Ray left that night with the box of bricks and letters. He was just unlocking his truck when he heard someone call out a greeting. He assumed it was the very person he figured would be coming to talk to him, given enough time.

“Hey there!” the man called out.

Ray put the box on the seat and turned, shutting the door. The man who approached was tall and gangly looking. He wore eyeglasses and a crisp white golf shirt. He covered up the fact that he was balding with a golfer’s cap and wore his shirt tucked into a pair of pristine khaki pants.

“Hello,” Ray said pleasantly. The man did an awkward jog while trying to look like he was just walking fast in order to catch Ray before he got in his truck. He can take his time, Ray thought to himself. This sure was going to be interesting.

“I’m Frank Waldon. How are you?” Frank raised his hand. Ray shook it, looking the guy deep in the eyes as he did. It always amazed him how often he shook someone’s hand while they avoided looking him in the eye and holding his gaze.

“Jeremy Reynolds,” he lied. “I’m here for my nephew’s wedding.”

Frank seemed to mull this over and then nodded. “Well, nice to meet you. Welcome to the neighborhood. Nice truck. Classic, I take it?”

“That’s right,” Ray said.

“So, how long are you staying after the wedding?” Frank asked casually.

“Oh, I don’t know. Seems like a nice enough place. I haven’t had the chance for a real vacation in a long time. I might go tour the Golden Gate Bridge and maybe one of those trolley cars, like in the post cards. You know?” he said casually, giving Frank a long, languid smile.

“I see. Very good, very good. Actually, it’s a cable car, but I’m sure you will enjoy the ride just the same. Well, I hope you enjoy your stay and the wedding goes smoothly,” Frank said.

Ray was waiting for Frank to get to the real reason he came over to speak to him, but the way he spoke about the wedding was peculiar.

“Why do you say that? My nephew been having some trouble with the wedding plans?” he asked.

“Oh, you know how these things go.” Frank shrugged. “There’s always something bound to happen, right?”

Ray laughed, a full-hearted belly laugh that rang out in the quiet neighborhood. Frank looked around uncomfortably, as Ray knew he would.

“That’s right. Especially with their kind of wedding. I mean, something’s going to come up. I wonder which one will experience the first bout of cold feet before they figure out they’re just being dumb.” He continued to chuckle. Frank continued to look uneasy as he looked around. There wasn’t anyone in sight but that didn’t mean they weren’t beginning to stare out their windows. Dusk was just settling in, and Ray and Frank were cast under the glow of the streetlamp. Most of the houses in the cul-de-sac sat near a streetlamp. Ethan and Derrick’s house happened to have one directly in front.

“What do you mean?” Frank asked, perplexed.

“Oh, you know.” Ray jostled his arm with a bump of his own shoulder, making him look around again. “Their kind. Might be a bit more difficult given how different they are,” he said.

Frank continued to look confused and Ray figured he was either genuinely stumped or he was a really good actor. Frank cleared his throat, changing the subject.

“So where are you off to now, Jeremy?” he asked.

“Back to my hotel,” he answered.

“You aren’t staying with your nephew?” Frank asked.

“No, it might be a bit awkward, considering I’m not…well, you know,” he replied. “Besides, I’m sure they have friends or other family on Derrick’s side coming in for the wedding or something. I don’t need to be in the way of it all,” he finished.

“I see,” Frank said.

“I’ll be back though, probably off and on, to spend quality time with Ethan before the big day. You don’t mind me. I never know when I am coming or going. Could be any time, you know?”

“Ah.” Frank looked even more uncomfortable. “Well, that’s actually why I came over here. You see, we have certain rules in the community. A sort of etiquette for the street here. I’m the community watchperson, responsible to report anything unusual or upsetting to the community board and to report anything suspicious to the police, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, so you’re the guy responsible for snooping in everyone’s business!” Ray said enthusiastically. “Yeah, we had one of those. But old man Witham ran him off his yard one night with a shotgun. It caused a big scene, and they had to remind Witham that intimidation like that wasn’t called for when someone was just coming to the front door and knocking politely. You see, I can imagine that’s how things are done around here. Politely, right? Because if I ever find out my nephew is being not treated well…well, you can imagine,” he finished. He left the sentence open, and it had the exact effect Ray was hoping for.

