CHAPTER TWELVE

Faith forced herself to eat the last of the rubbery orange chicken. The food wasn't great, but to be honest, it wasn't any worse than any other Chinese takeout place. She just wasn't hungry. But she needed fuel, and allowing her irritation to starve her wasn't smart. So, she swallowed the chicken and forced the last of the rice to follow it.

Michael had finished his food already. She was pretty sure nothing could stifle his appetite. Likewise, Turk had downed the last of his food and now slept contentedly in between the two mattresses of their room.

Today had been a disappointment. They had no leads, no suspects, and no idea who their killer was or when he would strike next.

What made today especially frustrating was that it wasn't entirely unproductive. In fact, they'd learned more on their first full day working this case then they had learned about entire cases in the past.

They knew their killer's motive. They knew his M.O. inside and out. They had an almost completely thorough understanding of the crime scenes. They knew what he was going to do next.

But they didn't know who the killer was. She could tell herself all day that it wasn't fair for her to expect herself to know that after only a day and a quarter of work, but fair didn't do anything to protect the next victim who even now could be dead and naked with yellow powder sprinkled over her body.

"We need to know what that powder is," Michael said. "If there's anything unique about it, it could lead us to our killer."

"We need to know who knew both victims besides Oliver Pennington," Faith replied. "That powder could be colored sand for all we know. I feel like if there was something unique about it, we would have heard already."

"I feel the opposite. If it was ordinary, we would have had answers within hours. Instead, we're coming up on a week since it was lifted from Cassidy Holt's body, and we have nothing. It's got to be something rare."

"And if it isn't?" Faith asked.

"Can you please stop being negative?" he snapped. "What do you want me to say? If the lead doesn't pan out, then everyone will die, and we'll be failures?"

"I'm fine with being optimistic, Michael, but I'm not just going to act like everything's okay when it isn't. I can't just convince myself that everything will work out when I don't know for sure that it will."

"Well, it's not helpful to just assume that everything's going to work out poorly."

"I'm not assuming , Michael! I'm trying to plan ahead!"

"So tell me a plan, don't just throw your hands up in the air and say, ‘Well, I hope everything works out, but it probably won't.'"

"Okay," Faith said tersely. "Sounds good. I'll be cheerful and bubbly all the time. Never mind that there are women out there at risk of being murdered so a psychopath can cast a spell to obtain eternal life."

"You're right, Faith," he said sarcastically. "This is much different from literally every single case we've ever worked ever. How are we going to handle this totally unique situation? God, how is it possible that we don't have all the answers right now?"

"The longer we don't have answers, the more people die!"

"Yes. That's true. That's the damned job, Faith. The same job you've been working for eleven years."

"Well, I'm sorry I haven't gotten used to the fact that I can't save everyone."

"Me too. Because you're a lot less effective when you're petulant."

Faith turned away from him and pressed her lips together so they wouldn't tremble with anger. After a moment, Michael sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that in anger."

Faith picked up on the meaning behind that. "But you still should have said it?"

He sighed again. "Yes. It's the truth. Look back on the cases we've worked. You're at your best when you can distance yourself from the emotions of the job and focus on the process. When you can't, we end up with situations like when Turk bit an innocent man in the subway or when you were nearly suspended for committing home invasion against another innocent man. It's been a while since you've been this depressive, and I'm concerned. I understand that you're going through a lot of stress right now. But—and I don't mean this out of anger or frustration—but if you aren't in a place to put emotion aside, then maybe it's a good idea for you to take some time out of the field."

Faith stiffened but stifled the angry retort. She looked at the wall and said nothing, not quite trusting herself to speak. Michael remained silent, not apologizing further and not attacking her.

What hurt the most was that he was right. The stress was getting to her. Turk's pending retirement, her possible forced "retirement," the upcoming move with David that might or might not be the death knell of their relationship, therapy with a doctor who was hell-bent on allowing her to keep absolutely nothing to herself, West's trial and a new murderer who might be obsessed with her… it was all too much.

But pulling away wasn't the answer. That was the same as giving up, and Faith wasn't a quitter. If she took a step back now, she wouldn't take another step forward. Turk was retiring in a month, and if that date came while she was sitting behind a desk, she'd stay behind that desk.

She looked at Turk, resting peacefully in between the mattresses. She wondered if he would have trouble with retirement, or if he'd be just as happy running through the park chasing butterflies as he was chasing bad guys. Would he even understand that he was retired, or would he think he was just waiting for a new case? Would he just be happy to be with Faith no matter where he was and what he was doing? Maybe she'd be just as happy pulling nine-to-five work and spending her free time with her dog and her boyfriend.

