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4

LENNY

“Lenore,” Francis called out into the back room. “Someone is here for you.”

Her tone sounded impatient. I knew she hated visitors during working hours, and I didn’t blame her. They were a distraction.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” I called, hurrying to save my work I was typing up, but she’d already walked away before my words reached her.

I stood from my desk chair and smoothed out the linen pants I wore.The museum was kept much colder than the scorching weather outside, and finding a balance between not melting on my walks home and not freezing at work was the current biggest debacle in my life.

I walked out into the exhibits, glancing around for Francis.

She stood nearby with a tourist, who held up a brochure, pointing to parts. She caught my eyes and nodded over to a nearby exhibit. I saw a single person standing in the area she motioned to.

A tall man dressed in slacks and a vintage style, short sleeve button down stood admiring the exhibit on our town’s annual clambake. We were approaching the thirty year anniversary. It was only a few weeks away, so Francis had us set up an exhibit on it, hoping it’d lure more tourists back into town.

“Francis said you were looking for me,” I said, interrupting the man and watching his rich brown eyes settle on me.

He pulled out a wallet and opened it to flash a badge at me.

FBI.

I crossed my arms, the intensity of his stare making me shrink back into myself. He was handsome—definitely not what I pictured for an FBI agent.

“Are you done?” he asked.

“Done with work?” I asked, thrown off.

“Done deciding whether I fit the criteria you’ve predetermined makes an agent,” he said, frowning.

“I-” I started but shut my mouth. I tried to hide the blush darkening my cheeks, but it was no use.“I’ve just never met an agent,” I muttered, my eyes lowered.

“Everyone does it,” he said. “If that helps.”

Was he trying to cheer me up after he’d so quickly flustered me?

“Where can we go to discuss?” he asked, his tone straight to the point.

“To discuss?” My cheeks darkened a shade, and I felt warmth filling my face.

“The tips you sent,” he said, raising a brow. “You were the one who submitted the tips on the Coastal Killer, right?”

I glanced around, hoping Francis hadn’t overheard. My new promotion would be taken away just as quickly as it was given if she knew I was using museum resources to send tips to the FBI.

It was part of my due diligence as the one in charge of organizing and preserving our town records, right? I had an obligation to pass along any information that helped solve the case.

Somehow, I knew Francis would never see it that way, especially not after she’d turned down my idea for a tribute to the victims. She’d think I was working on the project against her instructions, and that was cause enough for her to strip me of my new position.

In all fairness, I was working on the project without her knowing, but I planned to keep it that way.

If my work and records I kept could help catch the Coastal Killer, then I would continue. For the town I was growing to love, the people in it, and the victims who would never know what Briarport came to be.

“Um, back here,” I said in a mere whisper, hoping Francis wouldn’t notice.

“What?” he asked, leaning in.

“Just follow me,” I huffed.

I wanted the FBI to look into the Coastal Killer—part of me couldn’t shake the feeling the person responsible for so many deaths was still out there—but I’d finally worked my way up in my job. Maybe digging into it all had been mistake?

I shook my head. No, this was the entire reason I worked my way up in this job, the one goal I had, my purpose after I lost everything years ago. I’d get justice for the victims.

I led the agent into the back room, where’d I’d spent the majority of the day cooped up working.

“I’m Lenore,” I said, feeling obligated to introduce myself to the complete stranger I was now stuck sharing my work with.

“I know,” he said nonchalantly.

Duh. He had read over the tips I sent and asked for me by name. My heartrate picked up, my body feeling warmer again.

“Are you going to tell me your name?” I huffed, trying to hide my embarrassment. I barely knew the man, and, already, he was getting under my skin.

“Agent Winston Beck,” he answered. “But you can just call me Beck.”

He smiled, his hands shoved into his pockets. I realized he had to be at least a foot taller than me.Not that it was hard. I was only five feet, one inch tall. That one extra inch was very important to me.

He followed me to the desk, where my computer sat with a dark screen. I sat down, booted up the computer, and typed my log in quickly.

“What do you want to know?” I asked, my heart pounding, feeling him hovering behind me.

He leaned over the chair, placing his right hand directly beside me. I watched the muscles in his arm tense and spotted the tattoos snaking up his arm. He was more muscular than I expected at first glance.A new heat rose in my stomach, and I shoved it aside.

“I’d like to see everything else you’ve been collecting on this case that wasn’t in the tips you sent,” he answered, his voice low, breath brushing against my ear.

“That’s not all here,” I admitted, keeping my voice low and glancing up into Beck’s deep brown eyes.

He raised a brow.

“Some of it’s just on my laptop, which I don’t keep here,” I explained.

“What do you have here?” he pushed.

I opened my files and found the one I’d labeled for records on the Coastal Killer. It was mainly scanned-in news clippings, police reports, and the non-gory crime scene photos that had been made public. I scrolled through, letting him glance over what the museum kept on record. It was only about 200 files, and some were entirely useless, with even a few duplicates.

“This is everything we keep here,” I said, reaching the end of the file.

“And what do you keep on your laptop?” he inquired, taking a step back.

I turned in the chair, my hands in my lap, feeling his scrutiny on my face. “Um-” I stuttered.

He crossed his arms, and my hands turned clammy. Any second, Francis could come in, and I would be completely out of luck. I was already brainstorming the excuse I would use when he left.

“If it’s anything illegal, I’m going to find out eventually. Better to admit it now,” he pushed.

“No, it’s not like that. It’s just-” I started, then paused to watch the doorway. “It’s a personal project.”