“Oh, my, well, yes, of course, Mr. Reynolds. He will be treated very well. I just wanted to speak to you about parking your vehicle on the street is all. We have a visitors’ parking lot near the front gate if you are unable to park in the driveway. It keeps the aesthetics of the street looking nice, you see. But no, no ill treatment towards your nephew, sir. None at all.” He tugged on the collar of his nice shirt, and Ray smiled again, opening the door to his truck and climbing in.

“Well, alright then. Glad to hear it,” he said jovially as he started the engine.

Mr. Waldon took a few steps back as Ray revved the engine, breaking the peaceful silence of the serene neighborhood. Lights flicked on over the main entryways of the surrounding houses, and Ray was sure to give the gas pedal a little extra gunning as he drove out. He watched the silhouette of Frank retreat back to the safety of his own house before he drove through the community gate. He felt like the gate watched him again as he pulled onto the street, daring him to reveal the secrets that the community didn’t want to get out.

Ray drove in silence as he mulled things over in his mind. He left without a shadow of doubt that the stalker was not Ethan or Derrick trying to escape their impending nuptials. He glanced at the bricks and notes in the box and shook his head. The depths of hatred that ignorance could force someone to never ceased to amaze him.

He drove over the Golden Gate Bridge and enjoyed the view of the many lights dancing on the water of the San Francisco Bay. He let his truck climb the steep hill toward his townhouse as he waited for one of the last cable cars of the night to cross the road in front of him. Ray then gunned it up to the top of the hill, where he gratefully pulled into his driveway in a neighborhood that was a little less condescending and cared a lot less about people’s private business.

He climbed out of his truck with the box of bricks under his arm. He unlocked the front door, entering the large, two-story house that he shared with his pet turtles, Raffi and Taz. He set the box down as he entered the kitchen. He had to weave his way through several arched doorways before he found the kitchen island. He didn’t mind the rustic, early nineteenth-century architecture. Open concept seemed too open to him. He had never liked it. He enjoyed his home being sectioned off into separate rooms with distinct titles and corresponding functions. It fit in his head. This way, he never had to hazard a guess as to whether or not he was eating his dessert standing in the living room, with his grandmother’s antique couch in the line of fire of cherry pie stains, or if he was standing in a formal dining room, looking like a jackass in front of a nine-foot table with matching chairs, all by himself with no one to fill the chairs for holiday meals.

He usually just ate at the kitchen sink. On the rare occasions when he wanted to be comfortable, he took his meal into the den and turned on the TV to try to escape the static of his mind, or went into the library where he had purposefully dragged an old arm chair so he could read and doze by one of the half-dozen fireplaces in the home. He had left the furnishings and fixtures almost exactly as they were when he had inherited the house from his grandmother. With the exception of a few small adjustments, mostly turning the upstairs office into his own personal space, he hadn’t needed to make any changes. He liked the house and its antiquities just the way they were. Liam had made fun of him the few times he had been around the house after a case, told him he was stuck in the past.

For Ray, there were just some things you didn’t mess with, and the sanctity of Grandmother’s house was one of them. It was supposed to be a place of comfort. He missed the smell of baked goods coming from the oven. He rarely had the time to bake, and he would be afraid of burning the place down if he tried, but it still felt the same whenever he walked in. He still hated the dark and dank basement and often took a crow bar with him if he wasn’t carrying his piece. That was one rule he had a hard time breaking.

When Grandmother had been alive, she had made him leave his piece at the door, along with his boots. He hadn’t minded, her house, her rules, but, now that she was gone and the Switch Slasher Killer was still on the loose, he forwent the rule in favor of safety in his own home.

