Chapter Two

”You”re up early,” Tatiana announced while braiding her daughter”s hair at the kitchen table.

The kid stared at a tablet propped against a milk jug. The tablet spoke to her in Portuguese, and she tapped along with the prompts while it listed out the names of fruits and vegetables.

”Meeting with a forensic investigator this morning then a P.I. this afternoon.” I smoothed down the front of my shirt then adjusted my gear belt.

”Also looking rather dapper today. Holeless and everything,” she teased, cocking a brow at me as she poured Reagan a bowl of cereal. ”Don”t go painting in that shirt.”

”Don”t plan to.” I smirked and joined them at the table. ”Morning, kiddo.” I smooched Reagan”s cheek and she smiled.

”Bom dia!” she chirped and pointed at her tablet.

”Is that good morning?” I asked, and she nodded her response.

”Sim.” She tapped the screen again to pause the prompts. ”Do you know it?”

”Nope. I only know Spanish.”

Tatiana smiled while listening to us and tied off the end of Reagan”s braid. She smoothed her hair back, then clipped an orange bow behind her ear. ”How”s that, sugarplum?”

”Good.” Reagan reached back to touch it. ”Are you taking me to school today or the bus is?”

”Bus. Mama”s heading down to the gallery today.” She nudged Reagan”s shoulder. ”Eat, please.”

”Can”t Auntie Jags take me?” Reagan picked up her spoon and took a heaping bite of her bran flakes.

Tatiana looked at me, her brows lifting when she hesitated. Tati never lied to her kid, and I could get behind that.

”Only if you can handle listening to Lady Gaga for the entire walk,” I said, smirking with it. ”Or Guns N” Roses.”

”Okay, both!” Reagan pounded her fist on her knee then began belting out the chorus to Bad Romance, complete with the Little Monster fingers and all.

Tatiana and I both burst out laughing. My heart gave a great leap of joy when her silliness lifted my mood from its somber place. The kid had a way about her that turned dimness to brightness in a heartbeat.

”We did the Rain On Me dance in class. Remember?”

”Sure do.” I chuckled and leaned against the kitchen counter after snatching an energy drink from the fridge. ”The fact that song is still relevant all these years later is legit the best.”

”Legit!” Reagan pumped her fist in the air then wiped her mouth on her sleeve. ”Done, Mama.” She dropped her spoon into the bowl with a clang.

”Goodness, girl. Manners.” Tatiana grabbed her arm before she could go in for a second mouth wipe. ”Napkin, please. Then go change your shirt.”

””Kay.” She swiped at her mouth with the napkin then bolted from the table off to her room.

”Such a little menace,” Tati said once she was out of earshot. ”She moves so fast sometimes.”

”I don”t ever remember having kid-level energy.”

”You had other shit going on.”

”Yeah.” I smirked then chugged my drink.

Tatiana shook her head then slapped a banana into my hand. ”Eat actual food.”

I rolled my eyes and she scoffed at me.

”Sure you”re okay taking her? She really can take the bus.”

”I”d rather take her. It”s not far. Just in the opposite direction of where you need to go. Did you get accepted into the show?”

”That”s what I get to find out today.” She used the reflective surface of the microwave door to fix her hair. ”How do I look?”

”Like an artist,” I teased and nodded toward her bohemian-esque outfit consisting of a deep green skirt, and loose-fitting, earth-toned top.

”Should I change?” She screwed up her face. ”Wear a suit or something?”

”Nope. You should be yourself, Tati. Like always.” I gave her shoulder a squeeze then looked up when Reagan returned to the kitchen.

She wore a bright blue sweater over her jeans now and settled her backpack over her shoulders. ”Okay, ready.”

”All right, short stuff. Let”s head out.” I tossed the empty can in the recycling bin and smooched Tatiana”s cheek. ”Later.”

”Behave yourself.” She swatted my arm then hurried to catch Reagan in a hug before she ran to the door.

”Good luck with the gallery,” I told her as we headed out.

Reagan gripped my hand tightly as she skipped down the hall. ”Bye, Mama.”

”Bye, love. See you after school.” Tatiana drew in a deep breath, and we parted ways once our feet hit the sidewalk.

”Okay, kid. Guns N” Roses or Gaga?”

”Umm…I like Slash so him.” She accepted the earbud when I handed it to her.

