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A dull buzzrustled Dana from her research. Predictably, it took her a moment to draw herself from the pages of ancient history and back to the real world. For an instant, she had a strange flash of déjà vu as she tried to separate the Grim Reaper tale she’d been entwined in with that of the real Reaper terrorizing D.C. presently.

Again, the buzz jostled her awareness, drawing her attention to her phone.

Dana uncovered it from the mountain of paperwork crowding her desk, only to pause when she saw the name glowing on the screen. She answered, hoping her foreboding feelings were misguided.

“We’ve got another one.” Hartwell said, quickly confirming Dana’s fears.

“The Reaper?”

“Looks like it. Scythe found on scene matches the others, down to the inscription.”

“Have you ID’d the victim?”

Hartwell grunted. “What’s left of her.”

“It was a woman?”

“Yeah. Name Kylie Marx mean anything to you?”

Dana”s stomach dropped. “Does she have red hair?”

Hartwell paused. “Why?”

Dana squeezed her eyes shut, collecting her thoughts before they dragged her down the dark tunnel she’d been dancing around for days. “She was a patient at Passages.”

Hartwell swore. “Seems our Reaper’s got a particular pallet.” He sighed deeply, making Dana wonder when he last slept. “I’ll pass it up the pole to DOJ or HSI or whoever the hell is running this thing now.”

“Hartwell, this isn’t political. Surely, they’ll see that now.”

“That there’s a serial killer playing Grim Reaper with a bunch of displaced rehab patients? Yeah, I sure as shit hope so. But I’m not holding my breath.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen lesser agencies hold pissing matches over parking violations. I want this thing in the right hands more than anybody, but I don’t get a say once it leaves my jurisdiction. The red tape alone is going to take months to weed through. Not to mention the chain of evidence nightmare. This thing has passed over more desks than a day-old donut.”

“I don’t think we have that kind of time,” Dana warned. “I’ve been looking into Grim Reaper lore. I think I found a connection, and if I’m right, this is going to escalate and quickly.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

She heard Jake’s voice in her mind. Facts first. Right now, she didn’t have any. Just a sinking feeling and a connection that was still out of reach. “It’s barely a theory. I need access to the evidence to see if I’m on the right track.”

“Don’t we all,” Hartwell grumbled.

“If this lands back on your desk, I want in.”

“You’ll be my first call, Dr. Gray.”

Dana hung up the phone, dreading what she had to do. She glanced through the open door of her office to Claire’s bedroom. The door was ajar, the house quiet. Too quiet.

She stood up and walked toward the kitchen. The coffee pot was still warm, but there was no sign of Jake or Claire. She was just reaching for her phone to call Jake when she heard voices on her back porch.

She poked her head out, shocked to find Claire and Jake in deep conversation. From the sharp edge to Jake’s voice, she knew whatever they were discussing was serious. If it were any other news, she’d resist interrupting, but this couldn’t wait.

“What’s wrong?” Jake asked, taking in Dana’s ashen face.

“Hartwell called.” She looked from Claire to Jake. “I think we should go inside.”