The loud crash of a car door slamming drew Amira from her reverie. Why did Holden have to slam the door so loudly? She gritted her teeth as she looked down at the mountain of papers in front of her.

Holden burst through the door holding two cups of coffee and a white paper bag in his teeth.

“What the hell, Holden?”

He shook his head like a dog shaking a toy as he placed the coffee on his desk.

“I take it you’re not in the mood for donuts?” He laughed as he tossed the bag at her.

Catching it, she glanced inside. A custard filled chocolate donut and two glazed donuts were smashed together at the bottom.

“Not really, but I guess I could use the sugar rush.”

Amira pulled the sugary pastry from the bag and licked her lips. She knew she shouldn’t eat it, but with the morning she was having she needed it.

As her teeth sunk into the soft donut the sweet custard filled her mouth. She sighed as she gazed down at the grotesque crime scene photos in front of her.

Holden picked up the stack of pictures flipping through them.

“Pretty graphic, aren’t they?”

Amira nodded as she wiped the custard from her mouth.

“Yes. I’ve been working homicide for nearly a decade and these ‘model murders’ as they’re calling them are some of the worst I’ve ever seen. It’s unreal how he’s cutting them up.” Amira grimaced as her appetite left her.

Holden gulped down his coffee wincing how it seared his throat.

“What makes you so sure it’s a man doing it?” Holden’s brows shot up at her.

Amira threw him a dirty look.

“The vast majority of serial killers are male, Holden.”

Holden exploded in laughter. Shaking his head, he grabbed the white bag from her. He ruthlessly bit into in sugary donut.

“Did you learn that in your intro psych class, Amira? Of course, I know that most serial killers are male, but what about that one percent?”

“You mean Aileen Wuornos? Doesn’t really meet my definition of a ‘serial killer’, Holden.”

“What the hell do you mean? She killed seven men! Gunned them down in cold blood.”

Amira snorted.

“Apparently, you haven’t studied the work of Henry Douglas. Wuornos did kill a lot of men, but her murders weren’t sexually motivated. To be a serial killer according to Douglas’s definition one needs to achieve some sort of sexual gratification from the murders.”

“Whatever, Amira. I’m aware of Douglas’s theories, but to me, a serial killer is a serial killer whatever the motivation. What makes you think a woman isn’t committing these murders and getting sexual gratification from them? Maybe it’s a jealous type.”

Amira shook her head vigorously.

“No. A man did this. I’m sure of it. The level of violence, the amount of strength it would take to choke these women. The Jensen girl wasn’t thin. She was heavier. It would’ve taken a man to lift her.”

“Not necessarily, Amira.”

Amira felt her blood boil. She knew without a doubt this killer was a man. She could feel his evil presence looking over her shoulder as she gazed down at the photos.

Jax.

His handsome face flashed before her as she contemplated the photos. Watch him, Amira.

He’s evil.

The voices began to race through her head.

Watch him. You’re not watching him, Amira.

She thought of Chelsea Goldstein and her mission to watch Jax. She, too, was convinced of his evil.

But could she trust the voices?

Amira remembered what her grandfather had told her when she was young.

“The spirits are mysterious, Amira. You must watch them.”

Amira shrugged off her concerns. Over the years, she’d dismissed the crazy notions of mythology she’d been raised with. Her grandfather had been an Egyptian high priest and was well versed in all the ancient ways. When she was only five, he told her she was the ‘chosen one’ and the future ‘watcher of the U’.

The U.

“Amira! Did you even hear what I said?” Holden smacked his hand loudly on the table.

“What?”

Holden grimaced as he finished his coffee.

“We have to go. Johnson called. They got another one.”

Amira jumped up.

“Are you serious?”

“You think I’d joke about something like this?”

A sickening dread filled her. She grabbed her jacket.

“Let’s go.”