I stare at the card which, despite my rejection of the premise, all but declares Rodriquez to be the slayer. Taking a mental step back, I admit to myself that the truth is that the card had no postmark. In other words, how else but by way of an insider, could it get to my desk and then to his desk? It had to be an internal action. But the bottom line here is that nothing in my gut connects with the idea of Rodriquez as the slayer. Jacob kneels next to me and hands me a pen. “Open it,” he orders softly, obviously aware of the sparse, but populated, sea of desks around us.
I accept the pen, using it as intended to flip open the card, and prevent further compromising fingerprints. Jacob grabs a form filled out by Rodriquez from the edge of the desk and lays it next to the card. Together, we study the two sets of writing and I shake my head. “They don’t match,” I say, “and yet—look at the loops in the bottom of the Y’s. God. Maybe it does. Maybe it was him. I mean, it’s on his desk. Like he left it as confirmation.”
“Maybe,” Jacob says, sounding skeptical. “Or maybe that’s what we’re supposed to think.”
I grab my phone and find the photo of the suicide note that I’d taken at the scene of the crime, setting it on the desk to allow us both to compare samples. “The script on the suicide note matches Rodriquez’s script for sure,” he says.
“But not the card,” I add. “That writing is different. This makes no sense. Why would he have a card he didn’t give me?”
“Either he had it written by someone else so you wouldn’t recognize the writing, he was working with the real slayer, or he was set up. Whatever the case, the intent here is a mind fuck.”
He’s right. It is, and I don’t like it. I swipe to another photo. “This is Gerome’s writing.” We both study the samples. “And,” I say. “It’s not even a close match to anything else we’re looking at.”
“Agreed,” Jacob says. “We need an expert opinion and Royce has already stepped up to help. He called in a favor from a pal at the FBI. They’re going to have a handwriting expert help us out.” He motions to the desk. “Grab some samples of Rodriquez’s writing and then let’s get out of here. Preferably before your boss rains hell down on Walker Security for me letting you come here.”
I glance over at him. “Letting me?”
“Sweetheart, I’m on your team, holding on tight for whatever ride we decide to take together, but so is my boss, who will get hell from your boss. Let’s avoid the ass-chewing from both ends.”
“Right. I forgot that you have people to answer to as well.” I glance over at him, this pushy arrogant man who is only trying to help. “Thank you for helping me.”
His eyes flicker with surprise, and then soften. “It’s a rough night when a soldier, or I should say a badge, goes down, be it the right or wrong side of the law.”
He cuts his eyes, and while “soldier” is an easy slip of the tongue for a soldier, I have this sense that he hit a nerve he didn’t mean to reveal. I’m curious but I would never ask him about it anywhere but alone. For now, I try to jab him out of that memory. “But you’re still an asshole,” I tease.
He glances over at me, and whatever was in his eyes moments before is now gone. “Say that when we’re alone.”
My brow furrows. “Why?”
“Because apparently it turns me on.”
My cheeks that never heat, heat, and I look away. Not because I care at this point that he knows how he affects me, but because two men died tonight and more could follow if we don’t stop that from happening. That means solving the slayer mystery, and on that note, I take a couple of photos of the card and the desk in general, as well as multiple documents signed by Rodriquez. Once I’m done, I flip the card shut again and shove it between two sheets of paper, before slipping it into an envelope. I stuff it into my bag and then open a drawer to glance at a personal bill inside, confirming Rodriquez’s address in my mind, though I’m fairly certain that Walker already has it.
Jacob motions toward the rear exit, and I nod, falling into step with him, and the idea that I missed what was in front of me starts to eat away at me hard and fast. We head down the rear stairs toward my office and fortunately, no one steps into our path before we exit to the garage where I turn to face Jacob. “I sat across from him for years,” I say, expressing my thoughts to him before I explode. “I never felt the slayer watch me. I never saw or felt Rodriquez looking at me when he thought I wasn’t looking and yet, no matter how wrong it feels, it has to be him.”
“You’re making yourself crazy right now,” he says, his hands settling on my shoulders. “Your first reaction was to tell me it wasn’t him. Both when we found the bodies and when you found that card on Rodriquez’s desk.”
