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I sat in the cafe for approximately sixty five minutes before I spotted her dark curls swaying as she crossed the street, a small blue bag slung over her shoulder that couldn’t have held more than a wallet and keys.

Her work must’ve truly all been on her home laptop if she was leaving with so little.

The aroma of the brewing coffee was soothing to me and allowed me to clear my mind.

Surely, I was finally losing all my sense, allowing Lenore to help any further with this case.

I didn’t want her to help, but I didn’t see many other options. There was no way I would be able to request a warrant to seize her laptop, and she wasn’t handing it over willingly.

Stubborn.

And clever.

I had to hand it to her, I knew when I was being played. She knew I needed her and her resources, and I could tell she was already piecing together the little support I had from the FBI.

Better to keep her close.

I took a sip of the cold brew I’d been nursing as she entered the café.Her deep brown eyes immediately found mine and stalked across to where I sat.

“Coming?” she asked impatiently.

I stood, gathering my leather bag and drink.“How far do you live from here?”

I’d worn my old tennis sneakers, but I wasn’t prepared to walk much further than a few blocks. I hadn’t been expecting needing to walk anywhere. It was becoming a poor habit, letting the unexpected creep up on me.

I was losing my touch.

At least I still had my mind, everything I’d learned tucked away in it. A small hope that I would be able to contribute something further to the FBI and our nation’s security—the only way I knew how to make up for my mistakes.

“Only a few minutes’ walk from here,” she said and motioned for me to follow her.

Our walk was silent, and I kept a few paces behind Lenore, watching the way her curls swayed as she walked.

Could I rid myself of her?

She was far too observant. The last thing I needed was Grey showing up in Briarport and dragging me back to Quantico. I’d really lose my badge then. He’d put his reputation on the line for me once, but that was all I got.

One more chance.

And honestly, I didn’t even deserve that.

I wasn’t going to squander the only chance I had to make up for everything. Blythe never would’ve let something like this pass.

I shuddered to think what she would’ve thought if she’d seen what I’d become after her death. A complete pit of nothing. I didn’t feel. I never wanted to feel again. I let myself slip away into the bottom of bottles, and when that started not to work, I found something new.

A wall slammed up in my mind, blocking out the memories of those few months.

Grey pulled me out of the darkness I was succumbing to, a place I never would have been able to crawl back from if I kept going.

I tossed my empty cup into a trash bin we passed as I finished the last sip of my drink.

Lenore paused at an alley, and I tried my best to forget about it all, to leave the past in the past, even though I knew every study, therapist, and bit of logic said that would never work. I wasn’t ready to face that reality.

Instead, I was focusing on Briarport.

Lenore backed up a few feet from the alley and opened the door to the storefront beside us. I turned around to follow.

Inside, I found a small boutique filled with clothing, jewelry, and other miscellaneous tourist items.

I brushed past a rack filled with stickers, a display water bottle atop it, showing off the multitude of stickers the shopkeeper was able to cram over the surface. I spotted one that read ‘Sea You In Briarport!’ and cringed.

“Len!” a voice shouted from the register. “You never visit me down here!” The high pitched, shrill voice pierced my ears as the woman ran from behind the counter.“Today has been horrific.”

No one was even there. How could it have been so terrible?

“You say that every day, Mallory,” Lenore noted.

“And every day is as bad as the last. The tourists are completely endless,” she said indignantly.

“Mhm,” Lenore hummed. “I need to use the apartment entry.”

“The pin pad broken?” Mallory asked.

“No, it’s just-” Lenore glanced back to me.

I wasn’t a criminal.

I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to take me through the direct entrance, or risk me seeing the code to get in. The statistics of women living alone and violent incidents supported her caution. I couldn’t deny facts.

“You’ve brought a man home? In broad daylight?” Mallory started yelling.

“No,” Lenore said quickly. “He-”

Her mouth opened and shut, looking for an answer, but she failed to grasp for anything other than the truth.

“I’m just here to fix something,” I offered.

Relief washed over Lenore’s face, her hands going slack.

“If something broke, I would’ve fixed it,” Mallory said to her friend, ignoring my presence.