”You got it.” I queued up the song and headed down the street with her while listening to Sweet Child O” Mine.

My thoughts rumbled while we followed the familiar pathway. Reagan skipped most of the way while keeping up with my pace. I glanced at her, and the content, happy smile that seemed to always linger on her sweet face. I wondered if she knew how lucky she was to have a doting mom in her life every day. Tatiana was probably as great as they come, and everyone deserved a parent like her.

In the fifteen minutes it took us to walk to Reagan”s school, she asked around thirty questions about random things. I didn”t mind answering them, but secretly hated it when I had to say, ”I don”t know.” She deserved proper answers.

I walked her into the school, flashing my badge to the security guards and school resource officers on the way. No one questioned me, and Reagan”s eyes brightened with the sudden popularity that came with her door-to-door escort.

”Okay, kid.” I crouched down in front of her outside the door to her classroom. ”Be the best first grader you can be, okay?”

”Okay.” She giggled and tossed her arms around me. ”Love you, Auntie Jags.”

My face heated immediately, and I swallowed down the emotions that hearing her declaration sparked. Had she ever told me that before so openly?

”Love you, too,” I croaked, fixing my face before I leaned back to look at her. ”Go on.” I patted her arm and nodded toward the door. ”See you later.”

”Bye!” she squeaked and bounced her way into the classroom.

I waved to her teacher when he initiated, then headed out once she was settled with her friends.

With little time to spare, I hauled ass out of the school to bolt downtown in the direction of the crime lab.

I managed to make it on time, but getting through the four-thousand layers of security without an escort proved a challenge. Security stopped me at the desk, and I waited there for a solid five minutes before he opened the door for me.

”Doctor Wright will see you now,” he said, handing me a temporary identification badge.

”Doctor who?” I accepted it with a furrowed brow.

”Doctor Who. I”m the forty-seventh.” Clementine appeared out of nowhere and I started.

”The forty-seventh what?” I pinned the badge to my shirt while turning to her.

”Doctor.” Her expression, as blank as the walls around us, gave me no hints to better understand her statement. She turned on her heel and headed down the hall with her hands tucked into the pockets of her lab coat.

”The forty-seventh doctor of what?” I followed her quickly, her pace nearly twice the speed of mine and I felt the urge to skip beside her like Reagan trying to keep up with me.

She glanced at me when I stopped short beside her, her eyes narrowing with an accompanying brow crinkle.

”Of the Timelords.”

”What—I—”

And there it was; the tiniest hint of a smile tugged the corner of her mouth as she held the door open for me. I headed in first, stifling the huff of annoyance.

She led me into her lab where, in addition to the working robotic equipment, a big screen illuminated some of the case numbers we spoke of the day before. Charts, graphs, and figures of some sort filled every inch of it. And I understood exactly none of it. She gestured toward one of the padded stools for me to sit, then joined me when I did. She slid onto the seat, her fingers gripping the edges of it as she crossed her legs. Only then did I notice that her hair wasn”t pulled back in a ponytail today. Instead, the waist-length strands of amber-gold brushed her knees and tumbled around her hips. The front bore many layers that cradled her heart-shaped face and the twinkling eyes that accompanied it. Amusement danced in her gaze, but the rest of her was nearly impossible to read.

”What”s a timelord?” I asked.

”You have no tears in your pants today,” she said, completely ignoring my question.

”Not today.” I smirked and glanced at the shadow of a worker passing in the next lab. ”Is Ainsley joining us?”

”Perhaps.” She clicked something in her palm then looked over at the screen. ”There are six identified victims in this case, only two of which were processed through this lab.”

”What—oh. Right. The other cases were older.” I cleared my throat in an attempt to keep up with her.

”A ten-year gap between the cases.” She clicked the button again and I noticed the screen changed, except I had no idea what I was looking at.

”Yes, but—”

”I”ve requisitioned everything to be reprocessed here. Since it”s a cold case, all items are still on file. I”ve written a proposal to enact genealogical testing on all the victims. What are your thoughts on that?” She leaned back then, her eyes intently on me now.

”I—don”t even know what that means.” I stared at her and felt the overwhelmed expression that tried to take over my face. ”Can we start over?”

Clementine paused and sat up straighter. She glanced toward the door then back to me. ”From the beginning?”

