Page 7

Ghosts had a way of finding you in places like this. They nested in the corners of conference rooms, lurked behind water coolers, whispered from air vents. Ella knew every ghost in the Hoover Building by name, but this new ghost was different. This one walked and talked and looked exactly like Mia Ripley.

Her old partner was here. Not just existing in the same reality, but here , in this same building, sitting just a few offices away. Despite having retired five months ago, the old dog had still crept out of the woodwork to throw Ella a bone. It was pure Ripley, and Ella was thankful for every scrap she’d thrown her.

And now what? Ella looked at the facts, as minimal as they were. Julianne Cooper and Jenna Bradbury had both been killed sometime in the past few weeks, and this victimology confirmed that the killer had an intimate knowledge of Ella’s personal life. This perp could have found this information based on Ella’s old address alone, but her address (neither former nor current) wasn’t mentioned in any records – which was standard procedure for federal agents – meaning the killer unearthed this information elsewhere.

How many people knew where she lived? She could count them on one hand. Uncovering Julianne and Jenna’s identities came a few steps after finding her address, but Ella knew in her bones that this had nothing to do with real estate connections. Somebody wanted the closest people to her dead.

Who else might be in the crosshairs? How far into her social circle would this killer reach? After all, Julianne Cooper had barely been an acquaintance. If that qualified as a connection, anyone who'd ever crossed her path could be next.

Ella glanced around and noticed things she'd been too wired to see during her overnight incarceration: a coffee stain on the carpet that looked like Australia, water damage creeping down the wall behind the whiteboard, a dead fly trapped between the window panes. She’d suddenly become hyper-aware of her surroundings since laying eyes on Ripley ten minutes ago. Old habits dying hard, maybe, or muscle memory kicking in at the sight of her former partner. The way your body remembers how to ride a bike, her mind remembered how to work with Ripley. How to see what Ripley would see, notice what Ripley would notice.

And somewhere beyond these windows was Luca. She had a mental image of him standing there, helpless, while cops rifled through their drawers and closets. It made her chest ache. She needed to see him, to explain everything, to feel his arms around her and hear him say that it wasn’t her fault that someone had targeted her social circle.

But a small voice whispered that maybe it was her fault. After all, she'd brought this darkness home with her, and she’d let it seep into their life together, the way it always seemed to do.

The comparison rose unbidden in her mind: Luca's steady optimism versus Ripley's cynicism. Her current partner and her former one. Luca would be trying to see the good in this situation, looking for silver linings, while Ripley had already cut straight to brass tacks. She’d probably mapped out three different ways to catch this killer the moment she’d seen that footage.

Five months of trying to forget the connection she and Ripley had shared, and now it came rushing back like blood from a reopened wound.

Then the door opened again. Ripley’s outline filled the frame. No crash this time. She must have gotten the theatrics out of her system.

She crossed to the table and slid some familiar objects in Ella’s direction.

Cell phone. Smartwatch. Glock .17.

‘Grab your stuff,’ Ripley said.

Reality hiccupped. ‘What?’

‘What, you suddenly deaf? Pick up your weapon before I change my mind about this whole thing.’

‘Gonna need some context here, Mia.’

‘You got your clothes? Toothbrush? Lip balm?’

Ella nodded at her bag in the corner of the room. ‘It’s all in there. I only got back from Virginia last night.’

‘Need to go home for anything?’

‘Yeah. To see Luca.’

‘Not going to happen. You need to call him and tell him to stay safe. Don’t go back there. ’

Ella grabbed her phone off the table. Seven messages and five missed calls from Luca. ‘Mia, what the hell is going on? Why do I need my bag and my toothbrush? You’re not seriously suggesting we-‘

‘Yeah, I am,’ Ripley said. ‘The dream team’s back in business.’

She felt something twist in her chest. Five months of operating without Ripley's shadow at her side, and now here she was, casually reassembling the machinery of their partnership like no time had passed.

And Ella wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or not.

‘Mia, have you lost your mind? There's a killer in D.C. using my DNA to frame me for murder. Two people I knew are dead, and who knows how many more are on this psycho's hit list. And Edis thinks I should just, what? Hop on a plane to chase some other killer while everything burns down here?’

‘So, what? You want to try and find your hair-stealing killer?’

‘Yes.’

‘Too bad. Washington PD has jurisdiction.’

‘For now.’

‘Right. And they won’t let you within a mile of this investigation, but Edis is working to get Bureau jurisdiction, and that’ll take days, maybe weeks. So your options are sit here and wait, or put those brain cells to use somewhere they’ll make a difference.’

Ella exhaled through clenched teeth. ‘And what about the people on the killer's list? What about Luca? If I leave, they're exposed.’

‘They’re exposed whether you’re here or not, and Edis is putting protection on anyone connected to you.’

Ella stared out the window. The logic was sound, but the realization that she had no influence over the D.C. situation gnawed at her.

So maybe it would be more beneficial to get inside someone else's head instead of her own.