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Spread across the board were pictures of every single victim of the Dumpster Killer, both alive and deceased, and maps marking where each body would be disposed of.

“Jake, look at this,” she said, directing her partner’s attention to a photo of a pretty blonde in her mid-twenties. “She’s not one of our victims.”

As far as she was concerned that could mean only one thing.

Michael had already chosen his next victim.

Apparently, Jake thought the same thing. “Michael isn’t here, and he isn’t at work.”

“He’s at her apartment.” Florence was already running out of the apartment and down the stairs, there would be time later to work through the treasure trove that Michael had left for them, but this woman’s time would be running out.

Michael was already veering off his path, killing more and more frequently, there was every chance he wouldn’t keep any future victims alive for forty-eight hours, which meant that every second counted.

Jake was on her heels as they ran out onto the street. The apartment listed next to the woman was only a block away, it would be quicker for them to get there themselves than to call it in and have uniforms deployed to the building.

It was early afternoon, and the streets were busy, Florence had to weave her way around people as she ran as fast as she could and made it to the building in minutes.

At the apartment door, she and Jake paused, silently coordinating how they would proceed. They’d worked together long enough that they didn't need to go through things in detail, they knew each other well enough to know what the other was thinking, and knew how to play off each other.

With a nod, Jake reached for the doorknob. Florence had her gun out and ready to aim at Michael the second the door swung open.

As soon as it did, two heads snapped in their direction.

The woman—Rachel Oaks—began to weep in relief as she realized the cavalry had arrived and she wasn't about to die.

The man—Michael Stypes—looked panicked and then angry as his gaze darted to the table where a gun lay discarded.

In that millisecond, he appeared to weigh his options, decide he would never make it to the weapon, and instead lunged for the chair the woman was bound to and ducked behind it, using his victim as a shield.

“It’s over, Michael,” she called out, weapon trained on the chair. Although she believed Michael to be unarmed, she wanted to try to talk him down before they did anything that might get an innocent victim hurt.

“It’s you,” he called back. “You saw me, but no one sees me, how did you do it?”

So he definitely knew who she was, Florence was sure that it was Michael who she’d felt watching her that morning Eli had arrived to take her to work.

Maybe he viewed her as a threat who had needed to be eliminated.

“I look for details, Michael. The little things, the things no one else notices, that’s what makes me a good cop. ”

“You ruined everything,” he seethed.

“What did I ruin, Michael? What are you trying to achieve by killing these women?” If she could get him talking, keep his focus on her, then hopefully he wouldn’t notice that Jake was slowly circling around the edge of the room to get behind him.

“They deserved what they got.”

“Why? Why did they deserve to die, Michael?”

“They didn't see me. They looked at me, and they saw straight through me. Take Rachel here.” He did something to the woman to make her cry out, and when she looked, Florence could see that Michael had his fingers tangled in the woman’s long hair.

“What did Rachel do?”

“Rachel is a friend of my older brother’s wife, at their wedding I was a groomsman, she was a bridesmaid, we walked down the aisle together.

I asked her if we could dance together at the reception, she said yes, only then she spent the whole time gyrating against one of the other groomsmen.

She left with him, she was drunk, filthy thing didn't even spare me a second thought.” He ripped Rachel’s head back, exposing her thin white neck, and Florence had no doubt that if he had a knife in his hand he would have slit it.

“I'm sure she didn't mean to hurt you, did you, Rachel?”

“N-no. The other g-groomsman was my boyfriend at the time. I l-looked for you, but I d-didn't see y-you,” Rachel stammered.

“Of course you didn't,” Michael roared. “No one ever does. Not my parents, not women, not you. No one ever sees me. Except you,” he growled in her direction.

“I'm sorry that you’ve felt invisible, Michael. I'm sorry that you feel like no one cares about you, but you have our attention now. I see you, I hear you, you are not invisible.” She knew what it was like to feel invisible, to think that no one cared about you, and it hurt. It made you feel like there was something wrong with you, like it was your fault that there was no one who cared whether you lived or died. She had felt that way all her life, even after she’d built a new life for herself in New York, she’d felt more alone than she’d ever realized.