Ray went to the tank next to the window in the kitchen, where he kept Raffi and Taz. He plopped a few fat worms into the tank, and the two painted turtles dove into the water, frantically playing tug of war with one of the worms as they gulped it down. They then went after the second worm and made short work of it too. Ray liked painted turtles. Their shells had interesting colors that shimmered in the water, and he felt each of their personalities was unique.

Raffi enjoyed sitting on the makeshift log that Ray had put in the large eco-tank, and Taz enjoyed rooting around in the bottom of the tank in the crushed rocks and dirt that Ray had bought at the pet store. Sometimes, when the two were fighting over a worm, one of the crawlers would escape and sink to the bottom where it would burrow in the sludge. Taz enjoyed exploring the bottom and rooting around for the wayward worms. When he found one, he would let himself float back toward the top of the tank as he munched happily away and would then have to swim back to the bottom to start again. It was like a macabre game of Marco Polo.

Ray pressed his face to the tank and watched as his pets tried to nibble on his nose through the glass for a minute, then he turned back to the box on the island counter. He carefully extracted each brick, noting they were generic garden pavers, and then looked at each letter. He had noticed each one was printed on plain office paper and had few characteristics distinguishable to the naked eye. He had no doubt the pages could be matched up to a suspect’s printer if absolutely necessary, but Ray was banking on catching the perp in the act before it came to pressing charges, and solidifying the case with solid testimony and a confession.

He put the items back in the box, mulling over the fact that there had been green Styrofoam on the paper in trace amounts. That detail didn’t add up, and he had no idea what to make of it. He didn’t think Frank was the one causing the disturbances and harassment. For one, Frank seemed almost obsessive about things running smoothly within the neighborhood. Any disturbance, such as police or broken windows, which marred the aesthetics of the neighborhood, would bother Frank too much for him to be the culprit. All the same, Ray intended to have Misha look into his social media, find out his occupation, and see if any of the clues fit into what he did for a living.

Ray hadn’t seen any red bikes in the yards as he had driven through the neighborhood. For that matter, he hadn’t seen any toys in the front yards. He supposed it was some unwritten rule that, at the end of the day, the children’s toys were confined to the privacy of the backyard where they wouldn’t be an eyesore, or they were put away in their proper place to maintain the pristine look of the neighborhood. Ray snorted. He couldn’t imagine having to grow up like that, where everything was prim and proper and had its perfect place. It would have driven him mad.

As it was, his childhood had been rocky enough. His mother raised him after she returned from England with him when he was five. She had told him it just wasn’t the place for her. She missed her sunny San Franciscan days, and the rainy, overcast moors of England, where she had tried to make it work with his father, were simply not in the cards for her. She had come home to her mother’s house, before moving out with him and getting their own apartment. She had passed away when Ray was thirty of a hereditary heart condition that had taken her own mother not long after. Of course, Ray had been tested for the same, but as of yet, it hadn’t been detected. He figured if he was going to go because of a bad heart, there was little that could be done about it anyway. Ray was pretty sure his dad was still alive, although he had never come looking for him, and Ray had been too busy with his own life to go looking for his dad.

Ray rooted around in his fridge until he found a container of leftovers that neither smelled nor was growing fuzzy, stuck it in the microwave, and hit three to auto-add three minutes to the timer. He always figured this was a good place to start when reheating food. The outsides of the food would just begin to start fizzling and popping around the two-minute mark, at which point he would take it out, stir it up, put it back in, and then hit start again. It was like a game to see if the microwave would finish the countdown for another minute without the food exploding or if, at the ten second mark, Ray would have to take it out and blow on it because the telltale whistle of impending explosion was coming from the microwave.

While Ray waited for the microwave to make up its mind about which game it wanted to play tonight, he shifted through the day’s mail he had brought home from the office. He stopped when he got to a plain, cream-colored envelope with his name and address. There was no return address. He opened it, wondering if it was just junk mail, but a small, neatly folded note written in calligraphy fell out of the envelope, bearing the words,

Full me once, shame on you. But this rhyme’s been altered to fit for two.

Enclosed you’ll find a clue of the past. Wear it proudly, make it last.

