Page 11

11

LENNY

I shifted uncomfortably, standing slightly behind Agent Beck. The woman at the front desk encouraged us to take a seat while she went to find if one of the deputies in charge was in.

We found two seats off to the side and sat down. Beck seemed quieter, more anxious than usual. Maybe I was projecting my own anxiety onto him.

The woman disappeared behind a locked metal door, the only one in and out of the rest of the building. While we waited, a few more people trailed in. I heard a couple murmuring about a car break in. I tried to focus on them instead of obsessively worrying about the chance someone could recognize me.

I tapped my foot, unable to stop myself.

“Agent Beck,” the woman called out, reappearing from the door. “Come with me.”

He stood and made his way towards the door while I remain seated. Beck froze and turned back to me.

“Are you coming?” he asked.

It hadn’t crossed my mind I’d even be able to join. I quickly stood and trailed behind him, unwilling to wait alone in the lobby.

The backside of the station was far different. There were a few desks and cubicles spread across a middle space. Larger offices lined the space, and I read the plaques outside each door as we passed, realizing they were for deputies who worked their way up the chain.

The woman led us to a room with a single door and window. By the time I made it inside, I realized the window was one way glass, so we couldn’t see back out of the room. She motioned for us to sit at the two chairs pulled up to the table.

Why did I suddenly feel like I was the one being interrogated? We came to find more information on the case, but I couldn’t help that anxiety snaking its way through me, the voice telling me over and over that they know what I did. It was unforgivable; I barely could forgive myself for it.

I’d been weak, and I let someone else control me.

“You alright?” Beck asked softly, his eyes studying me.

I hated that he did that, knew everything about me with a single glance.At the same time, it made my cheeks warm.

“I’m fine,” I said weakly.

Someone quickly knocked on the door and entered. An older gentleman with a round belly stepped inside. His face looked aged by the job.

“I’m Sheriff Graham,” he said. “How can I help you?” His beady eyes glanced over us both and settled on Beck.

“Are you the one who was in charge of the Coastal Killer case?” Beck asked.

“I was one of them,” he affirmed. “But that was a bit ago.”

“I was hoping you tell a little more about the case,” Beck pushed.

I sat quietly and folded my hands on the table. I was far too nervous to chime in.

“There’s not much to tell beyond what’s already in the case file, which the FBI should already have,” he said. “Although, I wouldn’t put it past you bureaucrats to have lost things.”

I caught the scoff at the end of his sentence. His eyes remained fully on Beck, ignoring me.

Beck barely flinched at his words, but I caught the slight shift in his leg under the table. It moved ever so slightly closer toward me, like he was protecting me.

I was imagining it. I had to be. Had I really become that desperate for someone to give a shit about me?

“Yes, I’ve read the file, and I do think there are some holes in it. We’re missing a statement from the local deputy in charge of the case, for instance,” Beck started. “We also seem to be missing statements from those who work at the bar each victim visited before they were killed. It would seem the first team to look this case over completely missed that detail.”

I could tell Beck was watching the way the sheriff reacted, gauging how much of a help he would be to us. Graham’s brows furrowed, and he narrowed his eyes, his nose flaring.

“My deputies did not miss anything. If there were things overlooked, then that’s on the FBI.”

I caught the way Beck swallowed hard, like the accusation got under his skin. It still baffled me that not a single person put it together before. The High Tide Pub was clearly a hunting ground for whatever vile person killed all these women.

Beck cleared his throat. “That’s why I’m here, to make sure the FBI doesn’t miss anything this time.”

“It’s a cold case, so why bother?” Sheriff Graham said.

“Doesn’t matter. The FBI needs a completed case file,” he said, his voice steady with patience.

The sheriff’s eyes flicked over to me. “Why is she here?” he asked, and I heard the disapproving tone.

I opened my mouth to answer but fell short of words.

“She,“ Beck started firmly, “is here as a supervisory agent. I expect you to treat her with the same respect.” Beck leaned forward, his elbows on the table. Graham stood over us, trying to maintain some semblance of authority and power over us. I tried to keep my face neutral, his eyes bearing into me.

