Page 7

7

STONE

I barely slept, I couldn’t turn my mind off. There was no set time for Lenore coming over, but that didn’t stop me from spending most of the night preparing. I went over every single fact of the case, the documents I brought, and made sure I had food.

Guests expected snacks, right?

I never hosted. Working alone was always preferable, and my mind worked better when left to peace and quiet. What was I doing?

This went against every standard and routine I set for myself.

It was the early morning hours, and I caught a glimpse at the sun rising over the ocean from the back sunroom. The pinks and red were beautiful on most days, but I found them hard to admire anymore. Ever since that day, the color red just reminded me of blood.

So much blood.

Her body lying helplessly on the floor of that room. The same room I didn’t make it to in time. One miscalculation, and I’d failed her.

I turned away, focusing on making myself breakfast and coffee. I’d spent Thursday locating a grocery store and stocking my fridge with the essentials. My work was cut out for me, and I knew I’d need at least a week or two minimum in Briarport.

I grabbed a copy of The Briarport Chronicle at the store. I tried to crosscheck the articles in the latest edition with the journalist who wrote the final article on the Coastal Killer to confirm if they still worked at the paper, but I found myself at another dead end, not one worth pursuing.

There were other leads to follow.

If the FBI were opening the case, they’d first speak to the police. I needed to tread lightly with local law enforcement. I was uninvited and not acting on official FBI direction, so I needed to keep my contact limited.

The local sheriff’s office was where I’d go next after compiling Lenore’s document, once I perfected my ruse. A single FBI agent in Briarport, wrapping up some unfinished documentation for a cold case.It wasn’t perfect, but with refining, it would do.

My chest tightened at the thought of a less than perfect plan. Mistakes caused casualties; I needed to be nothing short of impeccable.

I walked into the dining room where I’d assembled my working evidence board and brought my coffee with me. The sticky notes and a stray pen sat on the table from my last batch of notes I hung. I found the picture I’d printed of the High Tide Pub and grabbed the sticky notes.

Hunting ground.

I scribbled down the two words and hung it directly beneath the photo. That would be another stop along my venture through town.

I added numbers beneath the names of the twelve total victims, including the final one, Jane Doe. I made sure each victim was placed in order; every small detail could matter in the end. The first victim to a crime always told me a lot, and the way the victims progressed helped fill in gaps.

My eyes felt heavy to where I had trouble reading the small print on some of the documents on the wall. I moved to the other side of the table behind me and pulled out a chair.

My hand rubbed my forehead, a distant headache forming. The caffeine from the coffee wasn’t kicking in fast enough.

I leaned my elbows on the table, my head falling into my hands. My eyes hung heavy, and I tried to keep them open, but each blink got slower and slower.

I knew the signs.

Riddled with anxiety over Lenore coming by and my cognitive functionality barely intact, sleep deprivation crept in before I even realized.

I blinked again, forcing my eyes back open.

My eyes closed shut slowly once more, but this time, they didn’t open again.

* * *

BANG.BANG.BANG.

The rapping of a fist against the front door jolted me awake. I picked my head up off the table, seeing the wall of leads I’d carefully hung, and then turned toward the entry.

Another round of pounding came, and I stood quickly.

The door was only a few paces away, and my hand hesitated over the doorknob. I pulled it open before I could come to my senses and stop myself.

Lenore stood outside in her blue sundress, clutching her laptop. Her gaze met mine, and I watched her avert her eyes. I froze, unsure what to say first.

“Are you going to let me in?” she muttered as she pushed by me.

I suppose I have to now.

“The dining room,” I said and pointed toward the left, but she ignored me and found it anyway.She placed her laptop on the table and turned to me, placing her hands on her hips.

This was a mistake.

Her brows furrowed, and I had that feeling wash over me that I’d missed something. Had I left her this angry? Maybe I never should have asked her to come; it was far too expectant. What kind of person just invited a complete stranger to their place without even knowing them?

“I think I saw a printer upstairs. Let me grab it,” I said.

“You don’t even know if you have a printer?” she said, her eyes widening.

“I do. There is definitely one upstairs, just-” I paused, watching her nostrils flare. “Let me just get it.”

My voice trailed off before I turned and hurried up to the office space. I found the printer I knew sat on the wooden desk in the corner and grabbed it. Only a few seconds passed before I was once again downstairs. I rounded the corner, but Lenore was gone.

“Len?” I called out and set the printer on the table.

She already left?

I heard shuffling in the kitchen and followed it. Lenore stood at the counter, making another pot of coffee. The smell of the morning’s pot had faded, but already, the new batch filled the room. I inhaled deeply, letting the scent ground me.

