. It’s the phone,” I said.

Martin laughed softly, his warm breath tickling my neck. “I can’t believe we fell asleep on the couch.”

“Yeah, but you feel perfectly fine.” I stroked his cheek. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Then don’t lie to me.” The look in his eyes told me he knew about my earlier panic attack.

Turning away, I grabbed my phone from the side table, but I didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

“Ms. Parker, this is Sara from the coffee shop. I went through all the orders, but I didn’t find any that matched the order you gave me.”

“Did you check orders from the day before?” The cup may have been sitting on Sierra’s table longer than I realized.

“I checked every order for the entire week. It’s the double pump of vanilla bean. No one orders vanilla bean. Usually, they just order vanilla or sugar-free. The vanilla bean is a specialty syrup we only stock on occasion. Mostly, around the holidays. We just happened to have it now because it’s an ingredient in the limited time matcha blend.”

Part of me wondered if she was lying because what I asked turned out to be too much work. “Yeah, all right. Thanks for checking.” After hanging up, I sent a text to Thompson telling him what I’d done and what the results were. If he wanted to look into it himself, I wouldn’t stop him. But with so many other locations, I had to assume the coffee had come from a different shop.

“Dammit.” I squeezed the bridge of my nose and paced the living room. The light coming from the office down the hallway reminded me we weren’t alone. I looked at Martin, who had turned off the TV and was ready to go back to sleep in a real bed. Muscle memory urged me to get back to work, but I didn’t want to leave him. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I will do whatever you need me to do. I can stay. Ask me to stay. Tell me you need me here.”

He looked a bit more alert. “What’s going on?”

“A woman may be in danger, or she may already be dead. I don’t know. Everything I’ve done on this case, looking for who did this to you, it was all a waste of time. The bastard was right under our noses from the start, from before the start, and now, we have no idea where he could be.” The panic had turned into a desperate plea, an explanation that probably made no sense.

“Who was on the phone?”

“A lead that didn’t pan out.”

“You want to go back to work,” Martin squinted at the clock, “at 3:24 in the morning.” He looked so tired, his eyes dark and sunken in. The way he flinched at the lights indicated the degree of his headache.

“It can wait. It’s the middle of the night. Let’s go up to bed.”

Martin fixed me with a hard stare. “No. I’m going to bed. You’re going to the office. I told you I’m okay. Someone else needs you more than I do. Just come home safe, all right?”

“Will you be all right?”

“I’m always all right.”

“That’s my line, handsome.”

He moved closer and kissed me. “This reminds me of our first kiss. It took place in this exact spot at almost the same time of night. I know you’ve been drawing parallels since you found me on the floor.” Before I could deny it, he said, “I know because I’ve been doing the same. But this isn’t that. Now go find this son of a bitch.”

*       *       *

Since the coffee shop near Sierra’s efficiency couldn’t point me to Sierra or Kratos, I drove around, hoping to come up with some way of locating her. We’d tried the usual methods. Her phone was turned off. The last location it pinged was in the vicinity of her apartment. The police had gone to her house, the one she shared with a psychopath, but there was no sign of her or Kratos.

However, since I hadn’t been there yet, I found myself standing on the threshold while the patrol unit which had been stationed outside kept an eye on me. After gloving up, I went inside. The house looked like what you’d see on a sitcom. Not too cluttered, but cluttered enough. The kitchen was in a state of disarray. Swatches of all sorts covered the table and counter. A few had even been taped to the wall.

The police had searched every inch of this place, but Kratos had plenty of time to clean up. Every surface had been wiped. The toothbrush in the bathroom was brand new. Everything that Kratos would have used as Leon Wallace had been replaced, so no one would think twice. Only forensics could prove it was a lie, like the rest of Kratos’s life.

By now, I wondered why he went through the trouble. We had his DNA. We had his fingerprints. Why did it matter?

It’s all part of the challenge, I thought. He wanted to make it as difficult as possible for Cross Security to find out who he was, even though I believed that was the one thing he wanted more than anything else. Maybe the BAU would have better luck figuring out this guy because nothing he did made any sense to me.

I searched everything, but I didn’t find any clues. Sierra had cleared out most of her things. What she left behind didn’t inform on where she was or where she could be. Her parents had no idea where she’d go if she’d fled the efficiency, and her best friend hadn’t been much help either.

But I didn’t think Sierra had fled. Kratos had taken her. I just didn’t know where they’d go.

I went by her workplace. Since it wasn’t even six a.m. yet, traffic was light. No one was around. The building remained open, which surprised me. After speaking to security, who assured me Sierra hadn’t been to the office in almost a month and they hadn’t seen Kratos, I detoured to the nearest coffee shop.

They hadn’t opened their doors yet, but the workers had already arrived to get ready for the day ahead. I knocked on the glass, holding up my PI license like it was a police badge.

A scraggly guy came to the door. “We aren’t open yet.”

“I know. I was curious if you have vanilla bean syrup. I didn’t see a sign for that matcha thing in the window.”

“We ran out two weeks ago. You can try the one two blocks over. They should still have it.” He tried to close the door.

“No vanilla bean syrup either?”

“Sorry.”

“Thanks.” I got back into my car. The drink didn’t come from here, which meant Sierra hadn’t stopped here to get a coffee on the way to the office, only to get sidetracked or intercepted by Kratos.

She hadn’t been to work. She hadn’t been to her parents’ house. Amanda swore she never went to see her. Sierra’s financial activity had ceased, but I’d looked over the places she normally frequented. Lucien had texted me to say he was looking into them too, and the police would be doing the same. In fact, that would have been one of the first things they would have done.

My gut said Sierra wasn’t hiding. Kratos had her, and he knew what the police would do. He had everything planned, including the dripping faucet in Delyle’s apartment. He wouldn’t want the cops to find her. That bastard wanted me to do it.

The only clue he’d given me besides the envelope was the coffee he’d ordered for me. The lab had assured me it hadn’t been poisoned. It looked innocent enough, something to throw us off the scent and convince me he wasn’t the man we’d been hunting.

But that was a mind game. He ordered the coffee, my particular choice of coffee, just to tip me off. My blood ran cold. Maybe I was delusional on account of the early hour, but I could almost bet the order he placed for himself before leaving that coffee shop was the same concoction as the half-finished cup at Sierra’s apartment.

“Run the cup for DNA,” I said to Thompson’s voicemail. “To be clear, I’m talking about the coffee from Sierra’s apartment. I want to know if she drank out of it. My guess, that bastard did instead. I’m not sure if he left it when he took Sierra, or if he came back later to plant it. But that coffee cup has to be a clue. He probably avoided leaving prints, but check for DNA anyway. Let me know what you find.”

By the time I pulled up to the coffee shop where I’d been instructed to meet Leon the previous day, the worker inside had flipped on the open sign. A couple of cars were waiting in the drive-thru, but no one had gone in to grab breakfast yet.

I parked in the nearest empty space, which remained plentiful at this time of day, and hopped out of the car. My earlier worries about Kratos monitoring the camera feeds remained in the back of my mind, but I needed answers. If he was watching, so be it. I couldn’t do anything to change that or control it.

“What’ll it be?” a man I didn’t recognize from the other day asked.

I explained who I was, that I was working with the police, and a woman’s life was in danger. “I believe a man came in here and placed two separate orders. He also left an envelope for me.” I gave him the details from the cup.

“What time do you think this was?”

“I can give you an approximate.”

“Just give me one second.” He tapped on the touchscreen before scrolling backward. “Yeah, I see it here. The order was placed at 10:52.”

“How did he pay?”

“Cash.”

I cursed, even though that was to be expected. “I need the corresponding security cam footage and anything else you may be able to tell me.”

The guy examined the screen for a few more seconds. “That’s all I have. He didn’t have a loyalty card, so there’s no way to identify him.”

“The footage,” I repeated.

“Right.” He eyed the person who walked in behind me. “I’ll be with you in a minute, sir.”

“Show me where you keep it, and I can figure it out,” I said.

He gave me another uncertain look, but the door opened again. This time, several people entered. “Yeah, okay, but the police already collected copies of the footage.”

Cross Security had done the same, but I didn’t feel the need to share that tidbit with him. We didn’t have the time narrowed down like we did now.

He led me to a back room and pointed to the security system. “Good luck figuring that out.”

“No problem.” I glanced at the four different monitors, figuring out where the cameras were and what they covered. I scrolled back and waited. Again, Kratos wore a cap and glasses, but when he placed the orders, his face was right on the screen. Well, Leon Wallace’s face. I watched him collect his coffee and head to a table.

I switched to a different camera, where he sipped from the cup and checked the time every few minutes. He didn’t want me to meet him, but this was part of the game. Everything he did was for show.

As Leon Wallace, he played his part. He wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t acting suspicious. He was behaving like a man who had places to be and not a lot of time to waste. If presented to a jury, these details would play in his favor. Anyone who pursued him would look like they had been on a witch hunt. Maybe that’s why he took so much care with everything he did.

At 11:08, he got up from the table and waited in line at the counter again. Once he made it to the front of the line, he handed the barista the envelope and spoke to her. Then he handed her what looked like a twenty. Kratos proceeded to drain the rest of his coffee in view of the camera and drop it into the trash can on his way out. He wanted us to know the cup in Sierra’s efficiency which contained the exact same order as the one he placed today could not have been left by him that day. But I already knew that. The cup had been there the day before when Thompson and I first tried to pay her a visit. But that was Kratos’s order.

I switched to the last camera that provided coverage, but he walked out and turned left down the sidewalk. I needed more footage. I had no idea how often Kratos frequented this coffee shop. Given how busy it was, I wasn’t sure if the guy working the counter would remember him as a regular. So I scanned the footage from the previous day.

Around ten, Kratos showed up and placed the same order for a coffee with the double pump of vanilla bean. I scrolled back to the day before that. I didn’t spot him. I tried the day before that. He showed up two hours earlier. And the day before that it was closer to lunchtime when he popped his head in. That was his drink order. He didn’t leave it at Sierra’s as an oversight. He left it as his calling card.

“You son of a bitch.”

I thanked the guy behind the counter before squeezing my way through the line of people flooding the entrance and went outside. Cross had collected footage from the area, so I called the office and shared my findings. “I need to know where he came from or where he goes after he visits the coffee shop. Find me something.”

“Ms. Parker,” Amir began, sounding like he was ready for a vacation, “we’re already—”

“Make this your number one priority.” I hung up.

There hadn’t been any signs of a struggle inside the efficiency. Everything had the same meticulousness to it as the house they shared. Kratos must have taken Sierra hours, if not days, before Thompson and I came knocking the first time. In fact, given the perturbed phone call he made to me as Leon Wallace reminding me I had been hired to find his wife and I should be doing something about that, I could only assume that had been the same day he’d taken her.

Was that a bad assumption? My gut said no, so I went with it. By this point, Sierra had been missing for three, maybe four, days. A pit formed in my stomach. This was all part of his game, and he’d rigged it so he’d win.

However, I’d always been competitive, and I was damn stubborn. That bastard would not get the satisfaction. I was going to get him. Martin’s words came to mind. If for no other reason, I was going to get this bastard for him.

Thirty-seven

My phone rang. It was Amir calling me back. That was fast.

“What did you find?”

“Nothing,” Amir said.

“Kratos has been to that coffee shop several times this week. After one of those visits, he must have gone to Sierra’s place. Can we track him after he leaves the shop? I have timestamps from inside.”

Amir sighed. “Ms. Parker, I appreciate the work you’ve put into this, but if you’d let me get a word in edgewise, I would have told you the footage from the exterior cameras was tampered with and corrupted. We never see how he arrives or leaves.”