“Is something wrong?” Beck asked, raising a brow.

At this point, he was just pushing him to see how far he’d allow. I felt myself turning into pure heat, a mix of frustration and embarrassment filling me. I wanted as little attention as possible, and now, Beck made that impossible. No one had recognized me, but that didn’t mean I was safe yet.

“My apologies,” he muttered. “What do you need? I can grab whatever it is so you can be on your way.”

I finally let myself breathe.

“What can you tell us about the case? You’re the one who was in charge, correct?” Beck asked.

“I can tell you the case is a waste of time. There’s no reason to waste more time and research looking for a killer who completely vanished,” he grumbled.

My frustration and embarrassment slowly melted into anger. This was the person in charge of protecting our town, and he was treating this case like it was nothing. If he wouldn’t find justice for the victims, who would?

“I disagree,” Beck stated, and I turned to listen. “There’s still a serial killer out there. They’re worth catching.”

“You can keep wasting tax payor dollars,” the sheriff groaned. “But this is my department, and I won’t help. You can have whatever records you want to look at, that’s all.”

“Fine. We will take the final case file your station has,” Beck said. “And then we will be on our way.”

That was it? We’d gone through all this just to access a few records the FBI likely already had?

“I’ll grab you the file,” the sheriff said and turned away.

“And pull any files on other crimes that took place at the pub,” I cut in before the sheriff could go.

“Excuse me?” he said, turning back.

I took a deep breath,pushing my shoulders back as I raised my chin. “If you missed the connection about the pub. I want to be sure we didn’t miss anything else,” I said as evenly as I could.

I watched the small movement from his nose and knew I’d struck a chord.

“Do you know how many calls we get from that place? Every little bar fight or unpaid tab,” he hissed.

I shrugged. “I still would like to look at them all. Pull anything from the time the Coastal Killer was actively killing,” I said. “Actually, make that a few months prior to the killing starting.”

I gave him a sickly sweet smile, and the sheriff looked to Beck, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of undermining me.

“Fine; it’s going to be a bit,” he muttered and left the room.

As he walked out, I noticed the slight limp he had as he walked.I folded my arms and sat back, glaring at Beck.

“What?” he asked, raising his brows.

“Supervisory Agent?” I asked.

“I wasn’t going to let him treat you like that,” he muttered.

“I didn’t want any attention on me,” I pointed out.

“The way he was looking at you! The man was clearly stuck in the past with his outdated views,” Beck grumbled, clearly flustered.

“It didn’t give you the right to decide for me,” I said.

He held my gaze, opening his mouth, but then closed it. “You’re right,” he said. “Sorry.”

I half expected a fight. Jake never would’ve let something like this go. If I spoke my mind or opinions, they were wrong. Jake decided what was best for me.

That’s not me anymore.

“Thank you,” I said, surprising myself. I let my arms relax and leaned back in the chair, waiting for the sheriff to return. It was hard to let my guard down and accept help when I’d been doing everything on my own for three years.

A while passed without seeing the sheriff, and I was growing more and more anxious by the second. My leg bounced, and I couldn’t help the way I found anything to fidget with. My hair, my skirt, the silver rings on my fingers—anything I could touch, I couldn’t leave alone.

Something stopped my leg from bouncing, and I looked down to find Beck’s hand on my thigh.Instantly, heat filled my body, and I lost every word in my head. His touch made me feel safe and alive all at once. The reality of that crashed into me like a wave.

I met his gaze as he lifted his eyes to meet mine.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just know sometimes, it can snap you back from spiraling.”He looked way and pulled his hand back.“At least it works for me. I figured it was worth trying…”

It was so matter of fact, like I was one of his cases to analyze. Maybe I was. My past was tangled in this, after all. Was that how he viewed me? Just another piece to the puzzle?

He had moved without hesitation, and with such careful calculation. It was nothing more, just Beck trying to stop my anxiety from giving myself away. I kept telling myself over and over it meant nothing.

I almost started to believe it when the sheriff finally came back.