I chose the words carefully, realizing Beck was analyzing every word out of my mouth, like I was a suspect in interrogation.

Was I a suspect to him?

Panic took hold of my chest. I tried to keep my face neutral, but I failed miserably as I saw understanding cross his face,

“Your boss has no idea, does she?” he asked.

I shook my head slowly.“She turned down my idea for an exhibit using the research.”

“So, she doesn’t approve of you working on this research?” Beck guessed.

“You could say that,” I huffed.

My heart was pounding at my ears at this point, praying to God Beck wouldn’t reveal what I’d been working on to Francis. If she knew, I was a goner.

“And you kept working on it?”

Was that curiosity in his eyes, or was I imagining things?

I realized a second too late I was staring, and he was still waiting for his answer.I nodded. There was no point in hiding it. I had a feeling if Beck wanted information, he’d get it, no matter what.

“You wanted to make an exhibit on the Coastal Killer?” he asked, frowning.

“No,” I said hurriedly. “I wanted to make an exhibit on the victims. A memorial, a way to remember who they were.”

I let out a breath of frustration. Why did everyone always fixate on the killer?“No one else seemed to think it was a good idea, so Francis tasked me with a different project and expects I’ve ceased work on this.”

“Sometimes, people aren’t ready to face hard truths,” Beck murmured.

“Hard truths?” I asked.

“Like for one, that your boss is likely never going to take on this exhibit, yet you are still working on the project she tasked you with stopping,” he said.

I scowled.

What was his issue?

Everything out of his mouth was so calculated and logical. Even if Francis told me to stop, it didn’t mean all hope for my research and memorial was gone. If I could just find more on the killer, or if the FBI finally caught them, the town would be more open to the idea. I knew it.

“And two, some people aren’t ready to face the reality of these people being gone. They were friends, family, colleagues; that isn’t an easy truth to face,” Beck added.

“I guess,” I muttered, turning back and closing out of the files.

“Email me the rest,” Agent Beck stated, walking over to an empty desk and finding a pen and sticky note. He jotted down something and held the paper out to me.

“What is this?” I asked, taking it.

“My email.” He adjusted the strap of the bag he carried.

I read over the generic government email he’d handed me in disbelief. That was it? He just expected me to hand over everything to him and be done?

I’d worked long hours to collect all of this.

“No,” I answered, handing it back.

My arm remained extended, but he didn’t move. His eyes narrowed on me.

If he was going to continue my research, I wasn’t going to just hand it over. I wanted to help, to ensure the Coast Killer finally answered for their crimes. It was my entire motivation, the reason I started the project in the first place. I couldn’t just hand it all over and let it go, the same way I couldn’t let it go when Francis turned down the exhibit.

“No?”

“This is all of my research. I’m not just going to hand it all over. I want to help you.”

“I’m a federal agent,” he noted. “You’re a civilian. This is an investigation, not a project.”

“I know that,” I grumbled. The longer his eyes remained on me, the more flustered I became. It was like he could peel back every layer of the walls I kept up and slowly pick them apart. I felt disarmed.

“I could get a warrant for your laptop. You’d be hindering an investigation,” he pointed out.

Fuck.

I hadn’t thought that far when I opened my mouth. I needed a new angle, a way to convince him he needed me.

“There’s more to track down, documents I can pull easily through our systems. Documents you wouldn’t have to go through entire processes for if you allow me to help,” I tried, standing from my chair.

I crossed my arms, my white blouse clinging to me, making me feel warmer than I was. My eyes wandered to the clock, realizing there was only an hour left in my shift.

“I can take you to my apartment in an hour,” I offered. “I’ll show you everything I’ve gathered, and I promise to give you access to the resources I have if you let me continue to help.”

It was a deal I hoped he couldn’t refuse. He was a single agent working on a cold case. I didn’t know much of the bureaucratic workings of the FBI, but I knew enough to know this was not their priority.

Genuis, if I did say so myself.

I tried to keep the satisfied grin from my face, my foot tapping, waiting for Beck’s answer.

His face remained firm, and I saw his muscles in his arms tense up. The tattoos running down his right arm held my attention, and I followed the vines that climbed up his forearm to his bicep.

“That’s my offer, or come back with a warrant,” I said, turning my chin up.

He continued to stare at me, and I worried he may just walk. His eyes gave nothing away. I could see his mind racing but couldn’t piece together a hint at what he was thinking.

I heard footsteps approaching the door and glanced toward it. Francis’s voice carried into the room, and I knew I had little time to get him out of there before more questions arose.

“I will meet you at the café across the street after your shift,” he said, nodding to me as he walked toward the door, hands slipping into his pockets.

My heart pounded.

Had that seriously worked? Damn, I was a better negotiator than I thought.

Years growing up with an older brother, and I was glad I at least had something to show for it. I never would have survived as the pesky little sister if I wasn’t able to bargain my way into holding his favor.

I hurried to the employee bathroom in the back office space. I beelined to the sink, catching a glance in the old mirror above it. The faucet took a moment before cold water rushed out of it.I splashed it onto my face, the cold chasing away the heat overwhelming me.

Deep breaths, in and out.

That had been far too close. Everything I’d worked for the past three years almost came to an end, and then I would’ve been back where I started three years ago when I lost everything.

I push strands of hair out of my face and grabbed a paper towel, blotting my face dry and hoping no one would notice the beads of water left clinging to my curls.

I shut the faucet off and took a step back to look in the mirror once more.

Inhaling in and out, I got my heart to steady.

I didn’t care if Agent Beck refused to warm up to me or allow me to help. This was my research, and I would see it through until Briarport had the justice it deserved.