Deep breaths. You can get through this and then be free of her.

I caused the problem myself, impulsively inviting her here. Already, I could see what a mistake it had been.

“The printer’s ready,” I offered.

She nodded without turning to face me.

“I’ll just-”

“Want some?” she asked, finally turning toward me.

I could see in her eyes something was bothering her. It was easy to spot the quiet heaviness within them. I could place the signs but not the cause.

Maybe I was the cause.

I barely knew her, so why did everything in me hurt to see that darkness?

“I already-” I started, but I stopped myself. “Yes, thank you.”

I couldn’t deny her this small thing. Before I could say anything else, I returned to the dining room and found an outlet for the printer. Its little screen lit up, and I let out a sigh of relief that it was functional.

Lenore came back into the room and set the mug down on the table for me.

“Thanks,” I said.

She opened her laptop and pulled up the files she’d shown me earlier in the week.“All of them?” she asked curtly.

“Yes,” I confirmed.

The process was more torturous than I expected, and guilt increasingly built inside me as we spent over an hour watching each of the documents print slowly. It took minutes just for a single page to make it through the printer.

Len sat opposite of me at the table, closest to the wall, but her back was turned to me. For the entire hour, she’d just stared at the documents on the wall.

“Are you hungry?” I asked while the printer chugged along.

She shrugged, not saying a word.

I stood and moved to the kitchen, searching for the snacks I’d prepared. I had an entire spread of fruits and vegetables with dips, waiting to be consumed. The moment I opened the fridge to grab them, I realized I was hungrier than I’d thought. The fruit looked refreshing, a mix of berries and grapes. I carried the snacks into the dining room.

“My favorite,” Len said with a weak smile.

“Hm,” I murmured, glancing up from the tray I set down.

“Strawberries,” she said. “They are my favorite.”

“Mine too,” I said, feeling self-conscious.

“My mother used to buy them as a treat every summer for us,” I told her.

“A treat? It’s a fruit,” she pointed out.

I let out a soft laugh. “Even my knowledge has its limits, and at five years old, I didn’t know the difference between strawberries and a true dessert.”

I saw her lip pull up ever so slightly. Progress.

“Did you grow up near Quantico?” she asked, and I found her full attention on me.

“California,” I answered.

“Do you miss it?” she asked.

“Sometimes, but I’m happy with where I ended up.” I shrugged. “Have you always lived in Briarport?”

I knew the answer was no, but I didn’t mention that.I felt like a stalker. Light stalking for a good reason wasn’t exactly stalking, was it?

I couldn’t even begin to reason with or defend that thought. Instead, I brushed it from my mind. I’d taken all necessary precautions before coming, and I couldn’t take those back.

“No,” she answered. “I used to live closer to my parents until three years ago. My brother lived here already, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

I worked to organize all the printed papers while Lenore snacked on the tray. She tried to help where she could, but it was impossible to explain my organization conventions to her.We spent another hour working to hang everything up. Lenore helped under my guidance.

“We still don’t have much on Jane Doe,” I said, glancing over the wall.

“There isn’t much out there on her.” Lenore shrugged. “I doubt we need it.”

She couldn’t truly believe that? Not with all this work she’d done.

“She’s the key to everything. She’s the only person who may know more about the unsub than anyone. I think if we can find her, we just might be able to track down this killer once and for all,” I pushed.

Lenore’s reluctance had my mind reeling. Could she genuinely not see how this played into everything?

She crossed her arms and ignored the comment. Every passing moment, I felt like Lenore pushed herself further and further away. I wanted her help on this. It was unexplainable; I worked alone and preferred it that way, but not with her. The second I’d seen how much research and work she’d put into this case, it was like I couldn’t bear the thought of removing her from it.

I would hate if someone took all my research and cut me out.

I kept repeating the thought, assuring myself there was a logical explanation. Something kept nagging at me, though. There was a reason I needed her, beyond just respecting someone’s work.

“You didn’t have to stay,” I noted as we finished up.

“I wanted to,” she shrugged, keeping any emotion from her face.

I hated feeling like I’d done something to contribute to her on and off displeasure with the day.

“I’m sorry for making you come all this way,” I tried, hoping it may help alleviate some of the growing tension.

She shrugged, adding extra tape to some of the hanging documents.

“I didn’t mind,” she said.

“Excuse me for being blunt, but it seems as though you did,” I noted.

I didn’t know how to be anything other than straightforward. I couldn’t tiptoe around emotions like some could. It was never a skill I honed.

“It’s not you,” she sighed.