”Yes, please.”

”But then you”ll need a new identification badge. Wasting time—”

”No, no.” I held my hand up to her and shook my head. ”To the beginning of the case.” I motioned to the screen. ”Can you tell me what I”m looking at?”

A frown curved her lips as she watched me with daggers nearly flying from her eyes. She lifted the tiny device in her palm and clicked two times in dramatic fashion to bring the graphics back to the start.

”There are six identified victims in this case—” she began again and walked me down the same path as before.

This time, I didn”t interrupt and tried desperately to keep up with her. It must”ve been ten minutes at least of explanation as to how she requisitioned all the cases, sent inquiries to the FBI”s crime lab, and ended with an explanation of the types of testing she planned to run. I stared. I stared so hard that I felt myself staring, until she finally looked at me again. Intense hazel eyes met mine for the briefest second.

”Does that sound reasonable to you?” she asked.

”Reasonable. Yes. Yes, very reasonable.” I gulped and sat up straighter. ”Thanks for all of this.”

”It”s what I”m good at.” She shrugged and set the clicker thing down on the countertop.

”You are, indeed. Here”s my card—” I slipped from the stool to fish one from my pocket to give her. ”My cell is on there. Can you text me when you learn something more?”

”I will.” She frowned at the card and flicked the rumpled corner of it. I watched as she turned it over in her palm, then immediately tensed when I saw the entire back of it covered in a black and red doodle. It held all the qualities of my usual work except scratched out in pen ink. My tag, Jagz, as tiny as can be, hung out in the corner.

”Did you do this?” she asked, her brow now furrowed. At that point, she moved away from looking annoyed, to slightly intrigued.

”Yeah. Got bored in a meeting.”

”Jagz,” she read aloud, then smirked as she looked up at me.

”That”d be me. Yeah.” I pulled a second card out of my wallet and handed it to her. ”This one is more professional.”

She moved her hand away, holding the graffitied card close to her body. ”I like this one.”

”Okay then.” I chuckled and pocketed the other again. ”All yours.”

For the first time, Clementine smiled. Not just a smirk or a grimace, but a full smile that made it to her eyes. Her gaze met mine, and this time, she held it for a moment, long enough for me to get a better look at her. A very faint splattering of freckles covered her nose, and her dark eyebrows contrasted her light hair. Only the tiniest hint of eyeliner and mascara coated her lids and lashes, bringing the slightest emphasis to her eyes. Her jaw, curved in all the right places, brought flashes of street art to my mind. I could paint her, turn her image into a wall-size cartoon on the side of a building calling the house next door a Timelord or something. I smirked at the thought of it. Perhaps a more hyper-real image would make it more amusing.

”Okay, bye then,” she said, returning her focus back to her work.

I laughed softly and backed away from her. ”Bye.”

***

”You”re making me dizzy.” Zay groaned from the table where he sat behind a pile of papers and an open pizza box.

”So? It helps me think.” I rolled side to side on the skateboard with a slice of pizza pinched between my fingers.

”Ugh.” He tore into his food anyway. ”Any word from the forensic investigator you met?”

”Not yet.”

”Think we should move on to another case? This one is cold-cold. Not just cold.” He motioned to the files in front of him.

”No. I”ve arranged for interviews with family members to start. All of them have complied. And get this.” I dropped one foot off the skateboard, then smashed the tail to kick it up for me to catch. ”Alessa Trainor, the three-year-old surviving victim of the 2005 murder, agreed to meet with us.”

”Really?” His eyes widened. ”Why didn”t you lead with that? Next time lead with that!”

”There”s a catch.” I dropped down in the seat across from him. ”We don”t get to do the interview alone. Since this is the first time she”s agreed. She”s twenty-five now. The FBI want in.”

”Who told the FBI what we”re doing?” He frowned, and his silliness washed away for the moment. ”This is our case.”

”It was theirs first and you know how shit is. Walsh needs to keep up rapport.”

”Still.”

”Yeah. Someone from the BAU is going to meet us at her apartment on Thursday morning.”

”What was it like when you spoke to her?” he asked, his tone gentle.

”Unnerving a bit. I”m asking her questions about her dead mother and the trauma she suffered. She seems well-rounded though. She”s in medical school,” I said, then tossed the pizza crust back onto my plate. ”The pineapple was too sweet, by the way.”