I peered around the neighborhood, finding dozens of storefronts, each with their own security cameras. “How is that possible? We’re talking at least a dozen cameras.”

“He’s an expert at avoiding surveillance. The two cameras which cover the front of the shop had corrupted files. It may have been accidental.”

“Coincidences don’t happen, Amir.”

“Fine. Then Kratos tampered with the footage and made himself disappear. The other cameras in the area must have picked him up, but he pulled the same tricks he did in the restaurant. Head down. Cap on. Glasses. He may have even had other outfits to put on over whatever he had on in the coffee shop. The algorithm has been analyzing details, hoping to pick him out based on immutable traits, but he could have been slouching, wearing layers, and utilizing other methods of making himself appear to be larger or smaller than he actually is.”

“You can’t find him?”

“No,” he said curtly.

“Fine.” I hung up before I said something I didn’t mean and slammed my palm on the steering wheel. “Fuck.”

Getting out of the car, I walked up and down the street, wondering why he picked this location. The bus stop wasn’t particularly close. Neither was the subway station. To make disappearing easier, he should have picked something closer to a public transportation hub, but maybe he wanted to avoid the added security and surveillance that went along with such things. Could he have picked this place just because the cameras were easy to hack?

“Eh.” I wasn’t buying that. Why even go to the trouble of picking out some random coffee shop? No, this wasn’t random.

Pulling up a copy of the Wallaces’ financial activity, I only saw a few instances of trips to coffee shops. That wasn’t something Sierra did often. But Kratos got coffee from this shop almost daily based on the footage I’d seen. He always paid cash, so there’d never be a record. And he always ordered the same thing.

Again, I wondered what his rationale was about leaving the cup at Sierra’s. Without prints, we couldn’t prove it wasn’t hers. But if DNA could be recovered, we’d be able to prove she didn’t drink out of it. That someone else had been at the apartment. Though, that was far from a smoking gun.

“You aren’t a cop. Stop trying to make a case,” I berated. But I desperately wanted to crawl into Kratos’s mind and figure out his motivation. Avoiding prosecution seemed like a good one. Painting the investigators, specifically Cross Security, as a bunch of incompetent and vindictive assholes would be even better. Maybe he wanted to file a civil suit and take Cross for everything he was worth. But none of this theorizing was helping. I was jumping to conclusions out of desperation.

It was time to go back to the basics. This wasn’t a random coffee shop. It had to be significant or easily accessible. Maybe Kratos was holed up somewhere around here. Could Sierra be close by?

A siren rang out in the distance. I turned to see flashing lights from a fire engine blurring through the space between buildings. What had he said to me about sirens at night?

Three blocks away was a fire station. They’d answer calls at all hours. Could that have been another clue? Who did this guy think he was? The Riddler?

I grabbed the medical kit from my car and wore it like a crossbody bag as I made my way toward the fire station. I checked every alley and opening on my way. He wouldn’t leave her out in the open. That would make it too easy for him to get caught.

Another thought came to mind. This bastard was close. I could feel it. But I didn’t know where to look. He’d been disrupting camera feeds to remain hidden.

However, Kratos had decided this was his domain. He went to that coffee shop repeatedly, probably as a taunt, but he wouldn’t have taken any unnecessary risks either. He must have had a place around here, some evil lair he could slither away to when he wanted to disappear.

I kept searching, but every storefront was occupied. None of them had been closed or abandoned. So I continued on my path to the fire station. The next block over was a mix of mom and pop shops and a few apartments. Nothing looked empty or abandoned.

The fire station was one block away. I could see the wide opening in front for the trucks to move in and out. Kratos had to be close.

Situated across the street from the firehouse was a small warehouse. That would have been a good place to hide, but with the workers out front loading and unloading delivery trucks, I knew that was wrong. At the end of the block were some storage units. That would be an ideal place to hide or stow a body.

The sky had grown lighter. The sun would be up soon. Kratos said if we didn’t get to Sierra in time, someone from Cross Security would die by the following night, which now meant tonight. A chill went through me, but I dismissed it as a gust of wind. Except I knew better.

Slowly, I looked around. Something wasn’t right. The warehouse workers continued with their tasks, unaware of the sudden shift. Only I felt it.

Rubble on the sidewalk caught my eye. The structure beside the firehouse had been shuttered years ago. It had originally been part of the fire station, but when the city renovated the old building, they’d closed off the annex which had been used for storage and training exercises.

I went around the side. Part of the building still connected to the new fire station, but whatever interior connections might have existed had been walled up years ago. The security cameras had been removed from most of the building. Who would be ballsy enough to use a building still connected to the city’s bravest?

The front entrance had a sign directing anyone who needed assistance to visit the main firehouse. Arrows pointed in the direction I had come. A thick, rusted chain had been looped around the door handles, keeping everyone out.

If this was where Kratos was hiding, he hadn’t gotten in this way. I followed the path around the other side of the building, looking for an entry point. The boards along the windows were secured tightly and nailed in. Nothing hung askew.

“Can I help you with something?” a voice asked from behind.

I turned to find a woman in a black t-shirt and work pants standing beside me. The FD’s emblem was embroidered over her left breast. I held up my hands, glad that my nine millimeter was holstered beneath my jacket.

She eyed the medical bag hanging near my hip. “Are you the temp they sent to cover for Kidd?” She jerked her chin. “EMTs enter through the main house. This is closed off.”

“I’m not an EMT. I’m a police consultant. We received a tip that a dangerous man may be in the area, that he may have hurt a woman and left her nearby.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and approached her. “Have you seen anyone around here?”

“This building’s been closed for years. The guy would have to be a lunatic to hide beside a firehouse.”

“He is a lunatic.” I showed her Leon Wallace’s photo ID. “Have you seen him?”

She peered at the screen and shook her head.

“What about this woman?” I showed her a photo of Sierra. “We believe she’s in danger.”

“I don’t think so.” She put her hands on her hips. “Why are you poking around back here? Why didn’t you come into the firehouse to ask your questions?”

“I was following a hunch.”

She eyed the medical kit, realizing it matched what private ambulance companies carried and not what was issued by the city. “What were you expecting to find?”

“I don’t know, but it’s best to be prepared.” God, now I sounded like Lucca. How had the boy scout rubbed off on me when we hadn’t worked together in so long? “Would it be possible to check inside the building anyway?”

“No can do. The place is sealed up. No one has gone in or out.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” I followed her back around the building, my attention on the storage units across the street. “One last question.”

“Hmm?” Her patience was wearing thin.

“How did you know I was back there?”

“Motion sensors.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you have ID?”

I pulled my wallet from my pocket and showed her my credentials.

“Parker.” She nodded a few times. “I think I’ll follow up and make sure you are consulting with the police. If you are, we’re cool. If you’re not, don’t come back here.”

“You have a nice day.” I gave the building another look, wondering about these alleged motion sensors. They must have been planted so low to the ground I didn’t notice them when I was looking for points of entry. I blamed the dark, but I needed to be at the top of my game. This was why Kratos was winning.

I crossed the street, tilted my face to the sky, and yelled, “Fuck.” That didn’t solve anything, but it made me feel better.

The storage units would make sense, but in my gut, I knew this was another of Kratos’s misdirects. He loved to put obstacles in our paths that wasted time and resources, and searching hundreds of individual units would do just that.

Occam’s razor, I repeated to myself as I tried to figure out where to go from here. If I kept going, I’d end up too far from the coffee shop. Wherever Kratos was would probably be somewhere between the shop and the firehouse. Maybe I missed something. Maybe I should check cross streets and parallel streets.

“You don’t sound like you’re having a good day,” a guy said as I approached the warehouse. He shoved another large box into the back of a delivery truck. “Are you all right?”

I didn’t have it in me to ask him the same questions I’d just asked the firefighter. Instead, I said, “Any idea where someone might hole up around here?”

“Why are you interested?”

“A woman’s in trouble. I’m trying to find her before it’s too late.”

He shoved another box into the back of the truck and stepped toward the chain-link fence that separated the loading area from the sidewalk. “A few nights ago, I thought I heard some screaming. It might have been a cat. I dunno. I don’t want to know. But it came from that direction.” He pointed.

I took the cross street half a block until I came upon a short-term stay apartment complex. The posters and signage indicated they had vacancies available weekly or monthly. A torn banner hung in front of a security camera. This had to be Kratos’s lair.

A sign on the main door indicated management was out and listed a website to visit to book a room. I tried the door, but it was locked. The windows hadn’t been broken. I went to the side door in the alley and checked for cameras again, but there weren’t any.

An uneasiness settled over me as I put on a pair of gloves and removed my spare set of lock picks from my inner jacket pocket. An electronic lock with keypad had been installed on the side door, but I didn’t have my gear to override it. The lock looked new, making me wonder if Kratos installed it himself. But I didn’t have time to worry about that.

Instead, I went back to the front door, aware of traffic whizzing past me. Rush-hour had started. Someone would see me breaking in. But I didn’t care.

The front door had another keypad, but the commercial lock opened easily enough. I stepped into the darkened lobby. Papers and signs cluttered the floor. A staircase was to the right of the front desk. Again, I checked for cameras, but I didn’t see any. This was the type of place I’d seen in old movies.

The front desk was walled in, creating an office of sorts with bars around it to make access more difficult. The opening in the middle reminded me of a ticket window at the box office. I wasn’t sure how many rooms were inside the building or to what capacity they were being used, but ringing the bell for service did nothing.

More than likely, no one worked here. There was no front desk or concierge. Reservations were made online. Guests would be given a code to enter to gain access to their rooms, and that would be it.

I tried the bell one more time and stuck my head through the opening at the desk. “Hello?”

I didn’t see anyone, but I spotted a computer at a table near the back wall. Unlike the rest of the place, the computer looked new.

Grabbing the bars on either side of the opening, I held on and swung through. Getting in hadn’t been that difficult, but getting out would be a little more challenging. However, that wasn’t my current concern.

I moved through the office, searching as I went. But I didn’t see any notes. No guest book. No monitors with surveillance feeds.

The computer turned on and went straight to the home screen. No log-in. No password. Was that too easy?

A list of reservations popped up. S. Wallace 109. According to the data, the reservation had been made three weeks ago and the room had been prepaid in cash.

Kratos must have planted that computer here. He wanted to make sure the police found it. Or he wanted to make sure I found it. What kind of trap had he set for me?

But with Sierra’s life in the balance, I didn’t have the luxury of waiting for backup. Instead, I gave the office a final glance, tried the door, which was locked from the other side, climbed back onto the desk, and crawled through the opening head first, barely managing not to land on my face.

I removed my nine millimeter and crept down the hallway. It was dark and dusty. The few light fixtures buzzed and flickered. The plaque outside 109 was faded with rust forming around the edges.

Stepping to the side of the door, I knocked, but no one answered. Was anyone even staying inside this building? I’d broken in. The front desk was abandoned. For all I knew, the entire building was empty. I thought of knocking on random doors, but irrational fears of ghosts and axe murderers kept me from doing that. I didn’t need to waste time.

Pulling out my lock picks again, I ignored the keypad that requested a code to unlock the door and forced the mechanical lock to release. I pushed the door open. The room was small and reminded me of the takeout-only Chinese restaurant I used to like. It smelled like cashew chicken and beef and broccoli. A bean bag chair had been shoved in the corner. Beside it were several worn romance novels and a duffel bag.

Flicking on my flashlight, I moved deeper into the room. The sofa bed remained open, the sheets tangled and hanging. A few dirty pots and pans filled the kitchen sink. Beneath the smell of Chinese food, the air was coppery.

