CHAPTER THIRTY

The dream hit Ella like a fist between the eyes. Ripley”s face swam in her vision, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream. And behind her, Martin, smile on his face, barrel of his gun pressed to Ripley’s temple.

No, Ella tried to shout. Tried to move, to lunge, to do something, anything. But she was frozen, paralyzed, stuck in the molasses of her own subconscious. Helpless as she watched that silver-haired devil pull the trigger. Watched Ripley”s head snap back, a spray of crimson and gray matter painting the wall behind her.

Ella jolted awake with a gasp. For a second, she didn’t know where she was. The dream clung like cobwebs, but then the world came into focus – the dingy office, the tower of paperwork, the rumble of bodies in the main area beyond the glass partitions. She was hunched at her desk, spine and neck screaming bloody murder.

Christ, she felt about a hundred years old. Like Methuselah”s little sister; creaky joints and crow”s feet and a tiredness that a catnap in the office couldn’t touch. She scrubbed a hand over her face and felt leathery skin. She needed a shower and enough caffeine to kickstart a Clydesdale.

She snatched up her cell, squinted blearily at the screen. No missed calls. No new messages, no voicemails from a certain redhead that may or may not be in the throes of despair right now.

Ella had called her last night, after their adventure in that SM club. Hoping against hope that Ripley would pick up, that she”d let Ella explain. Maybe with Ripley’s blunt insight, they could put their heads together and untangle this snarled mess of a case.

But Ripley had let it go to voicemail.

Ella”s fingers itched to dial again. To keep calling until Ripley answered, until Ella could hear her voice, brusque and bullheaded as ever. But she knew it was useless. Ella had to admit that it stung. They were partners, dammit. Ride or die, two against the world. But now Ripley had disappeared to Parts Unknown in a quixotic quest for answers that could very well lead to her demise.

She wanted to hammer the table in frustration, perhaps break her knuckles to give her something to dilute the pain in her gut. But really, what would that solve? She could break apart later, perhaps fall apart in the privacy of her own shower.

Now she had to work. Had to put one foot in front of the other until she reached the finish line or fell off the edge of the map.

She was just about to gather up her scattered files and begin from scratch when the door swung open. Luca rushed in, riding a caffeine high judging by the spring in his step. He planted a cup on her desk, blacker than a vampire’s heart and smelled like heaven.

‘For the lady,’ he said, and fixed her with a grin that Ella definitely did not find charming at this time of morning. ‘Breakfast of champions.’

Ella groused, but she grabbed the cup anyway. Couldn”t afford to be picky about her caffeine delivery system at this point. ”You”re a lifesaver.”

‘I got you black coffee this time. They don’t do lattes here.’

‘Probably for the best. Don’t tell me you’ve been up all night.’

‘I caught about four hours, then I went hunting.’

Ella caught his eye. ‘Hunting?’

He whipped out a plastic baggie dangling from his fingers like a magician doing a nickel-and-dime trick.

‘You were my first sleepover with a woman in ages, and when I woke up, I still had my clothes on. So I figured I’d do something useful.’

Ella leaned forward, squinting. Inside the bag were shards of something white. Jagged, like broken china. It took her caffeine-starved synapses a second to put it together.

Then it clicked.

‘Holy hell,’ she breathed. ‘Is that what I think it is?’

Luca winked, the cheeky son of a bitch. ‘One psycho mask, smashed to bits. Found it in an alley not far from the fountain.’

Ella gaped at him, at the baggie, her heart doing a wild tarantella. This was huge. Physical evidence, ripped right off the killer”s face. The CSI techs might be able to pull trace, DNA. At the very least, it proved Macklin”s story. Proved that the freak was out there, scrambling to cover his tracks.

And Luca had found it. This rookie, this Quantico wonder boy, had cracked the case wide open while Ella had been snoozing at her desk like a damn damsel in distress. A hot flush of shame scorched through her veins, searing as a branding iron. What the hell was wrong with her? She was supposed to be the driven one, the hungry one, the one who never stopped moving. And here she was, catching Z”s while the new kid ran circles around her.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. He’d pulled a miracle out of his backside while she’d been drooling on her case files, but Ella wasn’t one to argue with results.

‘You beautiful man,’ she said fervently, forcing the words past the lump of wounded pride in her throat. ‘I could kiss you.’

Luca preened. ‘Maybe later. Had to do something to occupy myself while you were sawing logs. Figured an early morning stroll through the crime scene couldn”t hurt.’

They had to get the mask to forensics stat. Every second they wasted was another second for the trail to go cold, for the killer to rabbit. Ella was just about to voice this thought when Chief Harland came barreling into the bullpen. His mug was beet red, eyes wild.

‘Dark!’ he barked. ‘Hawkins! Evidence room, now. Something you gotta see.’

Ella shot to her feet, suddenly wide awake. Luca grabbed the mask in his fist. They shared a charge glance then sped out into the corridor.

‘What is it, Chief?’ Ella asked, already moving. ‘What”d you find?’

But Harland just shook his head, already turning on his heel.

‘No time. Just move your asses.’