It was like I didn’t even exist in the conversation.

Textbook narcissist.

The need for Lenore’s full attention and acting superior—I wasn’t sure how Lenore put up with this woman on a daily basis. A friendship so one sided would be exhausting.

Maybe that was just the excuse I told myself for keeping most people at arm’s length, unable to fully throw my emotions into any sort of relationship. Facts and research were what I placed my trust in; emotions were far more complicated, unpredictable.

“My laptop,” Lenore added. “He’s here to fix a bug on my laptop.”

Clever.

She’d beat me to coming up with a new excuse for my presence. I doubted this woman knew anything of Lenore’s research, and it seemed Lenore was just as keen to keep it that way.

“I didn’t know tech freaks made house calls,” she scoffed, finally glancing my direction.

Ouch.

Can’t say that I wasn’t used to the comments. My unusually high IQ made me a target even at the FBI Academy. My brain was my weapon; I was never built to be the strongest or most agile. Knowledge was power.

“Mallory,” Lenore hissed.

“Not the first I’ve heard it and won’t be the last.” I shrugged. “And I don’t have, what did you call them? Endless tourists? Just me and my tech all day long.”

The frown on her face was worth every second of the ruse.

I couldn’t help but let myself feel a bit of satisfaction.

“Best we get going,” Lenore interrupted, grabbing my arm and tugging me past Mallory, whose eyes were wide.

“Key, please, Mallory,” Lenore demanded, her tone serious.

Mallory made her way back behind the counter and tracked down her key ring. She tossed it over to Lenore.

We walked toward a door behind the counter, unlabeled. The key ring jingled as she sorted through the multiple keys and found the one she wanted, placing it into the keyhole and unlocking the door.

Turning back to Mallory, she shook the keys to get her friend’s attention. Mallory reapplied her lip gloss, leaning on the counter to get a look in a compact mirror she held in her other hand.

Lenore pulled the door open and tossed the keys back to her friend. Mallory barely had time to catch them, putting the mirror down.

“You owe me,” she muttered, tucking the keys into a purse behind the counter.

“Wine night soon, I promise,” Lenore called back.

We passed through a narrow, empty hall. My eyes adjusted to the dimness, leaving the brightly lit store for the space without any lighting at all. Mailboxes hung on the wall at the end of the hallway.

It opened into an entry with a single staircase.She led me up the stairs to the third level. There were only two apartments, and Lenore unlocked the door to hers, letting us in.

“It’d be easier if you just emailed it all to me,” I tried, hoping she’d change her mind.I didn’t want a partner. I hadn’t worked alongside anyone since I’d gotten my partner killed.

Brutally murdered, and it was my fault.

I coughed to clear my throat of the feeling of bile rising in it.The images of that final case were relentless.

“Water?” Lenore asked.

“Thanks.” I nodded.

I followed her down the short hall into the combined living room and kitchen. A soft brush against my legs startled me, and I almost tripped over the feline beneath me. Its black furbrushed against my light colored slacks.

“Alonzo, leave him alone,” Lenore scolded. “Sorry,” she added. “He likes attention.”

Odd creature.

Most cats weren’t fans of socializing. In fact, cats were what I believed most referred to as small assholes—knocking things off counters, pestering for food, and refusing to cuddle when their owner wanted. I’d never owned one, but my observations all suggested the same.

“I fed him once and never got rid of him,” Lenore muttered.

Another cat trotted across the room, orange with a white belly.I did my best to avoid the two felines as I pushed further into the apartment.

“Birdie, not you too,” Lenore hissed.

I stood awkwardly in the center of the living room, unsure what to do with myself. I felt all too aware that I was now in a stranger’s apartment.

“You can sit,” Lenore offered. “Or keep hovering there. I promise, I’m not going to run with the research.”

I dropped my bag onto the couch and sat down, looking around the tiny apartment.It was a comfortable space, but I noticed little of Lenore’s personality in the decor. The walls were mostly bare, aside from a few frames bearing family and friends photos. I spotted one of Mallory and Lenore, her smile barely reaching her eyes.

My breath hitched thinking about the draining friendship.

Why did I even care? I didn’t know her.