Once I found the light switch, I turned on the overhead. This looked like a messier version of the efficiency Sierra had rented. Why would Kratos bother to do this? Sierra had a place to stay. Why make it look like she was staying somewhere else?

Only a few reasons came to mind. But I knew before I found her body in the tub that she was here. He had staged her murder to look like a suicide.

I checked for a pulse, but rigor had already set in. She’d been dead for hours. The water in the tub was a bright red. Her wrists were slashed with deep vertical lines that ran from her hand to nearly her elbow. This time, the faucet wasn’t dripping. A dull kitchen knife lay on the ground beside the tub. Blood coated the blade. It had dried and congealed, leaving a dark, clumpy mess on the silver. Several thick droplets had fallen beside the blade. As if Sierra had already sliced that wrist before dropping the knife to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” I told her. My throat had gone dry. I should have found her sooner. Why hadn’t I started looking days ago? But I knew the answer. And I knew that nothing would have changed my behavior. Protecting Martin may have been my biggest flaw. But I didn’t blame him. Kratos did this, and I would do everything in my power to make sure he didn’t get away with it.

Thirty-eight

Detectives Thompson and Heathcliff stood beside me as Sierra’s body was removed from the tub. Someone from the medical examiner’s office was overseeing things and conducting the preliminary field exam. I watched, wishing I could turn away, but afraid I’d miss some clue or hint Kratos had left behind.

“How did you find her?” Thompson asked, his tone flat. He wasn’t accusing me of anything or picking on me. He was merely asking a question.

“Luck, I guess. Kratos really liked that coffee shop where he asked me to meet him. He left his usual order behind at Sierra’s place. That got me thinking. I just wandered around until I hit upon something.”

“I spoke to the warehouse worker who tipped you off,” Heathcliff said, “but I don’t think he’s involved.”

“He won’t be happy about getting jammed up over this. He made it clear he wanted no part in any of it.”

“We won’t jam him up,” Heathcliff promised.

“How long has she been dead?” Thompson asked when the medical examiner stepped away from the body.

“I’d say about thirty-six hours.”

“How can that be? She’s just starting to go stiff,” I said.

“Correction, she’s starting to loosen up. Rigor mortis is fading. That happens within twenty-four to forty-eight hours. The thirty-six is a ball park estimate. I’ll know more once I get her on my table,” the ME said.

I shuddered. Heathcliff put his jacket over my shoulders, causing me to look at him.

“Maybe you should sit down,” he suggested.

“I’m fine.” I shrugged out of his jacket. “It’s just been a long night.”  

He squinted at me before putting his jacket back on. “Whatever you say, Parker.”

Thompson nodded to the knife which had been secured inside an evidence bag. “Any idea if that’s the murder weapon, Doc?”

“We don’t know if it’s a murder, but that looks like the knife used to make the cuts.” The ME checked a few more things. “Again, I won’t know for certain until she’s on my table. I can’t even say for certain if that was the cause of death.”

“Any signs of an overdose?” Thompson asked.

“Nothing indicates that.”

“Yeah, okay.” Thompson pulled me away from the scene as they prepared the body for transport. “It looks like a suicide.”

“It isn’t,” I said. “Martin’s office looked like a suicide attempt too. This is Kratos. Aren’t we on the same page?”

Thompson held up his palms. “One hundred percent. I’m just curious if you have any idea why he staged it to look like a suicide.”

“I don’t know.” Thirty-six hours. The math ran through my mind. It was probably closer to forty-eight based upon when Thompson and I first checked the efficiency. “He killed her before he taunted us to find her.”

“You already suspected as much.”

“It’s not fair.”

“When has life ever been fair?” Thompson eyed me with an elevated level of concern. “Do you think Kratos knows we found her?”

“Patrol did a full sweep. There aren’t any cameras in this building. The few tenants who are staying here weren’t able to provide any information. Everyone else was assigned a room on an upper level. Everything was done remotely, contactless check-ins and all that.” Heathcliff scanned his notepad before tucking it back into his pocket. “Unless Kratos is watching from outside, he’d have no way of knowing.”

“You’re wrong.” I pointed to the laptop I’d accessed. “He knows exactly what’s going on. As soon as I touched that computer, it sent a signal to him.”

“How can you be sure?” Thompson asked.

“I just am.”

“Barring the possibility that you’re wrong, what’s his next move? He knows you found Sierra. He’s eliminating people who connect to his current identities. He killed Enid Pooley and Matthew Delyle, thus ending any living connections Dutch Pooley had. He murdered Sierra, Leon Wallace’s wife, so what does he do next? Does he go after Sierra’s parents or Amanda Denning since they can identify him?”

“Possibly.” But Kratos had told us who his next target would be—someone from Cross Security. “You should take them into protective custody to be on the safe side,” I said, “but he made it clear how he plans to choose his next victim.”

“We should bring everyone from Cross Security down to the precinct until this gets sorted out,” Thompson said.

“Fat chance Lucien would ever agree to that. And let’s be honest here. Cross Security employs too many people for you to protect.”

“We have thousands of active duty officers. We can make it work,” Thompson said.

“Now’s not the time to pull out the measuring tape to see whose is bigger,” I said. “We need to find—” My phone rang, cutting me off. I recognized the number on the display as belonging to Leon Wallace. “It’s him.”

Heathcliff pulled out his phone and stepped away, requesting a trace. Thompson rubbed a hand over his mouth and stared at the device like it was a cobra preparing to strike.

Once Heathcliff nodded to me, I answered and pressed the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

Kratos snickered. “I see you’re playing another game, Ms. Parker. I knew you liked games.”

“You killed Sierra before we started playing. It wasn’t fair. That’s cheating,” I said.

“You were aware she was missing, that she could have been in all sorts of danger, but you chose to ignore it. Had you found her when I first showed up and told you she was missing, she would be alive and well. Tell me, are you going to go with the police detectives to share the news with her next of kin? I’m guessing when all is said and done, Lil and Van will be getting a divorce. This may be the best thing that ever happened to them.”

“You’re sick. I thought you were pro-marriage. But then you killed your wife, so I guess that was another lie you told. Why did you do it? Are you afraid to have someone love you?”

“Are you sure Sierra didn’t kill herself? She was a very unhappy woman. I tried to help her. I really did.”

“Is that why you killed Enid?”

“Enid was a liar.”

Finally, we were getting somewhere. “Tell me about that? What did she do?”

He snorted.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“Doing what?”

“Now who’s playing games?”

“Cross Security needs to be taken down a few pegs. I’m merely highlighting that for the rest of the world to see.”

“What did Lucien do to you?”

“He didn’t do anything. That’s the problem.”

“He wouldn’t take your case?”

Kratos chuckled. “If you were as brilliant as you pretend to be, you’d already know the answer to that.”

“I never said I was brilliant.”

“I was speaking about Cross Security as a whole. Though, after tonight, there will be one less. The clock’s ticking. I’m not sure why you’re wasting time talking to me, so I’ll make this easier for you.” And he hung up.

“Anything?” I asked Heathcliff.

“Leon Wallace’s phone is turned off. That was an internet number made to look like his.”

“He’s not stupid enough to let us track him that way,” Thompson said. “We’ve been trying ever since we identified him as Kratos.”

“How was the apartment paid for? The computer said cash, but that makes no sense,” I said. “If the reservations have to be made online and they utilize contactless check-in, she’d have to have used a credit card, right?”

“Direct pay,” Thompson said. “She wired the funds directly from her savings account.”

“The one her husband allegedly couldn’t access?” I asked.

Thompson frowned. “How did you know about that?”

“Preliminary interview.” Had Kratos laid out his entire plan and I’d been too stupid to notice? “I’m going back to work. Can you take care of this?” I waved my hand in the direction of her apartment.

Thompson rubbed his eyebrow. “Yeah. Fine.”

“What are you going to do?” Heathcliff asked. “I can tag along.”

“I’m not going to do anything,” I said.

“That’ll be the day,” Thompson muttered.

“C’mon, we know you better than that,” Heathcliff insisted.

I didn’t know what I planned to do. All I knew was I didn’t have time to waste. “Right now, I want to take a headcount and figure out if Kratos has struck again.”

“Do you think he has?” Thompson asked, watching as the body bag was rolled out on a gurney.

“I don’t know, but he’s always one step ahead. And we know he cheats.”

Heathcliff bumped against me. “Be careful. Call us as soon as you hear something.”

“Yep.” I followed the medical examiner out of the building.

Police officers and crime scene tape had roped off much of the area. The residents who’d been inside the apartment building were the only ones permitted to remain. The police were hoping to find the building’s owner or manager, but that endeavor would turn into nothing more than a wild goose chase. Whoever owned that building wouldn’t have any idea what was going on. They wouldn’t be able to help us. I had no doubt about that.

When I turned the corner, I found Lucien leaning against the wall. He had a tablet out, scanning the area for something. He fell into step beside me. “You found her.”

“She’s dead,” I said.

“You should have called.”

“I should have done a lot of things. What are you doing here? Did you track me?”

“Amir told me you were asking about the coffee shop. I was following up on my own leads and—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He slowed as we approached the coffee shop. “I had hoped we’d be able to pick up Kratos’s trail when he went to get his daily caffeine fix, but I doubt that will happen with the three-ring circus going on down the street.”

“Even if the police weren’t out in force, he’d still know we found her. He left a laptop where I’d see it. It told me what room Sierra rented. He has no intention of coming back here. He’s moved on to the next phase of the game.”

“How can you be sure he left the laptop for you?”

I gave Lucien a look.

“Never mind.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“He called me again to remind me that we’re behind schedule. We aren’t living up to his expectations. He’s gunning for one of us now.”

“Any idea who?”

“You’d be at the top of my list. But he wants to hurt you. I think he’ll go after someone else, someone you care about.”

“The same way he went after Martin and Gabriel. But if those attacks were meant to hurt me and not you and Kellan, then maybe it is my turn.”

I shrugged. “Any idea why he wants to discredit Cross Security?”

“I’m still working on it.” He stopped beside my car. “I looked into Sierra. She never came to us with a problem, but Jade remembers her.”

“Jade?”

Lucien nodded, unhappy with the prospect. “Sierra was a walk-in at a women’s shelter. Jade was volunteering there at the time. The details don’t seem all that important, but that’s the only connection I’ve found that links Sierra to Cross Security.”

“It feels a little too six degrees of separation.”

“What do you want me to say, Alex? That’s all I’ve found.” He let out an angry huff. “Jade gave Sierra my card and suggested if she wanted to build a case against the fraternity that I may be able to help.”

“Did you?”

“I already told you she never came to me. But when the police searched the house she shared with Leon Wallace, they found my card. I never gave it to Sierra, so that’s when I asked Jade about it. She recognized her from the photos I sent. I’m not sure how or why she’d remember. She’s spoken to thousands of women over the years, but something about Sierra’s story stuck with her. I think it was because she’d attended that same university which led to her abuser, but I can’t be sure. Anyway, back then, when I was just getting the business off the ground, Jade would recommend Cross Security to a lot of women who were in trouble. Most never showed up. Only a few did, but Sierra wasn’t one of them. I would have remembered a big case like that.”

“How do you know that’s how your card ended up at their house? Leon had your card.”

“That card was several years old. I’ve changed logos and designs a few times. That was the original design.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About a month after I moved into the new office. It still had the old address on it. So that was almost nine years ago. Jade only hung around a short time while we were recovering after…” He quirked his head to the side. “Anyway, I narrowed the time frame to the few months in which Sierra could have encountered Jade, but I don’t know how Kratos would have discovered that.”

“Did the shelter have some sort of database or appointment schedule?”