She took a step back to admire our work. With everything hung, it really was beginning to look like something out of a cliché crime show.

“It feels a bit like me,” I said.

“Oh, you’re one of those men,” she said, raising her brows.

“What men? “

“The ones who think the world revolves around them.”

“I am not one of them,” I hurried to deny.

“Seems like it,” Len teased with a weak smile. “If you must know, my parents are coming to town.”

“And that’s bad?” I asked.

“Very,” she said quickly. “I’m unprepared is all. They are good people, but I’m not ready for them.”

“Impromptu visits aren’t really my favorite either, so I get it,” I said sincerely.

A look of relief washed over her face, like she’d been expecting judgement and was surprised to find none. A bit of her apprehension faded away, but I still saw that look in her eyes, the one telling me that something still ate at her.

I cleaned scraps off the table of papers we’d cut to hang and the practically empty food tray, carrying it all to the kitchen to clean and dispose of. When I returned, I found Len standing in front of our work, staring at the question mark representing the Jane Doe. She didn’t hear me.

I moved closer, observing the way she seemed lost in thought. I caught a glimpse of her face, and something clicked. Her brows were pulled together, and her lips pressed into a thin line. Concern shadowed her gaze.

I expected to find confusion or curiosity, not this.

My mind immediately fell into its usual pattern of pulling every piece of information I had together. Every conversation, bit of evidence, and emotion I’d seen from Lenore about the Jane Doe—it all started to fall into place. There was only one explanation, even though I had been blind to it initially. I cursed under my breath at not getting there faster.

I’ve lost my touch.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” I asked, and she startled.

“What?” She turned, a new panicked look in her eyes.

“Jane Doe,” I said gently.

“No,” she whispered and shook her head. “You’re mistaken.”

I took a step closer and reached out to place a hand on her shoulder.

She tensed at my touch.Her head turned to meet me half way as I moved beside her. That look of panic melted into sadness.“Don’t-” she started.

I hated to push. I knew what it was like when everyone expected you to share.“When I joined the FBI, I had never once been on a team. I preferred solitude in my projects. I didn’t see a need to rope others in,” I started.

Her brows pulled in, but she absorbed every word I said.

“When I was placed on a team, I was forced to find a way to make it work. If I wanted to see becoming an agent through, teamwork wasn’t optional. So, I did the only thing my brain knew how,” I explained.

I wanted to slow my story, make it last forever as I saw the way Lenore’s gaze settled on me. Her dark eyes glanced over me, and I watched her guard slowly falling. She listened, truly listened.

Each word I spoke, I watched her mind race. I knew I was right about her, and the way her mind spun right in front of me confirmed it.

“What?” she pushed.

“I analyzed my own team. I made files for each person and filled them with strengths and weaknesses, ways I thought I could compliment working with agents and ones I needed to problem solve.”

Her eyes darted back to the wall at my pause.

“Blythe told me it was something a stalker may do,” I laughed softly. “She was right, as always, but it’s how my mind works. I analyze things until I make sense of them.”

She tensed, turning back and shying away from me, like I may just crack open every secret she ever held.

“And you know what doesn’t make sense to me?” I asked. “Your research.”

“My research is thorough,” she argued, scowling. Her eyes crinkled, and I held back a smile at the look of pure confidence that washed over her while challenging me.

She was everything I wished for in the agents who went through Quantico. I’d waited months to find someone who could replace me, someone who could challenge me, who could think just as analytically.

Len had a ways to go if she were to ever chose that path, but I’d found my match in this woman.

Not that Len would ever wish to become an agent, but maybe she could be more help than I had planned after all.

“I don’t doubt that,” I said. “But you are omitting one key piece.”

“I gave you everything I have,” she said and crossed her arms.She was putting that guard right back up.

“Do you know who the only person on my team without a file was?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Myself,” I answered and watched the realization wash over her. The ruse was up, and now, it was her move.

“I didn’t need a file on someone I knew better than anyone.”

“I-“ she started.

She took a step back. I reached up and pulled the question mark off the wall. I didn’t need it.

I had her.

“You are the Jane Doe. You don’t need a file on yourself. You already know everything you need to.”

She shook her head.

“No,” she insisted, but I pushed and held firm.

“I don’t believe for a second that you’ve done such thorough work, but this key piece, you’ve left blank.”

“It’s a dead end,” she argued.

“Because you’ve made it one,” I countered. “You’re smart, Len. You’re clever, more so than most initial recruits I meet in week one at Quantico. You can’t expect me to believe you cast aside this one key piece of the story as useless.”

“I-“ She stopped, her words failing her. “I have to go,” she said quietly and grabbed her laptop quickly off the table.