”There”s no such thing as a too sweet pineapple.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. ”You know what is too sweet though? Those stupid energy drinks and pops you guzzle.”

”Yeah, well, deal with it. You and your forty coffees a day. How is it any different?” I snatched the slice of pizza from his plate and held it in my mouth before saluting him. ”Later.”

”Where are you going?”

”Home.”

I didn”t actually go home though, per usual. I ended up right back where I started, at the tattoo shop.

During the day, only Frankie lingered about as appointments were always slower. She let the music blast while she sanitized some equipment. Lady Gaga”s tunes pumped her up and she mouthed the lyrics to Born This Way, still holding its value nearly twenty years later. That song was the first anthem of Pride for me as a kid, and probably her as well.

She nodded in my direction when I pushed myself up to sit on the table beside her while her gloved hands cleaned stuff. I smirked when she waved a newly unboxed needle at me.

”You know you want some,” she teased when the song ended.

”When don”t I want new ink?” I chuckled. ”No appointments?”

”Just Dax. Still working on her phoenix. Almost done though.”

”So many hours.” I smiled fondly while I thought of the huge piece that covered the woman”s thigh. While I didn”t know Dax that well, other than from work on occasion, I”d seen Frankie working on her over the years and to me, it was one of her best pieces.

”So many. It”s a portfolio piece for sure.”

”Yeah.”

”Here for ink, the mural, or moral support?” she asked, continuing to fill the supply bins.

”Moral support from you?” I laughed at that. ”C”mon.”

She grinned and lifted her shoulders in a shrug. ”Resident bitch, at your service,” she said and pretended to bow. ”I”m redeemable though. Like Narcissa Malfoy.”

”Ugh. She was not redeemable.” I rolled my eyes. ”Neither is her creator.”

”Shh. Don”t spoil it.” She waved me off.

”Too late.” I let my skateboard drop on the floor and set my feet on it. ”We should build the ramp out back still like Alex said.”

”Ah, I miss Alex.” She let out a dramatic sigh. ”She was such a good—”

”Don”t even say it, you asshole. The two of you were toxic as fuck.” I snapped at her, the way I often did when she broached this subject. ”She”s happy now. Leave her alone.”

”C”mon—”

”No, Frankie. Don”t even play around. You hurt her.” I shook my head and let my hands fly in front of me in a harsh stopping motion. ”She didn”t deserve it.”

”She hurt me just the same.” She tossed me a glare before shifting to unbox more supplies.

”No, she didn”t. It was all you.” I remained steadfast in my opinion as I often did during the course of Frankie”s relationships. ”Literally everyone shares the same mantra. ”Stay away from Frankie.” The same way they say stay away from Kari.”

”It”s biphobic—”

”You”re not bi.” I flopped my hands in my lap. ”And Kari has cheated on everyone she has ever dated equally, including you. That is a fact separate of identified sexuality.”

”Okay, Karen,” she said in a mocking voice.

”You”re a douchebag sometimes.” Anger bubbled in my chest as it often did when we got into it. ”Seriously, can you just stop?”

”Fine.”

”And Dax is coming here later, and you know how Kari treated Willa. Just keep your mouth shut for once.” I laid into her, a little harder than usual, but sometimes she needed it.

”Okay! My god. Fuck you, asshole. You”re fired.” She shoved my shoulder and I rolled with it. ”If Dad was alive, I”d tattle on you to get you grounded.”

”If Dad was alive, maybe you wouldn”t act like such a jerk all the time.”

”Maybe he was a jerk, too.”

”He wasn”t,” I said, leaning back on my hands while letting the skateboard roll side to side beneath my feet.

”How do you know?”

”Because I knew him. Not well, but I did.”

”I didn”t,” she said, glancing at me as the steam seemed to leave our scuffle.

”I know.”

Quiet fell between us when the music and conversation stopped. Frankie and I didn”t grow up together, and hardly knew each other back then. Adulthood changed that when we discovered our matching last names and same lost father story.

”Think he”d hate having two queer kids?” she asked out of nowhere.

”I don”t think so.” I shrugged, then lounged back on the table for a moment while staring up at the artwork on the wall above my head. All of Frankie”s work, hand-drawn and framed, displayed her talent just as much as the framed photographs of the tattoos. We didn”t have much in common, mostly nothing in common, except we were both good at art.