“Possibly. I haven’t—” He stopped. “Jade called me earlier this week to tell me about a data breach. She was upset. I told her I’d look into it and take care of it.”

“That was Kratos. He must have figured out your connection to Jade.”

“He tracked the money. I’ve always been careful, but he’s better than most. I should have realized it sooner. He’s coming after Cross Security. Jade’s money, what I consider to be her portion of the settlement, funded Cross Security. I send her dividend checks every quarter, but it’s all done through unconventional channels. No one was supposed to make the connection. Fuck.”

“You already assigned a security team to go to Colorado. Have they arrived yet? Do they have eyes on Jade?”

He sucked in a breath. “Yeah, but that must be how Kratos learned about Sierra. He could have backtracked Jade’s activity, hacked into the shelter’s records, and went after someone who potentially connected to Cross Security.”

“Someone you didn’t help. Someone you failed to protect.”

“I’m getting really tired of you saying this is on me. This is on that bastard.”

“When I say you, Lucien, I don’t mean you. I mean Cross Security.” But even I wasn’t convinced of that.

Thirty-nine

“Every investigator is accounted for. All the security teams have checked in,” Lucien said.

“What about Bennett?” I asked.

“What about him?”

“He’s not here.” This must have been how sheepdogs felt. Keeping the herd together was damn near impossible.

“No shit. He’s still working surveillance on that corporate espionage thing.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Lucien glowered at me. “That is a major account. We can’t afford to lose clients.”

“But you can afford to lose employees? Who cares if someone dies, just as long as our bottom line looks good.”

“That is not—” He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I saw Bennett before I returned to the office. He’s fine.”

I turned my back to Lucien and stared at the whiteboard. But I didn’t have any answers. “Could Kratos be going after a former employee? You said the card Sierra had was old. Who worked here then?”

“Justin, Gloria, and me.”

“Do you have Gloria’s contact information?” I asked.

“I can get in touch with her and make sure—”

“Let the police handle that. If Kratos is monitoring us, you don’t need to lead him to his target.”

Lucien cleared his throat, waiting for me to turn and look at him. “Who put you in charge? This is my company. My business.”

“You gave me Leon Wallace as a client.” Sierra was dead because of it. If someone else had been looking into him, if they’d been more focused than I was, maybe she would still be alive now.

“That does not mean—” He inhaled, fighting to keep his tone neutral. The look on his face said he was ready to kill me. “I’m sorry you got dragged into the middle of this, Alex. That was never my intention. But you are not calling the shots here.”

“My suggestion makes more sense than yours.”

He growled. “Alex, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He continued to glare at me. “Fine, tell me what to do, boss,” I said.

“First things first. Drop the sarcasm.”

“Sure thing.”

He ignored me. “Second, we need to figure out what he plans to do and set a trap for him. We can bait him, if we know what his intentions are.” The lightbulb turned on over his head. “I’m going to check on a few things. In the meantime, what I need you to do is keep digging. Find something in his past that we can use. Figure out how he tracked down Sierra and why he chose her. Think outside the box. You’re usually good at that.”

“Zebras, not horses. Gotcha.”

Once I was sure I was alone, I picked up my phone and dialed Kate Hartley, FBI forensic accountant.

“Hey, Kate, I need a favor, and I need it yesterday.”

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Is this about the attacks that Jablonsky’s been investigating?”

“Ding, ding, ding. Unfortunately, that psychopath struck again.”

“Is Martin okay?”

“For now,” I said. “Can you help me out?”

“What do you need?”

“Dig into Cross Security and Lucien Cross. I need to know how the company assets are divided, where the initial funds came from, and where and how profits are disbursed.”

“Couldn’t you just ask?”

“Lucien said he’s used some creative channels. See what you can dig up. I want to know how this appears to Kratos, not how it would appear to the rest of the world.”

“Okay, no problem. I’ll get that to you within the hour.”

“Do you think you can dig through the mess that fast?”

“I’ll assign an entire team to help me if I have to. I’m guessing Jablonsky will sign off if I ask.”

“Mark would love to bury Lucien. If he thinks this will allow him to do it, he’d probably assign two teams to help you.”

“I’ll get it done. Stay near the phone.”

“Thanks, Kate.”

It was only fair. Lucien looked into Martin, so I might as well look into Lucien. However, the one person I wanted to look into was Kratos. Instead, I went back to researching Sierra.

Between Cross Security and the PD, we had a good idea of who she was, where she went, and the things she did. None of which lent themselves to becoming a psychopath’s wife and third victim. That made me pause. Had Kratos killed before? The unregistered shotgun Enid possessed and what we believed to be an unregistered handgun he used to kill her indicated he expected trouble. And as any good investigator knew, past actions were the best indicators of future behavior.

But my buddies in blue had been correct when they said the weapons were untraceable. They’d disappeared from the manufacturing plant along with dozens of others. Kratos hadn’t been behind the theft, and after the guns were bought, sold, and resold, there was no way to connect the original thief to Kratos. So I went back to Sierra.

The Wallaces didn’t own any weapons. None had been found in their house or among any of Sierra’s belongings which had been searched at the two crime scenes. The vehicle they shared had been located and searched, but there was nothing inside. Not even a fingerprint or stray hair.

“Why are you hiding everything about yourself?” I asked the photo we had of Kratos. And to think, I’d thought the guy had the potential to be good-looking when we first met. Now all I could see was the ugly son of a bitch he was inside. But the pretty exterior must have been how he attracted Sierra in the first place.

Then again, she may have been an easy mark. She hadn’t dated in almost two years. She had trust issues stemming from the incident at the frat party, and she spent most of her time working remotely. An attractive guy helping her out of a jam would have gone a long way to getting her to go out with him. She may have thought he was her knight in shining armor.

I paced in front of the whiteboard, tapping the marker against my thigh. How did he know? He must have manufactured the computer glitch that allowed them to cross paths, so how long had he been targeting her?

I thought back to when the online attacks on Cross Security had stopped and realized that was when Kratos had come up with an alternate solution to infiltrate Cross Security. But there were so many moving parts. He set things in motion by killing Matthew Delyle and poisoning Martin and Gabriel, all after pursuing Sierra, marrying her, and pissing her off enough that she’d leave him so he’d have an excuse to come to Cross Security. How did he know how she’d react or when she’d reach her breaking point?

The months they spent together may have given him some indication. But people were only so predictable. He would have had no control over when she left or where she went. She could have gone to stay with her best friend or back home with her parents. Instead, her dad set her up in her own place to give her some space. Kratos couldn’t have predicted that. He may have suspected, but there was never any guarantee how it would go or when. That’s why he rented the other apartment.

I picked up my phone and dialed Thompson, surprised when O’Connell answered.

“Is Thompson okay?” I asked, a sudden surge of anxiety coursed through me.

“He’s fine. He thinks desk duty makes me his personal assistant,” O’Connell said.

“It’s because you volunteered to work with Parker, so you can deal with her,” Thompson said in the background. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“So what’s up?” O’Connell asked me.

“Have you spoken to anyone from the apartment building yet? I want to know when Sierra’s reservation was originally made.”

“Uh…hang on.” Papers rustled in the background. “It looks like three weeks ago.”

“He first came to Cross Security as Leon Wallace, distraught husband, a week ago, but he said Sierra had already been gone two weeks. That would mean he already had planned her murder, at least the where and how.”

“I guess.”

“We verified Sierra left Leon at the hardware store two weeks prior to that, right?” I was speaking more to myself than O’Connell, but he gave me the affirmative anyway. “So he made the reservation the day she left, already planning to stage that as the scene of her suicide.”

“How did he get access to her savings account to make the money transfer look like it came from Sierra?” O’Connell asked.

“They’re married. I’m sure you know where Jenny keeps her private papers.”

“Point taken,” he said.

“If not, he could have used some of his hacker magic to gain access.” None of that mattered. What mattered was when and how he put this plan in place. “He must not have known she was going to rent something else.”

“She never had in the past.”

“But they fought like this before.”

“It sounds like it based on what her parents told us. Her friend corroborated it.”

Guilt clawed at me. “Have they been notified yet?”

“Yes.” O’Connell didn’t say anything else.

“Sierra met Jade, Lucien’s girlfriend, several years ago, after almost being attacked on campus. She had gone to a shelter for advice on what to do and how to proceed. I’m guessing that’s why Kratos chose her.”

“Did Cross know her?”

“No. He only found out after the fact.”

“I didn’t know he had a girlfriend,” O’Connell said.

“One of many, but she’s the one that matters. She’s also financially tied to Cross Security.”

“You think Kratos is going after investors or board members to take down the company?”

“I’m not sure Cross Security has a board. Kate’s looking into it. But Kratos has made his hatred for Cross Security obvious. Somehow, someway, Cross Security failed him.”

“What about Jade? Do you think she’s in danger?”

“She isn’t local.”

“Is she protected?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Good. For all we know, that lunatic could have mailed her an envelope too.”

That thought had been constantly going through my head and Lucien’s. “Let’s hope not. According to what we dug up on Matthew Delyle’s pain patch prescription and the intel Kratos picked up on the dark web, he shouldn’t have had enough for more than two concentrated doses, especially with the way he slathered it onto the letter he mailed Martin.”

“It never hurts to be careful,” O’Connell said.

My phone buzzed, alerting me to an incoming call. “Hang on a sec, Nick.” I checked the display. “That’s Bastian. I’ll call you back.”

“Good morning, love,” Bastian said.

“Tell me you have something,” I said.

“Would I ring if I didn’t?” He waited half a second. “Enid Pooley isn’t Enid Pooley. The woman you know as Enid Pooley was Mary Parrish from Kansas City. Long story short, Mary had a string of divorces and a failed restaurant. I’m guessing that’s why she agreed to be a surrogate for her neighbors. I don’t know the ins and out of surrogacy laws or if it works differently in the United States, but besides the implantation procedure, there is no record of any of this. However, Mary ended up with twenty-five grand in her bank account.”

“I’m listening.”

“I wish I could tell you the story had a happy ending. All I can tell you is half the chapters are missing from this particular book. I don’t know if there was a falling out, an attempt at ransom, or if pregnant Mary lost the plot along the way, but she took off, hooked up with someone who gave her a new identity, and thus she became Enid Pooley.”

“What happened to the real Enid Pooley?”

“I can’t say for certain, but I’m guessing she was an unclaimed Jane Doe.”

“Do you think Mary killed her?” I asked.

“Probably nothing that gruesome,” Bastian said. “More than likely, the real Enid Pooley died due to less violent means, and whoever stripped her of her identity sold it off before the authorities could be the wiser.”

“So all the research I’ve done on Enid Pooley—”

“Belonged to another woman, who is no longer walking this earth.”

“Neither of them are at this point,” I mumbled. “What about the baby’s biological parents?”

“They put up quite the fight. They went to the authorities, posted online, and sought help from wherever they could find it.”

I opened a dialog box. “What are their names?”

“Hal and Linda Bussey.”

I entered them in the box.

“They died, love. A little over a year ago in a freak accident.”

“That’s what set Kratos off. His parents died. Did he ever meet them? Make contact?” I stared at the information on my screen. No matches found.

“I don’t think so. They were still searching for him up until their deaths. They tried social media campaigns, psychics, reaching out to private detectives in all the major cities, even around the world. They had no idea what could have happened to their baby. The case remained open for the police, your FBI too, but nothing ever came of it.”

“It went cold and fell through the cracks. Do you know if they reached out to Cross Security?”

“I don’t see anything in their financials.”

“I wasn’t tuned into the private sector nine or ten years ago, so I don’t know who would have been around to help them back then.”