But she wasn't there yet, and as long as she was still a field agent, relaxation wasn't an option for her. Still, she needed to balance her emotions better when working a case. Michael wasn't wrong about that.

"I apologize for my moodiness," she said. "The stress I'm going through now is a lot, but I shouldn't let it impact my work."

"I don't know if that's something you can control, Faith," he replied gently. "And if you can, I don't know if it's something you should control. You're only human. That's something you've always had trouble dealing with, but eventually pushing yourself past your limits catches up to you. We've both seen dozens of agents burn out hard at the end of their careers. I'd just hate to see that happen to you."

Faith nodded, then said, "Let's take things one step at a time. I'll pull my emotions back in regard to the case. I'll be patient with the process without slowing down or just waiting for things to fall into place. I'm going to leave everything else for after, and I'd appreciate it if you did the same."

He met her eyes, and she saw the concern in his gaze. "I'll be all right," she assured him. "I've dealt with worse and pulled through. As for the burnout, I promise I'll step away on my own terms long before the stress goes that far." She was almost certain that she couldn't keep that promise, but she needed him to focus on the case as well, and if he was too concerned for her, then he wouldn't be.

Michael's expression made it clear that he didn't believe her, but his words made it clear that he would back off anyway. "Sounds good. So, without pessimism or fear, let's look at the case. What's our next step?"

Before Faith could answer, her phone rang. Detective Hilary. Her blood froze. These calls were rarely good news.

She steeled herself for the coming blow and answered. "Hello?"

"We got the report on the powder," Hilary replied.

She nearly collapsed with relief when she realized it wasn't another body. "I'm going to put you on speaker," she said. She looked at Michael and said, "He's got the report on the powder."

"Huzzah," Michael replied.

Faith switched the phone to speaker and said, "Go ahead, Detective."

"I'm sorry to say it's not good news. The powders are both generic pigmented mica powder. The kind you can get anywhere: craft stores, beauty shops, online art websites, you name it."

Michael sighed. Faith frowned. "It took six days to figure out this is the stuff that sells for ninety-nine cents a jar at Hobby Lobby?"

"I'm no happier than you are," Hilary said. "But I don't control how fast the lab moves. Sometimes they'll have results in a day, sometimes it takes a month."

Faith sighed. Her fear had come true. The powder was nothing special, and it wouldn't help them find their killer any more than learning that the killer wore cotton clothing.

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news," Hilary said when she didn't reply after a moment.

"It's not your fault," Faith said.

"Well, I'm still sorry."

The two agents chuckled bitterly at that. "Us too," Michael said. "Any news on the contacts?"

"Nobody associated with both of them," he replied. "Except for Oliver, and he's got an alibi. My officers are checking on some of the others associated with one or the other, but so far, they all have alibis too. We'll keep looking, but at this point, I'm thinking it's a dead end as well."

Faith rubbed her eyes. "All right. Thank you, Detective."

"Yep."

He hung up, and Michael said, "At the risk of sounding like a hypocrite, this really sucks."

Faith continued to rub her eyes. "Yep. Very much."

"Phooey. So what's our next step?"

Faith shook her head. "I guess start looking for crackpots talking about the Magnum Opus online and see if any of them are in the area. Maybe one of those crackpots will be willing to kill to achieve eternal life."

Michael nodded. "Yeah. We can do that. Damn it, though, we're just going to end up with a lot of nerds."

"Only one of those nerds has to be the killer. Let's avoid pessimism and do our best."

Michael chuckled. "That's fair. All right. I'll start—"

Faith's phone buzzed again. Hilary. Maybe he'd found something else in the report that would help.

"Go ahead, Detective."

"Damn it all to Hell."

Faith frowned. "What is it? What's going on?"

"What do you think?" he said. "I hung up with you, and two damned minutes later, dispatch called me. They got a call for a naked woman murdered on the banks of the Chicago out by the Willis Branch of the library. Caller was out walking his dog, and the dog started barking like crazy and led him to the body. It's covered in yellow powder, so there's no mistaking that it's our killer. God damn it."

Michael slumped further upon hearing this. Faith's head began to ache. She took a moment to compose herself before saying, "All right. Thank you for letting us know. Send us the coordinates, and we'll meet you out there."

"Okay. Maybe your dog will find something. If the little lap mutt picked up on the scent, maybe there's something there Turk can use to find our guy."

Faith tried to allow this to encourage her, but she was too upset to feel anything positive at the moment. "We'll see you there."

She hung up and placed her head in her palms. Michael stood and squeezed her shoulder. "Come on," he said. "We have a job to do."

She allowed the flash of irritation his words brought up to pass, then stood. "Yep. Let's go catch a bad guy."

Turk perked up at those words. He lifted his head and barked firmly. Faith smiled slightly. "What would I do without you, boy?"