”Think I would be less of a jerk if I grew up with you?”

”No.” I met her gaze now. ”Because then you would”ve been in the system, too.”

”To be fair, you were the one who ended up in the alternative system.” A cocky smirk tugged the corner of her mouth. ”Not me.”

I laughed at that and shook my head. ”Yup. Sure did.”

To my surprise, Frankie patted my arm in what seemed like a gesture of affection. Rare for her, and rarer for me.

”I got this new dynamic green ink.” She held up the bottle and wiggled it at me. ”Wanna?”

”Hmm.” I narrowed my eyes at her. ”The X-Files thing that I wanted?”

”Sure.” She laughed and rolled her eyes. ”Black X, glowy neon border. You got it. This color should do it. It”s got rave reviews for the new tech involved.”

I dropped my arm onto the table extender and let out a dramatic sigh. ”You”ve convinced me.”

”Woo.” Frankie clapped her hands once. ”Be right back.”

And as usual, that was normally how I ended up with new ink. Seventeen tattoos this year, six of which were smaller, impulsive glyphs that Frankie made up for me on the spot. The catharsis of it, the needle scratching my skin, always brought a sense of calm as I watched the colors melt over the area. I never took my eyes off her work, on places that I could see anyway, and let myself fall under the spell of the buzzing discomfort.

Dax and her wife arrived a little while later, and with my forearm wrapped and ready with its new ink, I headed to the back room to work on the mural. It wouldn”t take me long to finish now with the majority of my day abandoned by my whims. I worked quickly, as I always did, and focused on the smooth glide of the paint as it left the can in my palm. I loved the sound, the smell, despite the mask I wore, and the bursts of colors everywhere. The entire wall filled with my work brought a sense of satisfaction to me as I added the finer details here and there.

The first place I ever tagged belonged to my grandmother. Her garden shed. The place where she kept all of her supplies and the pack of cigarettes that she thought I didn”t know about. I smiled while reminiscing on those days. They were my best ones, for the most part. Even with my parents overseas constantly, part of me settled into the life they left me with. I didn”t resent them too much, but I never understood why two people in the military would have a kid just to leave it behind all the time. They knew they were going off to serve. They knew what their jobs entailed and yet, they forcibly birthed me onto this Earth just to leave me alone. I reminded myself that I had my grandmother who loved me more than anything, and for that I was grateful.

She didn”t love me so much when I turned the entire side of her greenhouse into a graffiti-covered mural of a wildflower field. She didn”t love that at all.

You can”t be an artist if you don”t understand how light works, Jagger,she lectured, her voice echoing in my head. And if you don”t understand that plants need light inside this glass, you”re already a step behind.

I remembered that, every time paint landed in my palm. First the cans that I stole from the hardware store until they started locking them up, and then the cans I bought off older kids for favors and cash. I never painted a window again.

Brick walls were my specialty.

***

Thursday rolled around quickly, as it often did, and I sat in the conference room with Zay while we waited for the FBI to arrive. Instead of showing up at the woman”s house for the interview, she requested to meet all of us at the precinct. It was on her terms, and that was okay with me.

”Your face is beet-red,” he announced, after setting his doughnut down on the table beside his coffee. ”What”s the matter?”

”My heart is racing out of my chest,” I replied, frowning at his snack. ”Where”s mine?”

”Your heart is pounding because you”re downing energy drinks.” He snatched the purple and black can out of my hand, then slid it down the table. ”What do you expect? And your snack is three feet away.” He pointed to the setup of snacks in the center of the oval-shaped table. ”Get it yourself.”

”Give that back.” I made to snatch my drink back, but when he blocked me, I grabbed his food instead. ”Ha.” I stuffed a bite in my mouth and glared.

”Ha yourself,” he grumbled and got up to get himself another one.

”Wow…” A loud, snarky voice boomed into the room. ”No wonder this case is cold as fuck. Two assholes are leading it.”

I looked up in time to see a short, dark-haired girl standing in the opening of the conference room. A scowl darkened her features under the messy fringe that brushed her forehead. With a hoody, jeans rattier than mine, and black and white sneakers to match, at first, I thought she was a teenager, but as she drew closer, that notion grew questionable. She came to stand in front of me when I turned my chair to face her, our feet toe to toe in an unusual display.