She made for the door as fast as she could. I tried follow, but the second she was out the door, she jogged off.

I couldn’t force her to admit it. Chasing her was no use. I was observant enough to know when to stop. If I continued to push, she’d bury herself behind endless walls I would never break through.

I sighed.

Maybe I had pushed too hard. We needed this piece of the story more than anything. This couldn’t be the last I saw of Lenore.

* * *

“Mags,” I said, a smile already growing on my face.

“Stone, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Mags chimed through the phone.

The nickname stung like a bullet lodging itself into my chest. Memories were surfacing, ones I preferred to keep buried.

“I need a favor,” I said.

“What type of favor?” she asked, and I imagined her leaning closer to the phone I knew sat on her desk.

“The type where you don’t report it to Grey.”

“Oh, is the Agent Beck finally abandoning doing everything by the books?” she gasped dramatically into the phone.

“Mags…” I warned.

“I’m teasing,” she assured me. “Anything for you, Stone. Lay it on me.”

“I need you to look into a bar and find me information on it.”

“A bar? What’s the name?” she asked, and I heard her long fingernails tapping against her keyboard.

“High Tide Pub in Briarport, Maine,” I answered quietly, like if I spoke any louder, Grey would somehow learn what I was doing.

“Briarport? As in, the Coastal Killer?”

My heart raced, and I could feel my cellphone slipping in my hands, slick with sweat.

“Yes, the same one,” I answered. “I’m looking into the cold case.”

“If you’re on assignment, why am I keeping this from Grey?”

“It’s not for assignment.”

Silence hung between us, and I thought for a moment the line may have disconnected.

“I’ll keep this discreet,” she said, her tone turning serious. “Give me a few days, and I’ll have everything you could possibly need.”

“I appreciate it. I owe you,” I said, but my heart didn’t stop pounding.

It was a risk, but I didn’t want to go in blind, not if I was bringing Lenore with me. I needed all the information I could gather.

“I’m just glad you’re back,” she said.

She was one of the few who knew everything. Blythe and Mags had become close during their time working together. My heart pained for the loss I knew she experienced too.

“Thank you, Mags.”

I clicked the phone off and set it down on the empty nightstand next to my bed. I climbed in, ready to shut my mind off for the night. Sleep was the only escape I had from it sometimes. As useful as it was to think how I did, sometimes, it was a curse, never being able to turn off seeing everything from an analytical point of view.

I pulled the covers up and shut my eyes, praying I could escape just for a little. My chances were completely split. Some nights, sleep was the remedy I craved, and during the other half, the PTSD slipped through the cracks, and the nightmares came crawling right back, placing me right back into that moment.

* * *

Blood pooled on the floor.

I knelt in the puddle of it, the warm, sticky liquid clinging to my clothing. Another body lay only feet away, but I didn’t bother to check its pulse. I ignored every protocol I’d been taught. My mind was blank, nothing but red filling my vision.

“No, no, please,” I begged.

I grabbed her lifeless body, cradling it in my arms.

I was too late, far too late.

Blood coated my hands. I couldn’t tell exactly where it was coming from, but there was too much of it. I searched for the wound, my hands scrambling across her torso to find it.

She wore a bulletproof vest that left her lower abdomen exposed. I felt gently around and found the tear in her skin. It was too wide, something from a blade.

I covered it with my hand, trying to minimize the blood.

She wasn’t moving, wasn’t responsive to my touch at all. Her skin was cold to the touch.

“Help!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

I knew back up was too far. We should’ve waited, should have followed protocol the way we were taught.

A hand on my shoulder startled me.

I glanced up to find a young girl staring down at me, her eyes filled with terror.

“Go find help,” I ordered sternly.

I needed to get her away from the scene, away from the blood soaking the ground.

I used my hand cradling Blythe’s head to feel for her neck and pulse.

There was nothing, not even a weak beating.

She was gone.

I woke, sitting up straight, and grabbed for my phone.

My heart was racing, and my skin had a cold sweat coating it. The phone trembled in my hands as I swiped a finger over the screen to turn it on. The time flashed on the screen: 3:00 in the morning.

I put it down and laid back in the bed.

If I couldn’t get a grasp on these nightmares, I was going to slowly drive myself back toward that dark place.

It was the reason I’d drowned myself in alcohol and drugs those three months after her death. Only the haze they left me in drove away the memories, and now, they were all coming back again.

I sighed as I pulled the covers tight and tried to close my eyes. I knew it was useless; my mind would never settle now.

I stayed that way the rest of the night, eyes closed but refusing to allow myself fully back to sleep.