“I can send you a few names.”

“Do that.”

Bastian hesitated. “I’m sorry you couldn’t save Sierra. It’s always hard when a mission goes tits up.”

“Tell me about it. I wish I knew why he killed her.”

“That’s easy, love. He wanted to prove Cross Security couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.”

Forty

“Tell me about Hal and Linda Bussey,” I said.

Justin peered at me from behind his computer screen. “Did you search the database?”

“No matches. That’s why I’m asking you.”

He gave me a confused look. “I don’t understand.” After a quick recap of what I learned, the expression on Justin’s face changed. “They were looking for their child. They didn’t even know the sex of the baby. They couldn’t even be sure he’d even been born.”

“Lucien didn’t take the case,” I said.

“The child, if there was a child, would have been an adult by the time they reached out to us. There was nothing we could do. I told them their best bet was to sign up for every ancestry service and genetic mapping thing they could find, that if he was out there, maybe he’d be in one of the databases, and they’d get a match. There really wasn’t anything else that could be done.”

“You told them?”

Justin’s cheek twitched. “Yeah.”

“Why would you tell them?”

“Lucien had been shot half a dozen times. He was barely functioning. Gloria and I picked up a lot of the slack, but besides dealing with paperwork and convincing our corporate clients not to jump ship, there wasn’t anyone here to investigate. Even if Lucien was around, what could he have done?”

“Does he know?” I asked.

Justin glanced at the closed office door behind him. “Lucien knows we turned down a few clients. Honestly, he had more pressing matters on his mind. For all intents and purposes, we were shut down. We even had notices posted that we weren’t taking any new clients, but a few people reached out anyway.” He licked his lips. “The baby they were looking for, that was Kratos?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. I didn’t know. I didn’t even think about it. Am I the reason this is happening?”

“You can’t blame yourself. Ask me how I know. Even if you had taken their case, you couldn’t have helped them, not without the resources we have now or the technology. And even then, it would have been a crapshoot,” I said.

“Why did Kratos wait this long to come after us? He’s been trying to hack our system for years. Did he ever find them? Contact them?”

“I don’t know. Bastian didn’t think so, but Kratos must have found them. That’s the only reason I can see as to why he wants revenge on us.”

“You said they died.”

“I think that’s what set him off.”

“Based on what we know about him, I doubt he was ever particularly stable. His ‘mother’ must have told him some version of the truth. He may have thought his parents were abusive or dangerous. Maybe he kept an eye on them from afar.”

“Or he wondered why they never came looking for him. With all of his online activity, he may have stumbled upon one of their social media campaigns to find him and made the connection. I still have to reach out to these other local PI firms and see if they know anything about this.”

“Let me see the list.” Justin skimmed the names on the page. “I don’t think any of them are around anymore.”

“What do you mean they aren’t around? Did something happen to them?”

“We happened to them.”

His words didn’t compute. “What?” I asked.

“As Cross Security got bigger, we absorbed some of the smaller firms and put others on a path to early retirement.”

“That’s why Kratos said Cross Security is supposed to be the best.”

Justin read the names again. “Most of these weren’t particularly large firms. They had small operations, the same as us at the time.”

“The Busseys may not have had the resources to pay what a bigger firm would charge,” I said, “or they thought they’d have better luck with one dogged investigator who didn’t have anything else on her plate.”

“Why does it sound like you’re speaking from experience, Ms. Parker?”

“When I hung a shingle, that’s how it was most of the time. Feast or famine. If I had one case and nothing else to occupy my time, I’d dig in and wouldn’t let up until I had taken care of it.”

“That would make sense.”

I eyed Lucien’s office door. “Do you want to fill him in, or should I?”

“I’ll do it. This is my fault.”

“Justin, it’s not.”

“It is a little bit.” He gave me a sad smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. At least now we have some idea as to why he’s targeting us.”

*       *       *

Every investigator, except Renner, assembled around the conference table for the emergency meeting Lucien had called. I sat beside Kellan who had yet to take his eyes off his phone. He’d been texting Gabriel nonstop for the last fifteen minutes. His body language told me they were fighting.

Lucien entered the room, a hand already running through his hair. Since most of my coworkers were disgraced law enforcement, I figured they’d caught on to his nervous habits as well. Several of them sat up a little straighter, the tension in the room building.

“Every investigator is currently accounted for. Every security team has checked in. Our people are safe,” Lucien began.

“What about the civilian staff?” Kellan asked, his eyes still on his phone.

“A few security teams are checking on anyone who had the day off, but there’s no reason to think Kratos would target one of them. He has repeatedly made it clear he plans to take out an investigator.” Lucien dropped into his chair and leaned forward over the table. “Kratos was abducted as a fetus, birthed to a woman who was not his mother, and became aware of these facts at some point.”

“That must have played a part in why he kept changing his identity and why his mother allowed him to do it. She was a criminal who would have been facing decades of prison time if she’d ever been caught,” Darwin said.

Lucien pointed at him. “We assume that’s why she covered for him or why he covered for her. It may even be why she opened fire on Detective O’Connell. Figuring that out is not our job. In fact, Kratos is wanted by the police on multiple counts of murder. My only interest is to make sure everyone is safe.”

An unfortunate snort escaped as I brushed my hair back. Lucien’s piercing gaze came to rest upon me. He tilted his head ever so slightly, an unspoken challenge on his lips.

“That’s not up to you,” Kellan muttered, unaware of the look I was getting. “Every single person at this table has prior experience dealing with shit and being out in the weeds. We don’t need you to protect us. We need you to tell us everything you fucking know so we can stop this guy.”

The dirty look I’d gotten intensified as he turned to Kellan, who had yet to look away from his phone screen.

“That’s why I called this meeting,” Lucien hissed. “The problem is we don’t know enough.” He updated the room with the details I’d just learned. “Kratos wants to take down this firm.”

“Do we know when or how he learned of his parents’ existence?” another investigator asked. I really needed to learn everyone’s names.

“We’re not sure.”

“If he found out about them, why is he blaming us?” Darwin asked.

“Because he wants to.” Lucien eyed him. “I can’t explain the actions of a psychopath.”

“It makes sense to Kratos,” I said, “which is all that matters. But I don’t think determining why he’s blaming us is going to help us figure out where he is.”

“It could help us figure out who he plans to target next,” Kellan said, putting his phone down. “If I were him, I’d want you dead, Lucien.”

“Only if you were him?” Lucien asked.

Kellan shrugged. “Cross Security is your namesake. You are the OG. The only OG, and you didn’t help his parents reconnect with him. Instead, Cross Security put the other firms who were helping his parents find him out of business. We stopped them from reuniting, but again, it’s your name on the damn door. We assumed the attacks he coordinated were meant to dig at you, to hurt you by hurting the people around you. Now that we know Sierra Wallace had ties to Jade McNamara, it looks like he’s following the same pattern. But now that we’re on to him and the police know who he is, he should move on to his endgame.”

“Unless he holds with the same pattern. Everything we know about Kratos indicates he believes he is smarter than everyone else,” Darwin said. “That would mean he’d want to continue to torture Lucien by hurting more people around him.”

“He’s attacking people connected to people who connect to Lucien. There’s an extra degree of separation there,” Kellan said.

“With Sierra, yes, but not with the others.” Lucien licked his lips. “Killing Sierra could be—”

My phone rang, causing every eye in the room to focus on me. “Excuse me.” I took my phone and left the conference room. I’d heard enough. Every point and counterpoint my colleagues made I’d already debated with the voices in my head. I didn’t want to hear the same arguments since I was certain they’d end in a stalemate.

“Hey, Kate. What did you find?” I asked.

“Let me save time by giving you the bare bones. Cross Security was funded with Lucien’s personal wealth. He had saved a significant amount of money from his Wall Street days, which was enough to launch his business. After he received a hefty settlement from the city, he poured all of it into the company. Every cent. It’s entirely his. No one else contributed financially.”

“What about dividends?” I asked.

“Operating costs take up the bulk of expenditures, that includes payroll. Besides that, Cross Security cuts checks quarterly to several individuals. It looks like a pension or retirement plan of sorts. But Cross gave two people stakes in the company. Jade McNamara and Justin—”

“He’s part owner?” I asked.

“It’s not a large percentage, but yes. Why? Who is he?” Kate asked.

“I have to go.”

By now, the arguments inside the conference room had gotten louder. A looming death threat had put everyone on edge, so I ducked into the stairwell and went up to the executive level. A few members of legal were in their offices at the other end of the floor, but Justin’s desk was empty.

I went into Lucien’s office, figuring he may have gone in there. He liked to sit in the boss’s chair, but he wasn’t inside either. I checked the executive kitchen, the copy room, and the bathroom. Heading back downstairs, I checked the labs. No Justin.

Returning to what I considered the main level of Cross Security, I asked Janet, “Have you seen Justin?”

“Isn’t he upstairs?” she asked.

“No. Check the break room.” I returned to the conference room where it looked like Lucien was divvying up intel to review. “Where’s Justin?”

Lucien saw it in my eyes and didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled his phone out and dialed. When he didn’t get an answer, he sent a text. Still nothing.

“Lucien?” I didn’t think we had time to wait.

My boss tapped on his screen, opening an app. “Everyone stay here and get to work. You know what to do. If you get a bead on Kratos, notify me immediately.” He pushed past me to get out of the conference room, leaving behind a table of investigators, all of whom had a pretty good idea of what had happened.

I didn’t stick around. I followed Lucien out of the room.

“He’s not in there,” Janet said, spotting me as I followed Lucien to the elevator.

“I know.” I slid into the elevator as the doors started to slide shut and stood beside Lucien who was desperately tapping on his phone. “Justin didn’t take the news well.”

“No.” Lucien glanced at me. “Call him. He’s not answering me.”

I tried, but Justin didn’t pick up. “He couldn’t have left the office that long ago.”

“He said he was going to pick up Indian food, figuring we’d be working late. His car shows he’s at the restaurant where we usually order dinner. It’s only a few blocks from here. He may just be blowing off steam.”

“The calls aren’t going to voicemail. He didn’t turn off his device.”

“I know,” Lucien snapped. “I’m tracking his phone now. It shows the same location as the GPS in his car.”

“Maybe he left his phone in the car.” That was the happy version of what was going on.

“Maybe.” Cross glanced at me as the doors opened in the garage. “When did you become an optimist?”

“I’m not.” I let out a sigh. “Kratos wants him dead. Justin refused to take his parents’ case.”

“How would Kratos know that?”

“The same way I found out. I had Kate pull your business financials. Justin’s part owner. He’s been on the employee roster the longest. It’s always been you and him. You were out sick when they called. Justin was the only one here.”

“That’s why Kratos would target him. He may not realize Justin isn’t an investigator. Shit.” Lucien ran a hand through his hair. “Justin’s the soul of the company. Call O’Connell, Moretti, whoever, and update them on the situation. Kratos will be expecting us to protect our own. Hopefully, he won’t think I’d reach out to the PD for their help.”

“You’re not,” I said. “I am.”

He nodded as he got into his car. “I’ll let you know what I find at the Indian restaurant.”

“What about everyone upstairs? They could help.”

“They’re trained investigators. They’ll read between the lines and figure out what to do. Right now, I don’t have time to waste.”

Forty-one

“He’s not here,” Lucien said. “He never even went inside. Surveillance footage doesn’t show anything. It was wiped. I’m going to check Justin’s apartment. Maybe Kratos took him there, or he went by there to collect intel. I don’t know.”

“Keep your head on a swivel, and let me know what you find.” I could feel the tension radiating from the phone, adding to the increasing fear that had a firm grip on my innards.