You’ve blurred the lines; the play’s been altered. Underestimating me, you failed, you faltered.

With this monocle, your vision becomes clearer. It’s almost time, I’m getting nearer.

Open your eyes and you will see, where it all started, steps one through three.

Step three was two and two was wrong. Are you paying attention, are you following along?

For its two you must be concerned about. At half past midnight, I’ll make him shout.

Cut, cut, slash slash, my Dearest Ray. I’ve said enough, wouldn’t you say?

But I’ll leave you one last clue to follow, but time is ticking you have only until tomorrow.

Start at the place you saw me last, follow your peripheral into the past.

On a bed of lies you both have lain, you’ll find the next clue, or perhaps the victim I’ve slain?

S.S.

Ray’s blood ran cold. He sat down heavily on the bar stool and let the letter flutter to the counter top. A small, thin, antique monocle had fallen out of the envelope and was lying on the letter. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there staring, rereading the contents of the letter. He couldn’t bring himself to touch it. His hands were shaking so badly. The poem was clearly written about him and Liam. The bed of lies was a dead giveaway if he had ever seen one. But did the S.S. Killer mean something was going to happen to Liam that night?

Ray jumped up, searching in his pockets and realizing his phone was still out in the truck. He drew his Beretta 92 compact from his belt and began scanning his own home, just in case, as he made his way to the door. Once he was there, he peered out to see if anyone was watching him, then made his way slowly to his truck, where the first person he called was Liam.

Liam had obviously been sleeping, because he answered in a groggy tone, “Cap’n Ferguson.”

“He’s back,” Ray said into the phone.

It took Liam a moment to comprehend who it was and what he was talking about, but when he did, the clarity in his voice couldn’t have been any sharper. “He’s killed again?” he demanded.

“I have no idea. Not yet at least. But he left me a note at the office, Liam. He’s coming for us.” Ray couldn’t help but glance around continuously as he made his way back inside and began going room to room, clearing his own home. He hated that he felt trapped here, like the SSK might know where he lived, taking away from the sanctuary of his home and perverting his one peaceful place. If the killer knew where Ray worked, there was a good chance he knew where he lived too.

“I’m on my way. Call 911, Ray.”

Ray didn’t argue. He hung up and did exactly that, wanting to be surrounded by officers for the remainder of the evening and to have Liam with him as well, just to wait out the night. God, if anything happened to Liam…Ray shook his head, trying to clear the thought. Liam was his best friend and, even if he didn’t know it, he was always going to be someone special, beyond friendship, to Ray. If Ray had to put a word on it, he would say that he was in love with Liam, but he would never tell him that. He had thought about it time and time again, weighing the odds. He felt it was better kept to himself, because if he told Liam and things became awkward, Ray couldn’t comprehend living without his friend.

Ray explained to the dispatcher on the call who he was, who Liam was, and the reason he was calling, and she assured him someone would respond to his home within five minutes. He continued clearing the rooms in his house, saving the basement for last. He could feel his heart beat so loudly in his chest that he thought it was going to thump right out. He hoped the officer first on the scene was willing to clear the basement for him. He hated that the stairs were flush against the left side of the wall, causing the peripheral vision in his damaged eye to be skewed and blurry, creating a blind spot as he descended the steps.

Ray was glad to hear the car pull up, and when he went to the door, Harold Johanson got out of the cruiser. Ray opened the door on a sigh of relief as Harry made his way up the steps, limping. He had been for a while now, cursed with old age and the arthritis that came with sitting at a desk and in a cruiser for too long.

“Evening, Knott. What seems to be the problem?” he asked.

“He’s back. The SSK is back,” he told Harry, whose eyes widened in alarm.