Until Eli came into her life.

Now for the first time ever, she felt like she had someone.

“Are you patronizing me?” Michael demanded.

“No,” she said honestly. “I understand, Michael. Maybe it’s why I could see you.

My dad split before my first birthday, my mom was more interested in getting drunk and her newest boyfriend.

There was no one to make sure I did my homework or ate dinner, no one to care about my grades in school, or if I did extra-curricular activities, or applied to colleges.

No one cared that I went to bed hungry and had to bathe in a river, so trust me, Michael, when I say that I know what it feels like to be invisible.

But this isn’t the way to go about being seen.

Killing women who you feel ignored you or looked straight through you doesn’t change anything. ”

“Yes it does,” he said firmly. “They all saw me then. For those forty-eight hours, I was the center of their world, they saw me, they got to feel my humiliation when they had to pee in their pants, and when they had to beg me for a glass of water. They learned, they sat there and listened as I told them every time someone has looked past me without seeing me.”

“You’ve made your point, Michael. The whole city has lived in fear of you for over a year. They all saw you, they all heard you, sixteen victims, you’ll never be invisible again, you’ll go down in history as one of the worst serial killers the city has ever seen. It’s time to end this.”

Michael didn't say anything, and she could feel the change in the air.

He had made his decision.

He wasn't going to go quietly.

He’d made his point, and now he wanted to go out in a blaze of glory.

Well, too bad for him that she and her partner weren't going to let that happen.

Michael shoved the chair with Rachel still tied to it forward, sending it toppling to the floor causing the woman to cry out as she landed along with it, unable to break her fall.

When Michael moved to lunge at her in an attempt to get her to fire so he could commit suicide by cop, Jake—who had successfully circled the room so he was behind the other man—tackled him.

Just like that, it was over.

Michael fought, but they got him cuffed, read him his rights, and freed what would have been victim number seventeen.

Today was a good day.

6:13 P.M.

“Hi.” Florence wrapped her arms around his neck, kissed him hard on the mouth, then put her arms around his waist, and rested her head on his shoulder.

Since she wasn't often the one to initiate intimacy like that, Eli felt his heart soar. Bit by bit, the more time they spent together, the more he proved to her that she had nothing to fear as far as he was concerned, the more she lowered her guard and let him in.

“I missed you today,” Florence continued.

She missed him.

Those three little words meant more to him than he’d thought they would.

In a way, it was better than hearing that she loved him because he could already see in her face, deep in her eyes where she tried to hide it, that she was falling in love with him.

But to know that she missed him, that she was thinking about him when they weren't together, that he wasn't the only one consumed by what was growing between them made it feel that much more real.

“What’s wrong with you?” Florence tilted her head up to look at him. “I've never known you to be so quiet.”

“Just happy.” Eli smiled down at her, then couldn’t resist capturing her lips in a kiss that would have gone a whole lot further if they weren't standing outside the precinct on a busy street.

“I am too,” she said with a look on her face that said she was both surprised and pleased with this development. “Where are we going tonight? Did you get us reservations at some fancy restaurant? Do we need to stop by my place so I can change into something else?”

This chatterbox side of Florence was something he wasn't used to, and something he was sure that most people didn't get to see. That she was relaxed around him now, comfortable with public displays of affection and easy teasing, made him feel much more secure in their relationship, and that he had made the right decision when he’d put in an order for a custom made engagement ring.

“Actually, what you're wearing is fine.”

She looked down at herself. “Jeans and a sweater is okay for wherever we’re going?”

“It’s perfect, no one will mind what you're wearing.”

“Well, now I'm intrigued.”

“Good.” He ruffled her hair, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and led her to the car.

“So,” she drew the word out, “care to enlighten me as to our plans for this evening?”

“Nope.”

“Nope?”

“It’s a surprise,” he informed her as he opened the car door for her and then slid onto the back seat once she’d gotten in.

“You should know that I'm not crazy about surprises.” Florence shot him a dubious look as she buckled up.

“Relax, you’ll like it. I promise,” he added when she still didn't look convinced.