O’Connell grasped my forearm, letting me know my arm was shaking. I put the phone on his desk and rocked back in my chair. After taking a breath, I dialed Kellan and told him what had happened. He’d get everyone at Cross Security up to speed.

“We issued a BOLO. Every cop in this city was already hunting Kratos. Now, they’re looking for Justin too,” Thompson said. “We’re going to find him.”

“I’m sure we will,” I said. “I’d like it to be before—”

“Parker,” O’Connell looked like he might get up to hug me, except he knew better than to touch me when I was like this, “let’s run through it. We have security footage which shows Justin leaving the garage beneath your offices twenty minutes before you realized he was in danger. We know he made it to the restaurant. That drive at this time of day would have taken a good fifteen minutes.”

“Did Justin place a pick-up order?” Thompson asked.

“No. Usually he does, but he wanted to get out of the office. He—”

“Breathe.” O’Connell demonstrated by sucking in an exaggerated breath before blowing it out.

“So no mobile order. The only person he told where he was going was Lucien, and he told him while they were in the office,” Thompson said. “Could Kratos have the place bugged?”

I took a ragged inhale. “I don’t think so. Lucien has the place swept constantly.”

“What about remotely accessing the microphone on one of their devices?” Thompson asked. “Could Kratos have done that?”

“I’m sure he could have done it, but I don’t think he did. I think we would have known about it.”

“Yeah, maybe.” But Thompson was about as convinced of that as I was.

“Let’s say he wasn’t spying. He would have had to be staking out the building. Maybe Kratos planned to attack whoever happened to leave first,” O’Connell suggested.

“He wants Justin. Justin checks a ton of boxes, the same way Matthew Delyle did. It makes sense that he’d be the target.”

“How did he know where Justin would be or when he’d be there?” Thompson asked. “He must have been spying on him.”

O’Connell picked up the phone. “Request traffic cam footage, anything that would cover the path Justin would have taken. I’ll see about getting surveillance footage from outside the building.”

“I can give you that,” I said. “Cross Security has access, but there won’t be anything on it.”

“How do you know?”

“Amir’s been monitoring the area for signs of Kratos. Even if he’s on the footage, we’d never be able to spot him.” I got up to examine the board. “I don’t care where Kratos was. I just need to know where he’s going.”

“Heathcliff’s trying to get access to Justin’s financial records now,” Thompson said. “Exigent circumstances should be enough to let us peek at his recent transactions. Assuming Kratos sticks with the script he’s been following, wherever he takes Justin will probably be somewhere familiar.”

“That’s why Lucien went to Justin’s apartment,” I said. “That’s what he figured too.” I rubbed a hand over my mouth while I stared at the board. “Justin’s car is still at the restaurant.”

“Officers have secured the scene,” O’Connell said. “They didn’t think it looked like the scene of an abduction. The silver sedan was parked near the restaurant. The doors weren’t open. No one reported seeing a man being threatened or assaulted.”

“Kratos wouldn’t have made it obvious,” I said. “But getting Justin to comply wouldn’t have been easy without making a scene.”

“That’s what guns are for,” O’Connell said. “We know Kratos has a firearm. It’s how he shot Enid in the back. All he’d have to do was shove it into Justin’s side and force him to go for a walk with him. Justin isn’t former law enforcement or military. He wouldn’t have taken nearly as many precautions as everyone else Cross employs.”

Thompson indicated the map of the city. “Several subway lines run right past there. They could have gotten on a train.”

I needed to think. I had to figure this out. “I don’t think so.” I didn’t have time to waste. Were we already too late? Justin had left the office almost an hour ago. I stopped staring at the board. Being here wouldn’t find him any faster. “I have to go.”

“Alex—” O’Connell called after me, but I was already halfway to the door.

Heathcliff stopped me on the stairs. He was going up. I was going down.

“Anything?” I asked.

“The last charge was groceries last night.”

“Where?”

“The market near his apartment.”

That wouldn’t help. “Thanks for trying.” I went around him and bounded down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Heathcliff called after me.

Crazy, most likely. But that wasn’t the answer he wanted. “I don’t know. But I can’t stay here when he’s somewhere out there.” I’d done that with Sierra, and… Don’t think about that now, Parker, the voice in my head said.

I dialed Lucien while I headed to Justin’s last known location. “Did you find anything at his apartment?” I asked.

“I don’t think so, but I’m still looking.”

“Kratos likes to leave clues that don’t mean much until after the fact.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he snapped. “Do the police have any leads?”

“They’re looking.”

Lucien cursed. “Alex, we have to find him.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t I tell him not to leave the office?”

“Why didn’t you?”

Lucien half-grunted, half-sighed. “He wouldn’t have listened anyway. He wanted to take a moment to regroup. I didn’t think… I should have.”

“I’m going back to the Indian restaurant and see if I can pick up their trail from there. Are you sure Justin didn’t go inside?”

“That’s what I was told.”

“Okay.” I pressed the accelerator down harder and weaved around the slow-moving cars in front of me.

When I arrived at the location, a police cruiser was double-parked beside Justin’s vehicle. The officer and his partner were examining the interior and the ground around the car. I held out my ID as I approached.

“O’Connell told us to expect you,” Officer Huertas said. “You can look, but—”

I pulled on a pair of gloves and squatted beside the open driver’s side door. No blood drops were inside the car or on the asphalt. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I put my hands on the wheel. Justin wasn’t particularly tall, though he was taller than me. The seat seemed like it was pushed forward a little too close, but maybe Justin preferred to drive like a cartoon granny hunched over the wheel.

The glove box contained the usual items Cross put in all the company cars. Popping the trunk, I got out and went around to the back. The trunk was empty, which wasn’t common for a company car. A tiny bit of light leaked into the dark trunk from a space between the seats.

I gave the seats a push, finding the fold-down hadn’t been properly secured. After opening the back door, I crouched down and examined the floor mat behind the driver’s seat. The passenger’s side had fresh vacuum lines, but this side didn’t.

“When CSU gets here, have them start with the trunk and back seat,” I said to Officer Huertas before stepping away and dialing Lucien. “Did you check the trunk in Justin’s car?”

“No. Is he…?”

“No,” I said quickly, “but I think Kratos may have been inside the car. The trunk is empty.”

“The trunk is never empty.”

“That’s what I figured.” When did Kratos climb into the trunk? He couldn’t have done it at the office. After a previous incident, the blind spots were minimized. “Did Justin run any errands before coming to work this morning? The police didn’t see any recent financial activity.”

“He usually makes stops in the morning, but he would have used the company card. I wasn’t paying that much attention today. Too much happened this morning. Hang on. Let me check.”

While Lucien did that, I entered the Indian restaurant. The smell of exotic spices filled my nostrils. Usually, that would be enough to have my mouth watering, but at the moment, it turned my stomach.

“Table for one?” the host asked.

“No. I’m here on behalf of Cross Security.” I showed him a photo of Justin. “Have you seen this man today?”

“Justin? No, he hasn’t been in today.”

“You know him by name?”

“Of course. He’s one of our best customers.”

“How often does he come here?”

“Once or twice a week. Sometimes, he orders delivery, but most of the time, he’ll just call in an order and pick it up. We really appreciate that.” The host cocked his head at me. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t think so.” I showed him Leon Wallace’s driver’s license. “Have you seen this man recently?”

“Not that I recall.”

After I thanked him for his help, I went back to the car. The mobile crime lab had arrived and was evaluating the scene. I didn’t expect them to recover any prints or DNA that didn’t belong to Justin. Even if we could place Kratos inside the car, it wouldn’t help us find Justin.

“Lucien, are you still there?” I asked.

“Justin stopped at the dry cleaners and a florist on his way to work. I’m on my way to the dry cleaners now.”

“No coffee shops?” I asked.

“He prefers what we have in the office.”

“Send me the addresses.” My phone dinged with the text. “I’ll pass this along. Did you find anything at his apartment?”

“No. I don’t think Kratos was there.” Lucien cursed at a passing motorist. “I’ll call you back.”

I forwarded the text to the PD and Kellan. This was an all-hands situation. But I didn’t think either location was necessarily relevant. My gut said Kratos must have gotten into Justin’s car at one of those locations, unless he found some way to bypass the security cameras in the parking garage and snuck inside then, but none of that would inform on where they were now.

Thompson pointed out they could be anywhere, but I didn’t think Kratos would take that chance. However, he must have taken it with Sierra in order to transport her across town. How did he pull that off without anyone noticing?

“Hey,” I said when Thompson answered, “did we ever determine how he got Sierra to that apartment?”

“No one in the building was much help. The ME didn’t notice any defensive wounds. She may have gone willingly, not realizing her husband was a cold-blooded killer.”

“The warehouse guy told me he heard screams,” I said.

“You know how eyewitnesses are. He didn’t see anything. What he heard could have been a coincidence.”

“Yeah, maybe.” There had to be something to this, some way of figuring out how and where he’d taken Justin.

Kratos frequented that coffee shop. That’s why I assumed he was holed up somewhere nearby. The police didn’t find any evidence that he had been staying in a different unit inside the building where we found Sierra. More than likely, he had been staying in the apartment he rented under her name while he waited to strike. Once she was dead, he had to move on. Police were keeping watch on the Wallaces’ house and the efficiency Sierra had rented. Enid Pooley’s apartment remained an active crime scene. So he must have rented something else.

Justin came to this restaurant all the time. In fact, most things Justin did occurred near Cross Security.

Suddenly, I remembered something that had slipped through the cracks. Kratos had been staking out the area near our offices. He’d been performing recon on the Mexican restaurant, but he could have been performing recon on us too.

“Excuse me,” I slid into the driver’s seat again, earning perturbed looks from CSU, “I just need to check something.”

The GPS on Justin’s car showed most of his trips during business hours didn’t extend beyond a six block radius of the office. Grasping at straws, I pulled up the nearest coffee shops and checked their online menus. One of them had the weird matcha thing which meant they had the vanilla bean syrup. After cross-referencing that with hotels and apartment rentals, only to find an obvious lack in the middle of the business district, I shifted my search to empty offices and storefronts.

A block away, a building was undergoing renovations. I headed in that direction, conference calling Amir and Thompson. “Collect all the footage you can from these six blocks, focus on the cameras near the building undergoing renovation.” Amir had already pulled up the camera feeds around the Indian restaurant to find the footage had been erased. Kratos didn’t have time to cover his tracks with his usual finesse. Instead, he was covering his tracks the down and dirty way, by erasing the footage as he went.

“It’ll take some time,” Thompson said.

“I should have it shortly,” Amir said.

Thompson didn’t respond. Instead, I found that both parties had hung up.

Forty-two

I wasn’t waiting. The building in question had scaffolding across the front. The main entrance was blocked, the windows papered over. Tape and sawhorses prevented anyone from getting near the front door. But no workers were present.

I went around the side of the building, finding paint cans and pipes. The side entrance had a brand new keypad, like the one I’d seen at the apartment building where Sierra had been killed. This had to be where Kratos took Justin.

The scaffolding practically formed a tunnel on the sidewalk, preventing most people watching from the other side of the street from seeing what was happening. No surveillance cameras covered this area. The few I’d seen looked like they’d been spray-painted over.

However, I came prepared this time. After hooking my phone to the keypad, I ran the program, which magically made the numbers pop up on the screen. The light turned green, and I silently depressed the handle and pulled the door open an inch.

Quickly, I disconnected my phone from the keypad, tucked it into my pocket, and palmed my nine millimeter. I stepped inside, finding the hallway illuminated with LEDs stuck to the walls and floor. Work lights had been left in several areas, but none of them were turned on.