“Was he here? In the house?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. I just finished clearing the rooms, with the exception of the basement. It’s in my blind spot, so I was hoping you’d cover me,” he admitted. He jerked the thumb not holding his Beretta toward his damaged eye. Harry nodded and followed him to the basement access in the kitchen

Ray opened the door, and Harry put a hand on his arm and motioned for him to get behind him. Harry palmed his own police-issue weapon, and they made their way down the stairs, Ray following close behind Harry. They did a thorough search of the basement, which was just collecting dust. Ray didn’t come down here unless he absolutely had to, and the place was mostly a treasure trove of junk and stuff that his grandmother hadn’t been able to part with. Someday, he’d have to haul it all out and truck it down to Goodwill or something, but he was relieved when they finished clearing the room and made their way back upstairs.

Just as Ray was shutting the basement door behind Harry, Liam ran into the room, weapon drawn, looking frantic.

“Is he here? Did he hurt you?” He looked between Ray and Harry and only marginally relaxed when Ray shook his head.

“No, but he knows where the office is. Left this.” He held the note out to Liam who took it, reading quickly. He then showed it to Harry, who looked equally as confused.

“What the hell does that all even mean?” Liam said, as they heard sirens and saw lights flashing outside the windows. Officers came running in through the door and Liam barked out a few commands, issuing them forth upon the house to search it again.

“It’s obviously a taunt.” Ray said. “I think it means he was after you, Liam.”

Liam shook his head in disbelief. “He can’t mean that. How do you get that from this note?”

Ray didn’t want to answer that question but he saw no way out of it. “Think about it. The taunt was sent to me, directed at me. The SSK knows we staged the undercover mission to catch him. He changed the game from toying with one of us, just me, to both of us. He’s coming for you, too, Liam. He has taken personal offense to what we did. We know we injured him, but obviously, the wounds he sustained weren’t fatal. He’s back.” It was the best explanation he could give without openly confessing his feelings. He was still so shaken up that he wasn’t sure he could handle that maelstrom, even though he knew he would aid the police by doing so.

Liam continued to shake his head in disbelief. “But why now? What triggered him to come back now after almost ten years?”

“Could be anything. Maybe it took that long to recover from what we did. Or maybe he was in prison. Or maybe something in the news triggered him. Who knows.” Ray tucked his Beretta back in his holster, feeling slightly better being surrounded by officers.

Liam had one of the officers bag the note and envelope for forensic analysis. Before Harold came in, Ray had pocketed the monocle. He knew it was important to decipher clues, and he figured they would have taken that as well. But there was no way that Ray was going to forget what had been written. His office upstairs had a whole wall dedicated to the SSK killings, and the note was sure to be added to it.

“Anyone coming to stay with you, Ray?” Harry asked.

He looked up and noticed the uncomfortable look on his and Liam’s faces. They knew he didn’t have anyone, so he was grateful when Liam said, “I’ll stay tonight until we can arrange a protective detail. Besides, I was his partner on the case. It should be me going back on it to try to catch this SOB once and for all.”

Ray thought about arguing. He should have argued the whole thing. But Liam gave him that no nonsense, don’t even try look, and he just shrugged. He had guest rooms, and truthfully, he was thankful someone was staying. He wasn’t sure he was going to sleep from now until the SSK was caught. He hardly slept much anyway. It would do him some good to dust off the old files, not that they weren’t always fresh in his mind. But he was secretly glad that it was Liam staying and that he could have one more night around him, even if it was in an official capacity.

Glad, that was, until he heard, “Raymond! Ray! Where you at?”

He groaned as Misha stormed into his kitchen. She had on yoga pants, flip-flops, and an oversized t-shirt that read, i’d rather be sleeping.

“Shit,” he said under his breath.

“What? What was that you said?” she demanded.

Ray closed his eyes and counted backwards from ten before opening them. “Mish, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“I heard he’s back, so I came over.” She looked at him like he had three heads.

Harry and Liam were doing the ping-pong routine with their heads on their necks, looking back and forth between Misha and Ray. They reminded Ray of bobble-head dolls.

“Yes, but who called you?” Ray asked. “Where are the kids and Keith?”

“Keith is home with the kids, who better have their asses in bed by the time I get home, and I heard the call on the radio.”

“You have a police scanner?” he asked.

