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Raisa hadn’t thought twice about going to Houston the year before when his late wife’s murder case had been unexpectedly reopened. Even if Isabel hadn’t had her fingerprints all over it, Raisa would have done whatever she had to in order to be there for Kilkenny.
It was funny how things could change so drastically in unexpected ways. Two years ago, he’d been just a distant colleague whom she’d thought of as stuffy and judgmental. She’d been intimidated by his quiet confidence, while also being grateful for the respect he’d always shown her, unlike some of his peers. But she would never have thought they’d get to this point, where they had become a little team against the world.
“How are you?” he asked, holding her at arm’s length to get a better look. His eyes flicked to the broken lamp she still hadn’t cleaned up yet, and then back to her face, which she knew was a little rough.
The past ten days had taken their toll, as any intense investigation always did. Her brain was sluggish and her body tired despite the fact that she hadn’t worked in the field at all. Normally, she would take a day or two to recharge before even thinking about homicides and linguistics and maybe even words in general.
“I’m ...,” Raisa started, and then trailed off, pulling away from Kilkenny. She headed toward the kitchen, knowing he would take that nonanswer without pushing her too hard. “Is black okay? I’ve been out of town, so I don’t have any mix-ins.”
“You got your guy,” Kilkenny guessed. It was a thing with them now, the way he was always so sure she’d had a successful trip whenever she was sent out on an investigation. The confidence from him was a welcome change from her career up until then. Agents who were in the field every day didn’t particularly like being told what to do by a linguist—and a female one at that. Through years of head pats and shrug-offs, she’d been conditioned into defensiveness when talking about her cases.
Not with Kilkenny, though.
“I got my guy,” she confirmed, though he hadn’t needed it. He leaned against the counter while she got the coffee started.
“So ... natural causes?” he asked. “For Isabel?”
“Maybe,” Raisa said, turning back to him. “She sent me a letter.”
His brows shot up. “Saying what?”
“‘By the time you read this, I’ll be dead.’”
“A suicide letter?” he asked.
That had been her initial thought, too.
“I don’t mean to be the vibes girl,” she said, “but that doesn’t seem like it would be up Isabel’s alley.”
“She would have made a bigger splash,” he agreed. “If it was suicide, why not make sure everyone knew it?”
“That was my thinking,” Raisa said, pleased he’d gotten there as well. If Isabel had ever killed herself, there would have been a lot of blood and theatrics involved. “And how could she have predicted herown death from some kind of rare medical condition? It wasn’t as if she was old or sick.”
“So, she just wanted to screw with you one last time?” Kilkenny asked. “Maybe if that’s the case, she simply paid someone off to watch for news of her death and then slip you this letter.”
“Oh, I’m a hundred percent sure she’s messing with me, either way,” Raisa said, closing her eyes for a moment to enjoy the scent of coffee as it saturated the air. “But this was waiting for me when I got home last night. Way before it hit the media.”
“Still, they might have had an inside source,” Kilkenny said. “A guard who could text them when the body was found.”
Raisa made a noncommittal sound and then straightened. “Actually, speaking of sources, I never did check my Ring footage.”
“Shockingly irresponsible behavior,” he drawled. “It’s almost like you had something else on your mind.”
She threw him a self-deprecating look as she opened the app, though she wasn’t expecting much. Anyone hired by Isabel would have to be smart—and they proved that.
Raisa had been ignoring the chimes for the past ten days—as they’d been mostly the mailman. But there it was. The ping must have come when she was dealing with her luggage.
A person had been on her front porch yesterday.
She held the video out to Kilkenny. It showed a hand sticking duct tape over the camera. There had been enough of a humanlike figure caught on tape—or her alarm wouldn’t have dinged—but they were wearing a black hat, a black hoodie, and they’d kept their face down for the few seconds the video footage hadn’t been obscured. Raisa couldn’t even tell the gender of the person doing it.
“Not their first rodeo,” Kilkenny commented, handing her phone back. “I wonder if it’s someone she paid off to deliver it for her, or if they’re doing it for free.”
Raisa made a face. “How is Isabel the one person who can create loyal servants while in prison?”
“Not the one person,” Kilkenny pointed out.
“I was employing hyperbole,” Raisa said, rolling her eyes. “But, man, if she has minions on the outside ...”