Dusty plastic sheeting covered much of the commercial tile floors. Parts of the wall had been demolished, which explained the drywall dust. A trail of dirty footprints lined the sheets on the floor. Those could have been from the workers or from Kratos and Justin. There were too many sets of footprints for me to determine if any of them belonged to Justin.

I moved farther down the hallway, checking openings as I went. Was this a restaurant? I couldn’t tell if what I was seeing was a gutted commercial kitchen or something else. In the distance, I spotted a coffee cup atop a makeshift table made out of two sawhorses. The familiar chain logo stared at me from the side of the cup.

Cautiously, I approached. No name was written on the side, but the familiar order was etched on the plastic. What gave it away was the double pump of vanilla bean syrup. Kratos was here, or he had been. That meant there was a good chance Justin was here. But it was quiet. A little too quiet.

Resisting the urge to call out to Justin, I moved past the coffee cup. Half a step later, another area opened to my right. The doorway, if that’s what it was going to be, didn’t have any doors, but the inside of the room had a few built-in shelves in a natural wood color and some office furniture and boxes, most of which had been covered with plastic.

A sound froze me in place. The room with its papered-over windows didn’t have its own light source. No LEDs. No emergency lighting. I heard the sound again, followed by a ripping noise.

“Ms. Parker, watch out.” That was Justin.

I ducked in time to avoid getting hit with a brass floor lamp. Kratos let go of the lamp at the last minute. It soared across the room and banged into the shelves before crashing to the ground.

I aimed at him. “Do you want to try that again?”

Kratos raised his gloved hands to shoulder height. “Where’s Cross?”

“He couldn’t make it.”

Kratos scowled. “He’s supposed to be here.” He peered behind me, at Justin. “He should have come here himself. I thought you were partners. Why isn’t he here?”

I shifted so he couldn’t see Justin. “Put your hands on your head and get on your knees.”

“What are you going to do if I don’t?”

I looked at him with crazy eyes. “Do you want to find out?”

He lowered to one knee, then the other, his hands still held up in surrender.

“Justin, are you okay?” I asked, not turning to look at him.

“I’ve been better.”

“We all have.” I gripped my gun firmly in one hand, my aim rock steady as I grabbed the cuffs from where they hung on my belt with the other. “On the ground.”

But Kratos didn’t move.

I didn’t like this. The sooner I cuffed this bastard, the better. Giving him a wide berth, I circled around until I was behind him. Then I grabbed one of his wrists, clinked the bracelet in place, and twisted his arm around his back. I tucked my gun into my holster and reached for his other wrist.

He grasped my forearms as I twisted his arms. The wet, slick feel of his gloves brushed against my skin. “I thought you were a private investigator, Ms. Parker. This feels more like you missed your calling to be a police officer. Do you want to read me my rights?” He laughed, twisting his arm out of my grip before I could attach the other handcuff.

I shoved him forward until he was face down on the ground. The motion made me dizzy. I tried to get his hand again, but it hit me hard and fast. At first, it was like a sudden itch, hot and prickly, that traveled up my arms, across my chest, and flushed my face. What followed was a sudden bout of queasiness, which didn’t result in me getting sick, but my mouth filled with saliva. And then, it all stopped, replaced with a warm haze that made it difficult to focus.

Kratos bucked me off of him, making me roll to the side. The bastard had laced his gloves. Keeping my eyes open was becoming more difficult, but I wasn’t anything if I wasn’t stubborn.

“Get off of her. Leave her alone,” Justin yelled.

Kratos carefully removed the gloves, turning them inside out so as not to accidentally dose himself. How much was even on there? Every estimate we’d seen suggested he’d used up the morphine patches. Had he gotten more?

My heart beat slower, but given how fast it had been going when I entered the building, this felt like my normal resting rate. My breathing wasn’t restricted or labored. This wasn’t an overdose, or so I hoped. It felt more like the morphine drips I’d had at the hospital, the same morphine drips I’d refused as soon as I was conscious and able.

Kratos searched me, taking my gun and phone. He held the device in front of my face, but it didn’t unlock. “What’s your passcode?”

“I thought you were a hacker.” My voice came out sounding a little like Tweety bird.

“Do you think it’s wise to waste time, Ms. Parker?”

“Bite me.”

Kratos moved to strike.

“She doesn’t have a passcode,” Justin said, stopping him. “That’s a company phone. It unlocks with a fingerprint.”

Kratos glanced back at him. “Whose idea was that? Yours? Lucien’s?”

“I’m sorry,” Justin said, “about your parents.”

“Don’t—” Kratos pressed the phone into my hand before pulling it away and scrolling through my recent contacts.

“It’s my fault,” Justin said. “Let Ms. Parker go, and leave Lucien out of this. They didn’t have anything to do with it. They didn’t know.”

I blinked out, losing an indeterminate amount of time, but when I forced my eyelids open again, blood dripped from the chair where Justin had been. I couldn’t see if he was still there. The chair had spun around, but Kratos paced in front of me, checking the time and listening for outside noises.

“Justin?” I asked, hoping for a response.

Kratos stopped pacing and stared down at me. “I’m surprised you woke up.”

“I’m gonna kill you, you son of a bitch.”

“Somehow, I doubt it.” My eyelids fluttered, and he went back to pacing. He muttered to himself, “What the fuck is taking him so long? He knows. I showed him. Why the fuck isn’t he here yet?” He gave me a little kick. “Don’t die yet. I want Lucien to be here for the end, to see his best and his favorite take their last breaths before I kill him too.”

“You should have done him in the office,” I said.

“Oh, I wanted to. It took every ounce of self-control not to do it. Instead, I had to sit there and smile at that smug bastard.”

Justin made a sound, which told me he wasn’t dead. But he was hurt. The growing pool of blood on the floor wasn’t a good sign. The wheeze he emitted indicated he needed help. This was the worst rescue attempt of all time. Maybe second worst. I should have been better at this.

I tried to move, but my limbs were sluggish. For the first time in months, nothing hurt. But my body wanted to sleep. I needed to wake up. I needed something to counteract the opiate.

The first aid kit and naloxone remained in my car. I wasn’t even sure if that would work since I wasn’t ODing, but it would keep the opiates from binding to my receptors, so it should. Just thinking that made the fog in my brain grow exponentially. I was slow and dull when I needed to be fast and sharp. Adrenaline. I needed adrenaline.

My eyes closed, and more time was lost. But it must have only been seconds, maybe minutes. Each time, I came back a little clearer. All right. Adrenaline. Again, no first aid kit. I needed a boost to get my heart racing and my blood pumping.

The problem with morphine, well, one of the many problems with morphine, was it made it hard to focus and even harder to care. Things mattered less. Justin dying a few feet away still mattered. I had to get up. I had to save him. But I couldn’t hold on to that thought long enough.

Instead, I focused on those dark thoughts that always lived in the background. Martin bleeding out. That made me gasp. My muscles tensed. Finding him on the floor, unresponsive. Tears burned my eyes. It wasn’t enough.

I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save Michael. Images rushed to me of the post-explosion. Michael in the back of the ambulance. The paramedics. Back to Martin, shot, bleeding, dying. Sierra. Justin.

My heart raced. My easy, steady breaths had turned into hyperventilating gasps. I’d spent so long learning how to stave off panic attacks, that I had never tried to force one upon myself until now. My throat was tight and dry, but damn if the adrenaline surge didn’t clear away enough of the morphine haze.

I inched backward and sat up. Kratos must have heard me gasp because he turned to look at me. From here, I had a better view of Justin. I couldn’t tell if he’d been shot or stabbed, but the blossoming stain on his torso didn’t look good.

“This is the best my back and ribs have felt in months,” I said as I got my legs beneath me. “Can I be honest with you? Everything hurts all the time, so I can kind of see the appeal.” I nodded to the balled up gloves. “Is that why you did it? Why you keep killing people? Because you hurt?”

Kratos aimed my gun at me, but I slumped against the desk. Making a move on him now wouldn’t be wise. “Why would you ask me that?”

“If this were a fairytale, Enid Pooley would have been the wicked witch who stole you away from the loving king and queen. Did she tell you lies? Did she say your parents were evil? Did she tell you to reinvent yourself every few years? Or did you decide that on your own?”

“She said no one could ever find me. If they did, they’d take me away. They’d hurt me.”

“By the time you were a teenager, you must have known better. Why didn’t you leave? Was it Stockholm syndrome?”

Kratos scowled. “I’d think you’d understand. I looked into you. A family took you in to save you from some assholes.”

“The people who took me in were assholes.” I gave him a grim smile. “Same as you. But I didn’t go on a crazy killing spree because of it. Why Sierra? What did she ever do to you?”

He stared at me with cold eyes. “She was a means to an end. She’d never gone on the record. She didn’t have the same baggage and damage as most of those other women. It’d be harder for Cross Security to make the connection, but since you’re all supposed to be so brilliant, she’d make the perfect challenge. But you proved what I already knew. No one gave a shit about her, just like they never gave a shit about me.”

“Did you ever reach out to your parents?” I asked. “Did you speak to them? Or were you too fucking afraid they’d see what a pathetic psycho you were?”

“I was afraid they might be psychos, so I approached them as someone else. They were nice and kind. And they were loving.” He huffed like a locomotive. “I was going to tell them, but they died before I could.” He spun to face Justin and cracked him across the face with the back of his gun. “That is on you.”

The blow brought Justin back from the abyss. Blood dripped from his broken nose and busted eyebrow.

“You never even tried to help. Instead, you made sure to stop everyone who could have helped. You shut them down. You made them go away.” Kratos was unraveling. As if remembering the gun in his hand, he started firing.

I dove for him. The first few shots he fired had been wild. But with each squeeze of the trigger, he’d been getting closer to Justin. I tackled him, throwing him off balance and knocking him into a plastic covered cabinet. It toppled over, and we landed on top of it.

I looked back for half a millisecond to make sure Justin hadn’t been hit by any of those wild shots, but only the single hole remained. Kratos recovered from his daze and went for the gun. I went for Kratos, yelling to Justin, “Run.”

What I hadn’t realized was the plastic sheeting had been rolled to form long strips which Kratos had used to tie Justin to the chair. He couldn’t run.

Kratos and I fought over the gun until he hit me hard enough to send me careening sideways. My shoulder banged into the desk, the thick metal drawer handle impacting with the muscle and bone and making my arm go numb. It must have hurt, but I couldn’t feel it. Right now, I was impervious to pain.

He aimed at Justin, and I threw myself in front of him, knocking the chair to the ground. A gunshot rang out. Followed by another and another. I felt one impact. I didn’t feel the others. But another three shots were fired after that. They were louder. Closer.

And then I heard Thompson yelling, “Police. Drop your weapon.”

Forty-three

“Lucien,” I said, “put it down.” My boss stood over Kratos’s body, his gun aimed. In my drug-induced haze, I thought I could see smoke curling up from the barrel. But I knew that wasn’t reality. “Lucien,” I said again, “help me with Justin.”

“Boss?” Justin asked, his voice weak.

That shook Lucien out of it. He placed his gun on the desk, farthest from Kratos and joined us. He took his jacket and rolled it up beneath Justin’s head. “We need medics.”

Thompson flipped the dead Kratos over, cuffed him, and collected the discarded firearms. Once all three were bagged and taken away, paramedics came in to work on Justin. Thompson offered me a hand up, and I wobbled a little as I got back on my feet.

“You okay, Parker?”

Heathcliff eyed me from where he’d been keeping an eye on things from the door. “Make sure the blood isn’t hers. I heard she got confused about who it belonged to the last time she got clipped,” he said.

