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She considered breaking into the minibar to try to numb her brain into complacency, but instead she swung her legs over the bed. She stared into the darkness for a moment, then headed for the door in her sleep shirt, shorts, and bare feet.
Kilkenny was exhausted. She would feel incredibly guilty if she woke him up, but she promised herself she would knock softly. He opened his own door three seconds after her knuckles touched wood.
He still wore his dress pants and button-down but had shed his jacket and tie, at least. His hair was ruffled, like he’d run his fingers through it too many times.
They’d spent most of their evening focused on the footage Kate had turned over, zeroing in on any mentions of Dallas, or Conrad’s early victims.
There was just too much for any one thing to stand out. Pierce had recruited a couple of young agents to keep at it through the night, but Kate had effectively rendered her evidence useless.
If so much weren’t riding on this, Raisa would have admired her grit.
Kilkenny didn’t say anything in greeting, just stepped back to let her inside. By some unspoken agreement, they moved to the tiny balcony—a little luxury Raisa enjoyed whenever she was in warmer climates.
She curled her legs up onto the plastic chair as Kilkenny handed her a beer and then took his own seat.
“Do you own pajamas?” she asked.
Kilkenny laughed, probably in surprise more than anything. “HR wouldn’t approve of this conversation, but I sleep naked.”
“You cannot tell me you lounge around in that,” Raisa said, waving toward his suit. She was the type to strip out of anything confining before her front door swung fully shut. Kilkenny had always come across as perfectly poised and polished, but she’d imagined that when he went home, he unbent enough to put on comfy sweatpants and ratty T-shirts. This new image was just too sad to bear.
“I have been known to don the garments of the peasants on the odd occasion,” Kilkenny said, the corners of his mouth twitching. Raisa laughed fully for what felt like the first time in twenty-four hours.
They settled into comfortable silence, and she took a swallow of her beer as she stared out at the city lights. “Would you have been happy living here?”
“I would have been happy anywhere Shay was.”
Two days ago, Raisa might have believed that completely. Now, because she was just so tired, she asked, “Do you ever think you buy into the mythology?”
“Of me and Shay?” Kilkenny asked, following along as usual. “Sure, of course. It’s easy to love a ghost. They never change. All their faults fade, while everything you adored about them stays.”
“Maybe not easy,” Raisa allowed. “But less complicated.”
“We weren’t perfect,” Kilkenny said. “I never said we were, though. I let everyone else fill in their own blanks.”
That much was true. This was the most she’d ever heard him talk about Shay.
“It was hard, us, our relationship,” he continued. “I was away so much, and she was so isolated. And sad, toward the end. Something would have broken—but not us.”
“You have such faith,” Raisa said, not doubting, but envious, maybe. She wasn’t sure she’d ever believed in the strength of any relationship—romantic or platonic—to that extent. To know that no matter what, it wouldn’t break.
Kilkenny lifted a shoulder, as if having that kind of faith were easy. As if it were a given.
“Do you know what was the hardest part?” he asked, and continued without waiting for an answer. He seemed to want to talk tonight, and she was game. “Not being able to share anything. That created more space between us than the distance itself.”
There were plenty of jobs out there that were either sensitive or boring enough that a spouse might not be able to or even want to share details about. But the work they did was taxing. It was seeing the worst of the world and then having to keep that locked up inside. Raisa knew that Kilkenny wasn’t thinking about sharing details like what color ink the Alphabet Man used, but not being able to talk about having to see those tattoos and think about the man who pressed a needle into dying flesh was difficult.
“Is it strange when people talk about your relationship?” Raisa asked, almost shocked by her own boldness. But it was past midnight, and her tongue had been loosened by a number of factors. And Kilkennywas a big boy as well as a master at dodging questions he didn’t want to answer. If he wanted to end the conversation, he would.
“Yes,” Kilkenny admitted. “Like you said, it’s become myth now. She’s been deified, and, honestly? Shay would have hated how they’ve made her into this perfect person. She was just ... she was just a woman. A flawed and funny and hot and smart and stubborn woman. And that’s reason enough to mourn the loss to the world. She didn’t have to be perfect to be missed.”
It was strange how people only liked certain types of victims. Good, pure, honest—white and blonde. Otherwise they deserved to die for one reason or another. They wore too short a skirt, or they drank too much at a strange location, or they ran when they should have complied.
Shay was one of those perfect victims. A pretty body that became a blank slate to be written on. Over.
“I never get to talk about her,” Kilkenny said softly.
“You can now,” Raisa offered.