I moved on to a small bookshelf tucked into the corner of the room. I didn’t immediately recognize any of the spines, but I made note of many of the titles written on them to search later. Almost every classic sat on my own personal bookshelf, but these were different. Pinks and pastels made up most of the color scheme, and it didn’t take much deducing to realize they were romance books.

Not my typical choice, though I could give it a chance. There was always room for more reading.

Lenore startled me from my focus, placing a cup of water on the side table next to the couch. The noise jolted my attention, and I found her carefully studying me, skepticism in her gaze.

“Thank you,” I said, grabbing the cup and taking a sip.The ice cold water woke me from the endless thoughts that raced through my mind. It was ludicrous that I was even sitting in Lenore’s apartment. Never in my career would I have involved a civilian in a case, not like this.

Why didn’t I say no? What about her made it impossible?The probability that the FBI would find out and force me home was what I kept telling myself, but deep down, I wasn’t convinced.

She grabbed her laptop from a nearby armchair and sat down in it.“Most of the research I have is on the victims. I don’t know much about the case beyond what was made public record that the museum has,” she started, her eyes scanning the screen.

“Do you have it printed?” I asked, eager to get a look at everything she had.

She paused and glanced up, frowning.“No,” she said slowly.

“Do you have a printer?”

I knew the moment I asked, it was a self-evident answer. Everything Lenore had was mainly in the space we sat, aside from her bedroom. I supposed she could’ve kept one in there, but I spotted other office supplies and her laptop accessories throughout the living room.

It was a reasonable guess.

“No,” she answered quietly.

“Thats alright. You can just show me what you have then,” I noted.

She glanced to the empty space on the couch beside me and hesitated.

“It was your decision not to email me the work,” I noted, her continued hesitance slowing my efficiency.

“I barely know you,” she pointed out. “And I’m not just going to hand over three years of work to a stranger.”Her laptop slid closer to her in her lap as she sank further into the chair.

“Again, you have no choice,” I explained.

“Then get your warrant, and I’ll be waiting here,” Lenore countered.

“I’d prefer your cooperation.”

“And I’d prefer to work alone, but we can’t all get what we want,” she muttered back.

“Touché,” I answered.

She stood suddenly and walked over to the couch, sitting beside me and adjusting the laptop so I could view the screen.“This is everything I have so far.”

Her screen filled with multiple sub-folders, all labeled with the victims’ names and different key parts of the case. I spotted at least fifteen names and even the High Tide Pub. Lenore opened a few and started scrolling, but it was hard to track what each document was with her own naming conventions and organization.

“May I?” I asked, motioning to the computer.

She handed it over hesitantly, and I clicked quickly through many of the documents, reading over all of the information she’d compiled.

Ages of the victims, the areas they lived in, their occupations, just about every detail of their life that could have made them a target. She’d started a diagram to link similarities, but there were none that connected all of them.

“Impressive,” I admitted.I knew recruits who wouldn’t have gone as far as she had.

“Thanks,” she breathed.

I found a stray folder with a single article inside. It filled the entire screen with a familiar news article. I’d seen it before: the final article published on the Coastal Killer’s last victim, the Jane Doe who had never been identified. She left the hospital before anyone had a chance to make a positive identification.

The article was short, discussing the curfew police implemented and the missing Jane Doe. I knew how the story ended. No one ever came forward with more information on her.

I didn’t blame whoever they were. Their luck was spent on surviving that attack, the one that ended the Coastal Killer’s rampage. For all we knew, the killing stopped because Jane Doe vanished. Their anonymity and disappearance could be the one thing holding the unsub back from surfacing again.

Their one failure.

It was also the one lead the FBI failed to follow. The woman left the hospital without a trace. It was the closest large hospital in the area, about thirty minutes away.As the article detailed, she’d been stabbed and taken there for critical care. When Jane Doe woke after being unconscious and being stitched up, she vanished before nurses could gather her information. Without prescriptions and proper wound care, I would be shocked to learn they’d survived, or with minimal health issues after all of that.

“You don’t have any more leads on Jane Doe,” I noted.

Beyond the article, there was nothing else in the folder, no information known about the Jane Doe or leads on where she may have gone.