“My gut says it’s not him, but the facts say that it is.”
“There are no facts,” he says. “There are just possibilities and I know you know that. Let the FBI handwriting expert tell us if all the written pieces of the puzzle come together, but right now, you need to recognize that someone you know is dead. That’s not the same as dealing with a crime scene and a stranger. I know because I’ve lived both in the form of warzones. You don’t have your detective hat on right now.”
“I do. I can handle this, and I need to handle it now. Work is sanity for me.”
“I’m not suggesting that you can’t handle it. I’m suggesting your boss wasn’t wrong. Right now, you need to step back and breathe. Think about where we are, process. You said that the slayer wants to play a game with you. Well, the slayer is playing you and this is the biggest mind fuck of all.”
“If it’s Rodriquez,” I say following his lead, “then he’s made me doubt that it’s him. He’s mind fucked me into chasing a dead man. If it’s not Rodriquez, he’s making me focus on Rodriquez.”
“And if it’s Rodriquez and he’s dead, you don’t need protection.”
“And then I’m left exposed,” I say, seeing where he’s going with this.
“Exactly.”
“But he’s smart. He expected I’d have protection. “
“Maybe we were more than he expected. Or maybe it’s all about breaking you down. You’re safe. You’re not safe. You’re safe again.”
“We solve the case now or I’ll never be able to know I’m safe, or anyone around me is safe, again.” I start walking and he pulls me back, right in front of him.
“Where are you going?”
“The note said that Gerome knew things that I wasn’t ready to know. I need to go to Gerome’s place.”
“There’s going to be a forensic team and if he killed Gerome to keep you from finding something, he got rid of it. And we’re making decisions together, remember?”
“I know, but—”
He drags me against him.
“No buts. We talk this through. We do this together.”
“Yes,” I say. “But—”
He leans in and kisses me. “Stop saying but.”
“Contrary to popular belief, your belief, kissing me does not make me compliant.”
“No?”
“No, it—”
His mouth closes over mine again, his hands at the back of my head, tongue licking against mine in a couple of quick, delicious strokes that curl my toes, before he says, “You were saying?”
“I have no idea, asshole,” I whisper, but the asshole really comes out like a breathless “please kiss me again” which pretty much blows the impact.
“If taking an opportunity to kiss you makes me an asshole, I will gladly be an asshole.” He strokes my hair from my face. “Don’t push so hard, sweetheart. I’m not the bad guy.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because I really fucking need you to know that.”
“Are we talking about the slayer right now?”
“We’re talking about trust.”
“Again. Are we talking about the slayer right now?”
His cellphone rings.
“Saved by the bell,” I say.
“I can’t be saved,” he says, as if that was something he’s just accepted, but I don’t get the chance to ask what he means. He reaches in his pocket and pulls his phone out, glancing at the caller ID and then me. “Royce,” he says, before hitting the answer button. “Yes, boss.” He listens a moment and there is a brief, impossible-to-understand exchange, before he hangs up and sticks his phone back in his pocket. “Royce wants us at the Walker building.”
“Why?” My hand goes to my throat. “Is—my father—is he okay?”
“He’s currently playing chess with Savage because Savage told him he would kick his ass.”
I breathe out and then frown. “He took a break from work to play chess? That can’t be right.”
He pulls his phone out and shows me a photo taken by Savage of my father, pondering a move on the chess board.
“Well, there’s some good news in a sea of bad. Since my mother died, he insulates himself from everything but work.”
“Sounds familiar,” Jacob says.
“Do you mean me or you?”
“I meant you but we’re two sides of the same coin, sweetheart.”
“You shut people out.”
“And you push them away.”
“You don’t take being pushed very well,” I observe.
“You take silence very well, but I assume that serves you well as a detective.”
“And with you.”
“Yes,” he agrees, warmth in his voice. “And with me.” He motions me forward. “Let’s go get that handwriting sample from your apartment and get to the Walker offices.”
We start walking. Do you have an idea what Royce wants?” I ask.
“I know he talked to your boss about sharing the investigation material. Other than that, he just said they have critical information and need your input.”