”Vans.” She scoffed. ”The inferior shoe.”

I looked down at our shoes. Equal in age and use, but the messy scrawl on the soiled white toe of her Chuck Taylors set us apart. Sali ?”s Maggie, it read, in a childish declaration of devotion.

”Please,” I shot back. ”Vans far precede Chucks.”

”Nope.” The woman shook her head, pointing at my feet. ”I recognize the drag of those toes, Skater. Give me Chucks or give me death.” She lifted her fist in the air, and I laughed.

”Vans were the first skate shoes, and you know it.”

”Technically, they weren”t. The Randy followed skating barefoot.”

”And Vans came right after that in ”76. Don”t even play.” I smirked and rolled my eyes at her.

”Hmm.” The woman glared at me, her eyes fixed on mine until two other women headed into the room followed by Chief Walsh. She glanced over her shoulder, and a woman with long, layered hair met her gaze. ”Mags, I like this one.” She jabbed her finger in my direction. ”Feisty.”

I sat up straighter immediately when I recognized the second woman as the former Detective Maggie Miller, and nearly flew out of my seat. The curly-haired woman beside her cocked a brow at me before dropping into a chair beside Zay. She picked up a doughnut, said nothing, and watched the scene unfold as if unbothered by the human life around her.

”Jagger has always been feisty,” Miller said with a smile as she approached me. ”Hey, kid.”

”H-hi.” I gulped as images flashed through my mind”s eye of Miller in a patrol uniform chasing me down an alley and the paint can I sent flying in her direction. She caught it midair, tossed it aside, and chased me down until the tackle that smashed my face into the concrete. It was our first encounter, some twenty years before when my toes barely touched the edge of fourteen.

”You know her?” asked the tiny woman who moved on to the doughnuts and making growling faces at Chief Walsh. He rolled his eyes at her and puffed on his vape pen.

”We go way back.” Miller held her hand out to me and winked. I shook her hand, and she gave it a squeeze.

”You”re…Miller and Miller investigations?” I asked as the pieces began to connect.

”Miller.” The short woman pointed at Maggie. ”And Miller.” She then pointed at herself. ”What up, Jagz?” She tossed out my tag name, pressing emphasis on the Z sound.

”Ignore her,” Miller the Taller said. ”She pretends to know things and doesn”t.”

”For fuck”s sake, Mags.” The other woman flopped her hands at her sides in a sort of mini-tantrum. The curly-haired woman chuckled as her amusement peeked through.

”This is like a circus,” called Zay as he stood beside Walsh. ”Can I keep watching?”

”Best to just observe, son.” Walsh clapped him on the shoulder. ”We are the underlings in this room.”

”Noted, sir.” Zay stole a slow bite of his doughnut and kept on staring.

”Jagger, this is my wife and partner, Sali.” Miller gestured to the short woman. ”And Agent Donovan of the Seattle FBI.”

I nodded to them, lost for words beyond casual pleasantries. I didn”t expect to see Detective Miller today, nor did I anticipate buckets of memories to crash down on me afterward. All the encounters I shared with her during the early years of my juvenile delinquency flooded my psyche, setting alight an anxious twist in my gut. It didn”t help that my heart already raced from the caffeine I consumed that morning.

”I didn”t expect to find you in my former job,” said Miller, her body language shifting to block my view of the others as if she could read my discomfort. ”But I”m not sad about it.”

”It makes sense though, doesn”t it? It”s your fault I”m here to begin with.” I smirked when I said it and it made her chuckle.

”It sure is.” She smiled, then gestured toward the table. ”Brief us on what you”ve got? We”ll do the same.”

”It”s not much.” I nodded once she sat down, and the attention of the others fell on her as well.

I half expected the quiet-but-deadly looking tall woman to lead the charge, or the rude little shithead, but everyone seemed to turn to Miller in that moment.

”Where are our besties?” Sali blurted out, her seedy gaze on Walsh. ”Homicide. Sex crimes. They should all be here.”

”S”not like you”re gonna keep the information secret when you get home, now is it?” Walsh cocked a brow at her. ”Quit gabbin” and let”s get to it.”

Sali grumbled and flipped him off.