“Here’s what you asked for,” he said after making us wait close to almost an hour.He tossed a folder on to the table, hundreds of printed sheets tucked inside.“That’s everything we have and the FBI should already know, plus the incidents she asked for,” he sneered.

Beck pulled the folder to him and opened it. I watched him quickly look through a few and close the folder again.

“Thank you for your help,” he said and stood. “We will be back if we need anything else.”

He moved around the table, and I followed. We brushed past the sheriff, leaving him with a dumbfounded frown on his face.

I hurried behind Beck back out into the scorching summer heat.He continued through the town without stopping for even a moment. I kept close, but my legs were tired, and my adrenaline was wearing off.

“Wait up,” I huffed out.

He froze and turned, realizing he was leaving me in the dust. I caught up beside him, walking next to him.

“You know you could’ve been anything you wanted with a mind like yours, so why the museum?” he asked, and I was taken aback by the directness.

“I like the museum,” I defended, my lips turning downward.

“I know. I just meant, what calls you there? From what I can tell, you aren’t here just for family, and Francis treats you like nothing more than a helping hand. Why not see the world? Start your own research?”

I kept my eyes glued to the sidewalk. “I can’t leave yet.”

“Why not?” he pushed.

“Because I owe it to them,” I sighed.

I found the pockets of my midi skirt and stuck my hands in them, ashamed. I knew I could start over anywhere I wanted, but I just couldn’t convince myself to leave yet, not when there still was no justice. Not when I would spend every day looking over my own shoulder, terrified to be alive.

“To whom?” Beck asked softly.

I knew he already had the answer before even asking. His mind worked faster than anyone I knew.

“The other victims. The ones who weren’t so lucky,” I whispered.

I never spoke of myself as one of them. It was a piece of me I had shoved deep down for so long.

“I know the feeling,” Beck said gently, and I glanced up.

His eyes were distant, filled with a deep sorrow, but I didn’t push. Instead, I walked beside him in silence the rest of the way to his place.

My phone started vibrating in the purse I carried, breaking the long, drawn out silence.

I pulled it out but didn’t recognize the number on the screen. My worry got the better of me, and I answered, hoping it was not Francis searching for where I’d gone or retracting her agreement to let me help.

“This is Lenore,” I answered in a polite tone I barely recognized.

The voice that came through the phone was muffled and robotic.“Stop searching, or you will regret it.”

“Who is this?” I asked, my stomach sinking.

Agent Beck stopped in his tracks and watched me with careful precision. I saw the worry wash over his face, and he motioned for me to put it on speaker, which I quickly did.

“If you don’t quit now, the killing will start again,” the voiced answered, and the call cut short.

“Wait-”

It was too late. They’d already hung up.

My stomach sank, and I barely registered my hands slipping the phone back into my purse. It was the second threat, two days in a row. Reality started to wash over me, knowing the home I’d built and life I’d pieced together was no longer safe.

They were back, and I couldn’t do anything about it.

“You’re staying at my rental,” Beck said firmly.

“No-” I started.

“Don’t argue with me, Lenny,” he said, cutting me off.

I’d never heard his voice turn so serious. I met his gaze and saw his worry.

“No one calls me Lenny,” I answered in a low tone, holding his stare.

It was the only thing I could think to say. Realistically, trying to get him in and out of my apartment without Mal seeing would be near impossible. The couch was much smaller than the one at his rental, and all the work we’d begun was with him.

It’s the logical choice.

I knew earlier, he’d only been obliging my hesitancy by being kind, but now, the threat seemed far too real, and his tone suggested there was not room for argument.

Beck knew better than anyone how quickly these threats could turn to reality. I had to trust him, to let someone in for once, to allow them to help.

“Birdie and Alonzo are coming too then,” I said stubbornly.

If I’m abandoning my apartment, I’m doing it on my terms.

“I’m pretty sure my rental agreement said no pets allowed in the house,” Beck noted.

“You actually read over that thing?” I asked, raising a brow.

I’d stayed in plenty of rental houses for trips, but never once did I actually read what I agreed to when I checked those tiny boxes.

“Read and memorized,” he said without a second thought.

“Why am I not surprised?” I said, shaking my head with a soft laugh.