“I really need to go to Gerome’s apartment.”
“Everything worth finding out about Gerome we’ll find out by hacking, calling in favors, and working around the obvious, which is happening right now at Walker. They’re putting together a monstrous pile of data to go over with us.”
We head out of the parking lot into what has become a night worthy of a coat. I shiver and Jacob pulls me close, under his arm.
“I’d offer you my coat, but it would impair your ability to get to your gun, which is why I assume you grin and bear it when you can.”
He’s right. That’s exactly why I avoid a coat unless it’s a brutally cold day. I want to be ready. I always assume I won’t be ready. But I go back to my previous thought. I’m not ready because the slayer has watched me for at least two years, and I never knew. That thought is the one that stays with me for the short walk to the subway, and as we pile into the packed car, Jacob holding the strap above him and me holding him, it doesn’t fade.
Once we’re at street level again, we don’t speak, both of us in tune with our surroundings. I send out my Spidey senses, looking for a familiar malice, but I find none. We’re quickly at my apartment and Jacob opens the gate. I move forward and he’s by my side by the time I’ve taken two steps. We approach the porch and nerves that I rarely feel jostle through me. Together, Jacob and I walk the steps and when I step to the security panel, I stare down at the ground.
“Jacob,” I say, but he is already right there, at my shoulder.
“What do you see that I don’t see?” he asks, shining the flashlight on his phone at the ground.
“Nothing,” I say. “I don’t know why, but I expected to see something.” I glance up at him. “Even if the slayer is dead, I’d have thought he’d have left a message. It feels like he would.”
“He left the card on Rodriquez’s desk.”
“Right,” I say, keying in the security code, but my mind is trying to lead me to ten different places.
The door buzzes open and Jacob and I enter the building, walking up the stairs. Once we’re at my door, I let Jacob do the protector routine, and enter first. Once we’re inside and locked up, he heads to the bedroom to clear the apartment. I pull my phone from my pocket and walk toward the refrigerator. I stare at that note: You’re not ready yet. The script doesn’t feel familiar. It never has and when I compare it to the photos of the script for Rodriquez, the card, the suicide note, and Gerome, only the card and the suicide note have possible similarities.
Jacob walks in. “Well?”
I hand him my phone and walk to the island, pressing my hands to the countertop. A good minute later, Jacob joins me and sets the phone next to me. “They don’t match.”
“No,” I say, and we face each other, elbows on the island. “That means the writer of the original note might not be connected to this at all.”
“Or he had an army of helpers.”
“Why would anyone help him stalk me?”
“If we could answer that question, it would lead us to the slayer.”
I push off the island and walk to the refrigerator to stare at the words again. You’re not ready yet. There’s the taunt I now see in what has long seemed inspiring. Jacob steps to my side. “Did you feel him?” I ask again, glancing over at him. “When we were on our way here?”
“No, I didn’t. Did you?”
“No, but I really don’t feel in tune with him at all.” I turn to face him. “When you followed me, I didn’t know you were there at first, but I do now. I feel you close. I know that has to do with our connection, but it’s new and fresh, and I still feel you when you walk into the room.”
“Some would argue that’s because new and fresh means that every moment we’re together is charged because of that connection.”
“Okay. Yes. Agreed. But I’ve always sensed things. It’s part of what makes me a damn good detective. Maybe he’s military like you.”
“Whatever he is, he’s dangerous. He’s invisible. And he’s coming for you.”
“If he’s alive.”
“We’re assuming he’s alive until we know otherwise.”
“Then me going to Walker Security tells him I’m insulated and he can’t get to me directly. What if that makes him kill someone else?”
“When you start leaving a trail of bodies, you make yourself a target. I don’t think he’s that stupid.”
“But he could be that crazy.”
“Exactly why you’re packing a bag and coming home with me.”
“And if I say no?”
“I won’t let you. Because you see, sweetheart, you might be a damn good detective, but I’m damn good at killing people and staying alive. And I’m going to keep us both alive.”
“If he’s alive, he needs to feel like I let my guard down. That will lure him out.”
“Pack a bag,” he repeats. “You’re coming with me. End of conversation.”