Amusement made its way to my face, and I couldn”t fight the smirk that tugged the corner of my mouth. Seeing someone flip my boss off was much more gratifying than I anticipated. Sali glanced at me when she caught me looking, then nodded her chin at me as a cocky grin parted her lips. I chuckled and shook my head, before looking back to Miller the Taller. Agent Donovan sat silently, almost creepily as she observed the room. The energy she exuded made me simultaneously want to run and punch her in the face.

”Go ahead, Roth. Spit it out,” coaxed Walsh.

”Um…” I glanced around the room. ”Zay and I don”t have much.” I looked to him then. ”Can you tell them about the crime scenes?”

”Sure.” Zay sat up straighter and the professionalism that he carried only in mixed company finally returned. Sometimes his playful immaturity exhausted me on a day-to-day basis but knowing he could pull it together in the end soothed some of that. ”Landfills and construction sites. All of them. I”ve interviewed all the previous detectives and patrol officers still involved with S.P.D., as well as visited all the crime scenes while Roth focused on the forensic piece. We haven”t unearthed anything that isn”t already documented in the files. I have a suspicion, however, that the suspect probably works in a job that involves landfills, construction, recycling, or in a quarry. The access to the dumpsites seems easy and unlimited. That wasn”t documented in the files.”

”It wasn”t,” stated Donovan, her voice a raspy croon. ”But something like that was suspected. What makes you think quarry?”

”Two of the victims had particles of gravel and granite dust on their clothes not belonging to the dump location.” He opened up the file folder and cautiously slid it over to Donovan. ”A new report from the forensic investigator that Roth”s working with.” Zay glanced in my direction, and I rolled with it.

”She”s working on genealogical and DNA testing after requisitioning evidence from all the victims to be reprocessed in her lab,” I added. ”I”m headed back there tomorrow to meet with her for follow up.”

Donovan nodded, her lips pursed to a thin line as her gaze flickered over to the Millers. One of us must”ve shared information that they didn”t know or didn”t suspect because their quiet told more than their speech ever would.

”Detective Miller, how did your agency get involved?” I asked, hoping to interrupt the silent exchange. The last thing we needed was for the FBI and a PI firm to overshoot us on this case.

”Maggie is fine,” she responded, her gaze, softer than the others, fell on me. ”How we got involved is why we”re here. The daughter of one of the victims outreached us and we took the case. Alessa Trainor is why we”re here today. She”s agreed to meet with law enforcement for the first time.”

”You”ve spoken with her?” I asked, my eyes widening as I glanced at my teammates.

”We have. She hired us. She”s a spitfire who knows her stuff. On her way to being a forensic psychiatrist, and in that she”s agreed to be interviewed with re-enactment. While we can”t do that here today, speaking with her first officially is step one. She”s never given an interview before beyond her recovery interview at age three,” summed Maggie. ”Which did not garner much, as we all can imagine.”

”Are you going to speak with her today?” I asked, my brow furrowed as I glanced between them.

Maggie shook her head. ”Not me. You.”

”Me?” I looked at Zay, and his brows lifted immediately.

”Yup,” Sali piped up. ”We got this shit off the clock, kid. We need it back on. It”s your case. It”s your interview.” She leaned forward, her elbows on the table. ”You got new evidence.” She motioned to Zay”s file folder. ”And a new forensic system at your disposal. You reopen the case.” She jabbed her thumb in Agent Donovan”s direction. ”Notify the FBI that the daughter made contact, and they arrange a late-in-life recovery interview, thereby reactivating themselves, while Mags and I keep breaking the law behind the scenes and stepping on people”s toes for information.”

”James! For fuck”s sake.” Walsh grumbled.

Sali”s intensity bore into me. Her deeply blue eyes spoke nothing of her age, but everything of her experience. Her passion and fire scared the shit out of me, but the tingles of inspiration niggled at the back of my neck. I drew my gaze from her to Detective Miller.

”Just like that?” I asked, my voice softer than intended.

”Just like that,” she said with a nod. ”You in?”

I looked to Zay, his heavy brow tightening with determination before he offered me a faint nod.

”We”re in.”

”Huzzah.” Sali slapped her hand down on the desk and flew out of her seat. ”Prep the interview room, Walsh. We”re gonna fuck shit up.”

”James! What the actual fuck—”