“Hell yeah! Don’t you? I listen to it when I can’t sleep because it’s better than watching reality TV. There’s some messed-up people in San Francisco.”

Ray, Liam, and Harry just stared at her. Ray figured it was senseless to point out she just confessed to having a police scanner, which was illegal, in front of two officers. He figured he’d sit back and watch them dig their own graves when they did.

Harry took the bait. “You know it’s illegal to have a scanner if you aren’t law enforcement?” he asked cautiously.

She turned on him with the wrath of the Gods of Justice. “What do you mean, if I’m not law enforcement? I work for an investigator.” She pointed a hot pink nail at Ray as he tried to shimmy his way towards the living room door unsure how he would get past her. “He enforces the law!” she told Harry, who looked at Liam for help.

Liam just shook his head, looked everywhere but at them, and then fixated on the turtles. He made a point of giving them some more worms. They were going to get fat.

“Yes, but…” Harry started, and she waived a hand at him, dismissing him. Apparently, she was in a no-nonsense mood too.

“So what’s going on?” she demanded of Ray.

He sighed and said, “The SSK left a note at the office. More likely, he mailed it. He’s back, and he’s gunning for a target, I think Liam and me both, because we ran the sting operation ten years ago.”

“Lord, have mercy.” She fanned herself and sat down. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Um, I thought I’d start by working on catching the guy,” Ray said.

“Don’t you sass me, Raymond Knott.” She pointed her finger at him again. “Is someone going to stay here with you in case he tries to come after you?” she asked.

“Yes, but I think only for tonight.” Ray decided as he said it. He looked over and saw Liam whirl around, ready to argue.

“Look, I appreciate you staying tonight, but as I was just saying to my two clients who are being stalked, the perp wins if we start letting them control our lives. You, of course, have the option of not placing yourself in a danger, Misha. You have a family to think of, and if you would like to take some leave until—”

“Watch my face, Raymond,” she said fiercely. Ray shut up and looked at her. “I’m not going anywhere. You think that SSK is coming after a sister who’s got herself a husband and two kids? That’s not his type, and you know it. And before you say that I could be collateral damage if I get in the way, let him try. You hear me?” She looked him straight in the face and raised her eyebrows.

“All right, Mish,” he said. “Ferguson is staying with me tonight, though, so if you want to go get your kids to bed…”

“Nope. Keith can have a turn at it. I’m staying right here. I know you won’t sleep, so where’s the popcorn at? The Late Late Show with that guy from the UK is on.”

Ray pointed in the general direction of the pantry, just off the side of the kitchen. He figured if he had any popcorn, which was doubtful, she would find it and make it up for herself with no issues.

He looked at Harry and Liam, who seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief as she made her way into his pantry and shouted about how disgraceful it was. At least she was occupied for a few minutes.

Liam finished doling out orders over the next half hour. He ordered the cold case to be brought up from storage at the precinct, and he and Harry parted ways on the steps. Liam left Harry in charge until he returned to the office. He also tasked Harry with setting up the squad room for the special circumstances and beginning to select officers for Liam to choose from to join the task force.

Ray made his way back inside and found Misha in the kitchen. She had found some packages of premade cookie dough in his freezer. Ray was pretty sure they had been in there for almost a year. He had felt the urge to try baking and bought them, but never went through with it.

“So what do they know?” she said when he walked in the room and sat at the stool, watching her work. She occasionally paused to tap away at something on her phone. How she managed to segment her attention in three different ways, Ray had no clue. His brain would have fried a long time ago if he tried.

“Not much at this point, Mish. It was just a note.”

“But he threatened something?” she asked matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, something is going to happen at midnight. My fear is, because he was talking about Liam and myself, he was targeting Liam somehow, but there is no way to tell how. I have a feeling, based on the note, he’s left something for us at the old apartment we had rented as a cover, but I was going to wait to tell Liam before going to check it out.”

“Hang on, let me grab my purse. I’m coming with you,” she said as she dropped the baking sheet onto the counter.

“What? No, Mish,” he protested.