“The police never identified her.” She shrugged. “There wasn’t much to go on.”

That was where she was wrong. There was plenty to start with, to build a profile of the woman.My mind raced with the endless possibilities. I could start at the hospital, but I doubted I’d get far, not without a warrant, and even then, it would be minimal. The hospital never figured out who the woman was, and the police already had all their information on what she looked like and her injuries.

Multiple stabs, including a substantial wound to the lower abdomen.

“I have folders on every other victim,” Lenore noted.

“Those are a great start,” I said.

I watched as she flinched at the comment. It’d been a compliment, not a way to downplay the work she’d done, but I could already tell my words had discouraged her.

She glanced to her clasped hands, watching her fingers fidget with a ring she wore, the anxious tick a way to soothe her growing discomfort.

“Is this news source still in business?” I asked.

“ The Briarport Chronicle ?”

I nodded, turning the article I had opened toward her.

“They are, but I don’t see the point?”

For someone as naturally brilliant as her, I was shocked she didn’t see the missing piece.

“She’s the key,” I answered.

“No one has information on her besides what is in the article. It’s a dead end. I’ve tried,” she answered. “No one wants to see this case closed more than I do, but you won’t find anything looking into her. The FBI already tried.”

She was deflecting. Why?

“Yes, but they weren’t me, and I know far more tricks than they do for finding the information I want,” I pushed.

She tensed and curled her fingers into fists. Maybe it was too hard.

“I think I have a printer at my rental,” I added, changing the subject. It wasn’t worth pushing her to close off when I’d just met her. “Would you mind bringing this laptop by this week for me to print the documents?”

She could email it to me, but I didn’t add that. I should’ve just asked her to do so, to cut her clean out of the case and continue alone.

Why was I making an excuse to see her again?

She was holding back.

Instinct told me she knew more than she said. Was she protecting someone? Was she withholding pieces of research from me to put herself ahead at work?

She opened and her mouth and shut it.“Fine,” she answered. “But it will have to be a time when I’m not working.”

She crossed her arms, her lips pulled thin. I could tell she was growing sick of my prying.

The plump orange cat, Birdie, jumped up onto the couch and crawled her way beside lap. She purred, rubbing against the side of the laptop and glancing up to me. I furrowed my brows. I always thought I most related to cats, creatures of habit who wanted to be mainly alone, but this one feline was an anomaly to me.

Lenore made a sound that sounded like her tongue clicking, and the cat stretched its neck to look over at her. It moved faster than I expected, standing and walking directly across the keyboard to her.

“Stop being such a menace,” Lenore scolded as the cat settled beside her.

“When are you off work next?” I asked with a soft laugh.

“Friday.”

“Then it’s a date,” I joked.

“It’s certainly not,” Lenore said quickly.

“Is that not what people say?” I asked, frowning. Was I seriously that out of touch with society?

“I mean it is-” she started, flustered.

“I’ll see you Friday,” I said, standing and heading for her door without another word.

I felt the sudden urge to hurry out of the apartment. I’d just met Lenore, and already, she’d found a way to fluster me and leave my mind reeling. Usually, I was the one in the room with all the answers, and, somehow, I was at a loss of words today.

I never expected her to be this far into the case.

Her work was impressive, and the quick glimpse I caught at the museum told me she threw herself into everything she did with such attention to detail.The director, Francis, had many glowing words about Lenore when I first arrived looking for her. I’d admittedly also done research on her before coming as part of my all-nighter.

“Wait,” she said, following me and grabbing my arm.

I turned my head to glance back at her, those rich brown eyes gazing up at me. My heart pounded.

“Are you actually going to let me help?” she asked.

I didn’t want to necessarily call it helping. She would bring me the documents to print, and then we would go our separate ways. Was that truly helping with the case?

It would end after that, nothing more and nothing less.

“I’ll see you Friday,” I answered instead. “The house on the outskirt cliff to the west of town.”

Her hand let go of my arm, but my heart continued to race. It was the first real touch I’d felt in months. I’d barely let anyone close enough to feel the warmth of the brush of skin against my own. I hurried out of the apartment and let the door slam shut behind me.