T he summer heat is intense enough to lure Sam and me to the Sherwood Community Center’s pool that weekend. The newly reopened pool has drawn much of the town to get a respite from the searing temperatures, and I am happy to grab two loungers beneath a large umbrella that keeps us both out of the glaring sunlight. I drop my tote bag onto the deck and slip out of my cover-up, rolling up a towel to put under my head on the chair. Despite me telling him that he should do it before we leave the house the way I do, Sam stands off to the side slathering himself in sunscreen.

“You know that’s not going to be effective for a while, right?” I ask, tilting my sunglasses down to get a better look at him.

“It’ll be fine,” he says.

Famous last words. I have a strong feeling I’m going to be following up this slathering with my own version featuring aloe gel and lidocaine. I kick off my flip-flops and feel the heat of the cement deck sizzle into the bottom of my feet. The familiar, nostalgic feeling makes me think of my father and the long afternoons spent at the waterpark in Florida before my mother’s death. I immediately crave salty French fries.

Sitting down, I swing my legs up on the chaise lounge and lean back, taking a breath as I close my eyes. The reclined position doesn’t last long. It’s just too hot for me to sit here like this. Leaving my cover-up draped across the lounger to stake my claim on it, I go to the pool and walk down the cement steps into the shallow end. The chill of the water instantly cools me, and I brace myself before dipping all the way down into it. A few laps bring my temperature down, and I’m floating around enjoying the relief when I hear Sam calling me.

“Emma, Eric’s on the phone,” he says.

There’s a note in his voice that says this isn’t a social call. I climb out of the water and dry off with a towel from my bag before taking the phone from Sam’s hand. I smooth my towel across the chair and sit down as I answer.

“Hey, Eric,” I say.

“You’re at the pool?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s so hot Sam and I decided it would be nice to take a dip. The community center looks amazing since it was rebuilt,” I tell him.

“Yeah, Sam was telling me,” he says. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have a new case for you.”

“A new case?” I ask, continuing to dry off my legs then pulling my sunglasses out of my bag so I can put them on.

“Yeah. Remember when I showed you the video of Tracy Ellis?” he asks.

“Of course,” I tell him. “Did something happen to her?”

“Not her, but a man who worked for her was murdered last night. There’s a lot more. I need you to get here as soon as you can,” he says.

“All right,” I say. “I’ll be there soon.”

Sam looks over at me with a disappointed expression on his face, but he nods and starts packing up our stuff. I stuff my phone back in my bag and shrug into my cover-up.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“It’s all right,” he says. “I’m guessing there’s something serious happening.”

“I don’t know any details yet,” I tell him, “but he said that there’s been a murder and there’s a lot more to it, so he needs me there as soon as I can get there.”

We’re barely away from the chairs when other poolgoers swoop in to score them. As soon as Sam and I get home, I run upstairs to take a fast shower and get dressed. Tossing a few things into a bag in case I’ll be away from home for a couple of days, I fill a bottle with iced water and a storage container with some fresh fruit for the drive. I kiss Sam and point to the batch of cinnamon rolls rising on the counter.

“Don’t forget to bake those,” I tell him. “The icing is already ready in the refrigerator. I’ll call you later when I know what’s going on. I love you.”

“Love you. Be safe.”

He walks me to the front door and watches as I jog to my car and jump inside.

The drive to headquarters gives me plenty of time to think about what might be happening. It wouldn’t have surprised me to find out that something happened to the controversial figure, but I’m intrigued by the death of someone working for her. Without any other context yet, I don’t know what happened or why we would be called in to handle it.

Eric is waiting for me in his office when I arrive at headquarters. He offers me coffee, and I accept despite the heat. I’ve finished my water, but ice cubes still survive inside my cup, so I pour the coffee down over the ice and swirl it around to cool. Eric watches me and lifts his eyebrow when I look up at him.

“Classy,” he says.

“It’s hot as a skillet out there,” I tell him. “I’m not going to turn down coffee, but I can’t do a hot beverage right now.”

“Fair enough,” he says.

I sit down across from him. “So I’m here. What’s going on?”

“The victim is Gideon Bell. He was stabbed to death in his apartment last night. His roommate, Jesse Kristoff, wasn’t home when the attack started, but he interrupted it and was injured,” he tells me.

“You said there was a lot more,” I say. “What’s going on?”