“Excuse me? Did you just try to tell me no?” She put her hand on her hip, but Ray shook his head emphatically.

“I can’t concentrate on catching this guy and keep you safe. Besides, we still have clients we need to help on a tight deadline of less than two weeks. Derrick is expecting you at his house tomorrow to begin planning the bachelor party of epic proportions, remember? I need you on board with that,” he told her.

“I’m not about to let you go all half-cocked into an old apartment where there may or may not be a killer waiting for you. The whole note thing screams ambush, like in the horror movies.”

“Mish, please. I need you to focus on Ethan and Derrick. They’re counting on us. I need to take care of this and put it to rest, but I can’t do that if I have to worry about your safety and—”

“And you might as well go with her to plan the party because you, yourself, are benched on this one, Ray,” Liam said from the doorway.

“What?” It was his turn for righteous indignation. He whirled on Liam, who had folded his arms and was leaning his hip against the doorframe, watching them both. “You can’t do that!” Ray hollered at him. All of the years of agony and loss of sleep, knowing this one was the one who got away. Liam couldn’t count him out on this case. He had been consulting for years. Liam had never once shut him out and slammed the door shut on his face.

“Actually, I can reject any request for assistance from civilians. It’s a harsh thing to say, Ray, but you are a civilian. And the case hits too close for home for you. You’ve spent a decade obsessing over this guy, and you’ve both taken a chunk out of one another. It’s time for you to let the police work the case and step back before you end up getting yourself killed.” Liam’s voice had a finality to it that suggested it would be pointless to argue, but that didn’t stop Ray.

“I’ve worked with you for years, Liam. You can’t do this. You know I know this guy better than anyone. I’ve earned the right to work this case.”

“Maybe, when we were both detectives, back in the day, but now I’m acting captain, and I say no. That’s my final answer.”

Ray was fuming on the inside. It was the first time he had ever wanted to lash out at Liam and pop the guy in the jaw with his fist. He turned around, giving Liam his back, and noticed it was also the first time Misha wasn’t looking at her phone, and she had remained completely silent through the exchange. He half expected her to say, “I told you so,” but she remained silent as he gripped the edge of the counter until his knuckles were white.

“Did you learn anything new interviewing Ethan and Derrick tonight?” she asked softly, and he shook his head.

“We caught our guy today.” Liam’s voice came from just behind him and to the side. He was moving cautiously towards the island, where Ray was sitting, and Ray had to grit his teeth and blow out a frustrated breath. “He was who you said he would be. We matched his boot prints to the ones in evidence that were taken from the scene.”

“That’s excellent,” Ray said. He couldn’t help but feel happy for Liam, especially since the guy was targeting kids. He wondered if it was a tactic to get his mind off the fight that had just happened. He also knew that he needed to remain professional, because that was what he was, a professional. There was no way he was going to stop working the case. He had connections, as did Misha, to find out what they discovered at the old apartment. He also had his office space upstairs with copies of all the original files. Liam knew he had them, but Ray would like to see him try to take them.

Misha just quirked an eyebrow and went back to putting the cookies in the oven.

“Appreciate your help, Ray,” Liam said quietly.

Ray blew out the last of his frustration and turned to him. “You’re welcome. Just remember where I am if you get stumped on the current case. And Liam?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t do anything stupid and heroic.”

Liam grinned at him. At that moment, his cell phone rang. He picked it up. “Hello, Captain Ferguson.”

Liam’s face went stark white, and Ray just managed to catch him before he passed out.

“Oh, my God!” Misha screamed as she ran around the counter.

Ray grabbed at the phone, which had fallen to the floor. An anxious voice on the other end was yelling, “Captain? Captain, are you okay?”

“This is Private Investigator Raymond Knott. Captain Ferguson is here with me. What has happened?” he demanded.

The young officer on the other end of the phone sounded scared and completely green when he said, “It’s the captain’s house, investigator. It has just been blown up.”

Ray dropped the phone, looking at his grandmother’s antique cuckoo clock just as it finished chiming midnight.