“Ha, ha, Derek. Very funny.” I let out a sigh, afraid to turn and see what was happening with Justin. He couldn’t die. I couldn’t fail someone else.

“Hey,” Heathcliff approached while Thompson circled me, “look at me. Are you high?”

“The gloves.” I pointed to the balled up leather. “I’m guessing it’s a less lethal version of the cocktail he sent to Martin and Gabriel. Honestly, I feel great. Really great.”

“Well, that’s good,” Thompson said, “since I think you got hit. Are you wearing a vest?”

“Light body armor.”

“All right, let’s get that jacket off,” Heathcliff said.

“We are not playing doctor right now.” I turned, but the paramedics had already packed Justin’s wound and had him hooked to a portable monitor. The steady rhythm suggested he’d be okay, but I wasn’t high enough to assume that would remain true. “Lucien?”

My boss looked back at me and nodded.

“Ms. Parker,” Justin said, “thanks.”

“After this, you damn well better call me Alex.”

He gave me a crooked smile. “Whatever you say, Alex.”

The paramedics lifted the stretcher.

“I’ll meet you there. You’re gonna be okay,” Lucien said.

“I know, boss. You can’t function without me.”

“Go.” Lucien let out a breath, turning to find himself surrounded by police officers. “You can talk to me after Mr. Almeada gets here.” He met my eyes and pushed his way through the uneasy cluster of police officers who had a body, multiple weapons, and two injured to contend with. “Are you all right?”

“I feel great.”

“She’s high.” Heathcliff bagged the gloves for evidence. “We’ll know more once she gets checked out.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Uh-huh.” Heathcliff checked my back before getting a paramedic from the second ambulance to put some gauze on my shoulder.

*       *        *

“Is Justin going to be okay?” I asked.

Thompson looked up from the paperwork. “The doctors said he’ll make a full recovery.”

“Good.”

He went back to the paperwork. “You were supposed to call me when you had a lead. Remember?”

“I didn’t know it was a lead. I thought it might have been a hunch. I had to check it out. You wouldn’t have wanted me to waste your time on a hunch.”

“You’re a glory hound. That’s what you are, Parker. You always want to be the hero. You can’t wait for someone else to save the day.”

“Justin didn’t have time,” I said.

“I could have had two bodies and zero leads. Do you have any idea the ass-chewing I would have gotten because of that or what O’Connell would have done to me? Didn’t I set the conditions of our partnership on day one?”

“Partnership?” I smiled at him. “I didn’t know you thought of me as your partner. Y’know, I don’t do partners.” The familiar ache in my chest was back, which meant the morphine had finally worn off. “Lucca was the exception, not the rule. But I guess if I had to get stuck with another, Heathcliff wouldn’t be so bad. Or O’Connell. But I sure as shit wouldn’t pick you.”

Thompson laughed, which made me laugh too. “Ditto, Parker. Ditto.”

I reached for the pack of crackers Heathcliff had left on the desk for me. “Have you finished questioning Lucien yet?”

“Did you call him? Is that how he found you?”

“He knew I was in the area.”

“How did he know where in the area?”

“I’m guessing he tracked my phone, or Kratos contacted him while I was out of it.”

Thompson added a note to his report. “Would you say Lucien Cross has anger issues?”

“It was a clean shoot, Thompson.”

“I know, but he emptied half his magazine into Kratos. That crosses the line of self-defense. I’d call it rage.”

“I’d call it justified.”

Thompson put down his pen and looked at me. “Why didn’t you shoot him when you had the chance? If you had, you wouldn’t have gotten dosed or shot. Justin may have been in slightly better shape. You had every reason to want him dead. He tried to kill Martin, he went after your coworker’s boyfriend, and he killed Sierra. If anyone should have had rage, I’d say it’d be you.”

I couldn’t say the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. As soon as I had a clean shot, I’d thought about taking it, but I didn’t. “Kratos had surrendered.”

“I don’t think that would have stopped Cross from firing.”

“Some days, I’m not sure it’d stop me either, but I’d like to think it would. However, what stopped me today, and let’s be honest, it’s been a fucking rough day, but what stopped me was I wanted to know why.”

“Did he tell you?”

I shrugged, which reminded me my shoulder hurt. “He said a few things.”

“But you weren’t satisfied.” Thompson picked up his mug and took a sip. “In situations like this, I don’t think there’s ever an answer that would satisfy the why.”

“I never pegged you for wise. I must still be high.”

He glared at me. “What did he say?”

“He reconnected with his parents, but he never told them who he was. When they died, he wanted to blame us for taking that time away from him, for not helping them find him sooner.”

“What about the shit with Enid?”

I shook my head.

“Sierra?”

I stared at the desk. That one hurt. But no matter how I rearranged the pieces, I’d never be able to find an alternate reality where I’d make other choices that would have saved her. I didn’t know if that was a flaw in me, fate, or the universe playing a cruel joke. Martin lived. She didn’t.

“Hey,” O’Connell bumped the back of the chair, “only one of us is allowed to wear a sling at a time. What are you doing getting shot in the back of the shoulder?”

“It didn’t penetrate. It’s just bloody and bruised.” I stretched out my arm. “Sore, but no sling needed.”

“Do better next time,” O’Connell said.

“Yes, sir.”

He looked from me to his partner. “The two of you seem to be getting along much better. Is this what happens when I’m not around?”

“I’m only being nice since she’s hurt. But since she just told you she’s fine, I don’t need to go out of my way.”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out,” I said.

Thompson narrowed his eyes at me. “Remember that the next time you think about stealing my chair.”

*        *        *

Martin and I were curled up on the grey couch in the theater room. A cooking competition show played on the big screen. The burger they’d just made must have been twice the size of my head. But that was a trick of the screen. Though, I could have gone for a burger that big.

“Tell me about this engagement party,” I said.

“Alexis, we don’t need to talk about that.” He wrapped his arms tighter around my waist and kissed the top of my shoulder.

I stared into his green eyes. “Have you changed your mind?” I teased. “Do you want the ring back?”

“No, but I’m enjoying this. Us. No one else. It’s nice to finally be alone again. I’m not sure I want to flood the house with a bunch of people anytime soon.”

“You mean you didn’t like having security guards stationed in your home office?”

“Not particularly.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear before tracing my earlobe with his fingertips. “I don’t want them at the office either.”

“I’ll have Lucien call off the dogs,” I said. “I’m sorry you ended up in this mess.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t lose you.”

He kissed me gently. “You won’t.”

“Do you want to get married?” I asked.

“I love you too much to torture you like that. I know you. If our union was legal, you’d never sleep another wink.” He indicated the couch where we were ‘taking it easy.’ “This is the exact reason why.”

“Is that why you want to call off the engagement party?”

“I’m not calling it off. I’m postponing it.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You were never planning an engagement party, were you? That was bullshit. You’re planning something else.” I searched my mind, but I wasn’t sure what else it could be.

“Alexis, sweetheart, I love you, but you’re losing it.”

“No, I’m not. You’re planning some other event or party. Is it Christmas? You go crazy for the holidays. Maybe New Year’s? It can’t be Valentine’s Day. You wouldn’t invite guests for that.” I raised an eyebrow. “Have you developed a new kink I don’t yet know about?”

“Not that I’m aware, but have I told you about my superpower?”

“Martin, stop.” I gave him a little shove. “I’m serious.”

“So am I. I never joke about superpowers.”

“Not this again.” I rolled my eyes, but I knew he said it to distract me. “It’s gotta be for a holiday or event.” Suddenly, it hit me. “My birthday is next month.”

“Is it?” he asked too innocently.

“You were planning a surprise party.”

“I was doing no such thing. You hate surprises.”

“That’s right. I hate surprises. And you hate it when I figure out the surprise.”

“Yeah,” he said, a little annoyed.

“Ha. I knew you were lying.” But my satisfaction at figuring this out was short-lived. “Shit. I ruined your surprise.”

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t get a perverse pleasure out of it,” he said, only half-teasing.

“I am sorry. But I don’t want a party. I’m not great with large groups.”

“They’re all your friends.”

“I know, and I get overwhelmed. It’s too much.”

“It’s not too much, sweetheart. You deserve it,” he said, understanding that I never felt worthy of that much love or attention.

“But it’s my birthday. Can’t we do something else instead? Something smaller, maybe just us.”

“Well, you know we’re not having a party now that you figured it out.” Devious thoughts swam in his eyes. “We’ll do something else. I’m becoming a fan of this whole doing nothing thing that we’ve been attempting to master. However, I’m not opposed to you making it up to me since you ruined my fun.”

“How do you want me to make it up to you, handsome?”

He grinned. “Have I mentioned I have superpowers?”

Note from the Author:

First and foremost, thank you for taking the time to read this book. That means so very much to me. This year has been more of a struggle than most to get the words on the page. So I very much appreciate your patience and support. I have the privilege of getting to introduce you to people and places that only existed in my mind, but now, they exist in yours too. And that wouldn’t be possible without you. So thank you for coming on this journey with me.

I truly hope you found this book exciting and that it kept you entertained. If so, please consider leaving a review. They are always appreciated.

*       *       *

See what’s next for Alexis Parker in Break Glass (Alexis Parker #30):

Cross Security has been hired to provide security for the diamond exchange. While Lucien Cross and his security teams provide a show of force, Alexis Parker will be working from the shadows to ensure everything runs smoothly.

A team of thieves known as the Brotherhood has set their sights on a nine-figure payday, and it is up to Alex to infiltrate the Brotherhood. Luckily, the name is a misnomer. These thieves are all about equal opportunity, just as long as they can line their pockets. However, betrayal will be met with a swift and permanent removal, the kind of removal that involves six feet of dirt and a shovel.

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*       *       *

Want to see how Lucien Cross handled a stalking case on a university campus when he was just starting out? Dive into Knife’s Edge (A Cross Security Investigation #5).

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

G.K. Parks is the author of the Alexis Parker series. The first novel, Likely Suspects, tells the story of Alexis’ first foray into the private sector.

G.K. Parks received a Bachelor of Arts in Political Science and History. After spending some time in law school, G.K. changed paths and earned a Master of Arts in Criminology/Criminal Justice. Now all that education is being put to use creating a fictional world based upon years of study and research.

You can find additional information on G.K. Parks and the Alexis Parker series by visiting our website at

www.alexisparkerseries.com

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Full-length Novels in the Alexis Parker Series:

Likely Suspects

The Warhol Incident

Mimicry of Banshees

Suspicion of Murder

Racing Through Darkness

Camels and Corpses

Lack of Jurisdiction

Dying for a Fix

Intended Target

Muffled Echoes

Crisis of Conscience

Misplaced Trust

Whitewashed Lies

On Tilt

Purview of Flashbulbs

The Long Game

Burning Embers

Thick Fog

Warning Signs

Past Crimes

Sinister Secret

Zero Sum

Buried Alive

Trouble Brewing

Balance Due

Hostage Situation

Damage Control

Dark Truths

Sirens at Night

Break Glass

Liv DeMarco Novels

Dangerous Stakes

Operation Stakeout

Unforeseen Danger

Deadly Dealings

High Risk

Fatal Mistake

Imminent Threat

Mistaken Identity

Malicious Intent

Controlled Burn

Dodging Bullets

Lucien Cross Novels

Fallen Angel

Calculated Risk

Light Them Up

Champagne Problems

Knife’s Edge

Julian Mercer Novels

Condemned

Betrayal

Subversion

Reparation

Retaliation

Hunting Grounds

Lexie Sarconi Novels

Burglary Blues

Break-ins and Bouquets

Compromised Undercover

Killer Getaway