“Apparently, several people within the company, including Gideon, have been receiving threats over the last several weeks,” he says.

“What kind of threats?” I ask, immediately thinking about the Game Master and his vile messages to the children’s hospital.

“Someone has been threatening employees of the company if they continue to work for Tracy Ellis,” Eric says. “Some of them reported the threats to the police, but they were told there was nothing they could do about them because they didn’t know who sent them. The detective assigned to the case is Liam Fuller. He’s waiting for you to get in touch with him.”

He hands me a business card for the detective, and I see that he’s from a department about half an hour away.

“You can stay at our place if you want,” he says.

“I don’t want to be in the way,” I tell him.

“You know you’re never in the way,” he argues. “And Bellamy was just saying we haven’t spent enough time together recently.”

“That’s true,” I tell him.

“Then it’s settled. You go talk to the detective and come over whenever you’re done,” he says. “It’s better than another hotel. Unless Bebe gets to be too much for you. Then you can get a hotel.”

I laugh as I stand up. “She’s never too much for me. But I’ll keep that in mind.”

He laughs and hands a folder over to me. “Go. I’ll see you later.”

I call Detective Fuller as I’m leaving the building to let him know that I’m on my way. He’s waiting for me when I get to the department and immediately ushers me back to a conference room already set up with all the materials they have on Gideon Bell’s murder.

“How familiar are you with Tracy Ellis?” he asks as he closes the door behind us.

“Not very,” I admit. “I’ve only seen a small clip of her speech about Terrence Brooks. I’m sure you know that I’m handling that death investigation.”

“Which is why I was particularly interested in working with you on this case,” he says. “Ellis is a highly controversial public figure, but her recent coverage of the Brooks death has been especially incendiary.”

“Agent Martinez told me about threats employees of her company have received. It sounds like they have been coming since before Terrence Brooks died,” I say.

“Yes,” Detective Fuller says. “They’ve been reported for several weeks. They’ve come as letters being left on cars and arriving at the houses of multiple employees of the company. They are why I wanted to call in the assistance of the Bureau. With the intensity of the feelings toward Ellis and these threats, this situation could be far more serious than just this single murder.”

“I’ll need the contact information for Bell’s family so I can talk to them,” I say.

“He has no family,” Fuller tells me. “The closest thing we’ve been able to find to a next of kin is his roommate. He was given official notification of the death.”

“He interrupted the attack?” I ask, remembering what Eric told me about the murder.

“Gideon was already dead by the time he arrived home,” Fuller says. “The door was broken open when he got home, and he went inside to find out what was happening. He reported seeing a figure writing on the walls of Gideon’s bedroom with a permanent marker. The assailant came after him and gashed his back before he was able to get into his bedroom and get his gun. He shot at the killer but missed him while he was running out of the apartment.”

“Writing on the walls?” I ask. “What was written?”

“The message wasn’t completed because Jesse Kristoff interrupted him,” he says, opening a file and turning a crime scene photo toward me.

I pick up the photo and examine the words written in thick, black letters across the wall:

Defender of the vile, protector of —

There’s a streak on the wall where the marker slipped, likely when the killer was startled by the arrival of Gideon’s roommate. I reach for the folder with the rest of the crime scene photos. Gideon’s body is stretched across his bed like he was sleeping when he was attacked and didn’t have a chance to fight back.

“It doesn’t look like there were many knife wounds,” I point out.

“No,” Fuller says. “Whoever did this knew what they were doing. It was a fast kill.”

“This wasn’t spontaneous. He was targeted specifically. Whoever sent the threats fulfilled them with him,” I say. “Has the scene been processed?”

“Yes. Very little was found other than a few synthetic hair fibers,” he says.

“Synthetic hair. Wig fibers,” I say.

“Exactly.”

“All right. I need to talk to Jesse Kristoff. Has he been released from the hospital?” I ask.

“He’s being held for observation,” Detective Fuller says. “He gave a preliminary statement when the first responders arrived, but he hasn’t been formally interviewed yet.”

He gives me the information about the hospital where Jesse is being treated for his injuries, and I take that, along with the notes about the investigation so far, and return to my car. I call Sam on the drive to the hospital to let him know that I’ll be staying at Eric and Bellamy’s house for the next couple of days.

“I’ll miss you,” he says.

“I’ll miss you too,” I tell him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Do what you need to do. But be safe,” he says.

“I’ll do my best.”