Chapter Twenty Two

"Donut?"

Faith frowned at Michael. "Why are you eating donuts? We could be chasing a killer any minute now."

Michael shrugged and took a bite out of his maple bar. "I'll let the uniforms handle that. What's the point of hiring testosterone-filled young men if you don't give them a chance to prove how manly and capable they are?"

Faith rolled her eyes. "I'll take the coffee I asked for. Did you get that?"

"Yep. Caramel sauce with extra milk and a dash of decaf espresso."

Faith took her black coffee from him and asked, "Who told you that joke was funny?"

"Ellie laughs at it."

"Ellie was trying to get into your pants when she laughed at that."

"Joke's on you, I didn't start that until after she got into my pants."

Faith rolled her eyes. "Well, if that joke makes you happy, go for it, I guess."

"Seeing the look of exasperation on your face makes me happy."

Faith glared at him, and he grinned mischievously. She tried to hold the glare, but a grin spread across her own face in spite of herself.

They were going to catch him. Maybe not tonight. Probably not tonight since he had already killed, but soon. They had found the killer's weakness, and they were going to use it to catch him.

She felt a touch of guilt at feeling excitement only an hour after leaving Jessica to be taken away by the coroner, but she alleviated that guilt by reminding herself that they were close to avenging her. She felt very confident this time.

Wanda seemed to share that confidence. Redmond was barely a blip on the radar compared to Seattle and Tacoma, but Wanda strutted around like she was the biggest fish in the ocean, and when she issued instructions to officers and detectives from the larger departments, she did so as though such authority was rightfully hers.

"She's gunning for commissioner," Michael opined, gesturing toward her with the rest of his donut.

"I think they have a chief, not a commissioner."

"No one likes a know-it-all."

"And yet you still like me."

"I get paid to like you."

"Does that make you a whore?"

He lifted his eyebrow. "Who told you that was funny?"

"I laughed."

"That's your laughing face?"

"I'm laughing on the inside."

He chuckled on the outside. "I wonder if David ever gets to see this side of you."

"David gets to see more sides of me than you ever did." Michael gave her a frank look, but before he could retort, she said, "Don't say it. Forget I said anything."

"Maybe try thinking before you speak next time."

"Screw you."

"You did. That's why you should have thought before that comment about David seeing more of you than I—"

"Hold on. Let me call Ellie so she can hear this."

"All right, all right. Geez, I'm just playing around."

"Yeah," Faith said, putting her phone away. "That's what I thought."

The banter ended anyway when Wanda approached them. Faith noticed with an embarrassing amount of satisfaction that despite Wanda's grandstanding with the other police officers, she was deferential in her tone with the two of them.

"We've got all three forces on full alert. They've called in extra dispatchers to take calls regarding any unusual canine behavior. We've got hundreds of patrol officers working overtime, ready to respond at a moment's notice, and we're here at the heart of it all. Anything happens within forty miles of this building, we'll know about it in less than a minute. Obviously, we're thinking it'll be a day or two before this guy decides to screw up again, but when he does, we'll be waiting." She looked at the box of donuts in Michael's hand. "Got a cruller in there?"

"Be my guest," Michael said, opening the box. "Faith's watching her figure."

Wanda lifted an eyebrow and looked Faith up and down. "You look like you should eat a few more donuts."

Said the world's skinniest blade of grass, Faith thought. So much for an end to banter.

"Come on," Michael said, pushing the box under her face. "You yourself said the killer probably won't strike tonight. Eat up. You need your strength."

Turk whined and approached Michael with puppy eyes. Michael tossed him a glazed, which he snapped out of the air in one bite.

"See?" Michael said. "Turk's eating."

Faith was about to refuse, but her stomach rumbled, and grudgingly, she took the other maple bar.

"Good girl," Michael said.

Faith paused with the donut halfway to her lips. She looked Michael in the eye and said seriously, "You may never say that to me again."

"Noted," Michael replied. He looked at the box. "We're out of donuts. Anyone want a sandwich? I'm thinking of running to the twenty-four-hour deli across the street."

"You know it's okay not to eat sometimes, right?" Faith said.

"You know it's okay to mind your own business sometimes, right?" Michael fired back.

Wanda listened to this back-and-forth with a small smile. "You two make a cute couple," she remarked.

Michael—who for reasons Faith couldn't understand was immune to personal shame—grinned and looked at Faith. Faith, of course, was beet red with a mixture of irritation and the shame that Michael lacked.

"We're not a couple," she said, hating that she had to say it, hating that Wanda's expression made it clear she didn't quite believe her.

"Ah. Well, you should think about it. You guys have a real connection."

"Think so?" Faith said drily.

"I do."

One of the other police detectives called Wanda away. Michael continued to grin at Faith for a moment before squeezing her arm lightly. "I'll pick you up a turkey and swiss on rye, babe. That's your favorite."

"My favorite is an Italian club on wheat, and I will be giving Ellie a copy of the security footage from this room, so think before you push this any further."

"You're so cute when you're angry," Michael remarked.

Fortunately for him, he was already outside of kicking range, so Faith had no recourse but to lift her middle finger at him.

She sighed and looked down at Turk. He looked at her with an expression that reminded him too much of Michael's smug, annoying little grin.

"Screw you too," she quipped.

Turk made a soft, coughing noise that Faith recognized as his version of laughter. She rolled her eyes. "Boys."

She walked to the window and sipped her coffee. Like most police stations, the coffee here was barely acceptable in terms of flavor. Apparently, being located in Seattle didn't guarantee Seattle PD the best coffee in the world.

But it was hot, and it had caffeine, and that was enough for Faith right now.

She looked out of the window at the city lights ahead. Seattle was about half the size of Philadelphia, but it was still a large enough city that traffic never completely died down. Somewhere out there among the thousands of people still awake and active was a killer who thought he was going to kill another innocent person. Little did that killer know that in this very room, Faith was leading a team of people who were just waiting for the first squeal of his stupid little whistle.

Then Faith would introduce him to her dog. He could learn firsthand how little Turk cared for those damned whistles.

Michael returned a few minutes later. "Here's your Italian club," he said. "I got you a water bottle too."

She took the sandwich and smiled. "Thank you."

He grinned. "You're welcome, sweet—"

"Don't ruin it."

"Yeah, that was getting old anyway," he said before taking a bite out of his own sandwich. "Damn. I'm gonna get shot for saying this, but I kind of like the West Coast style of cheesesteak. It's about as Philly as I am Korean, but it's pretty damned good."

"I'm happy for you," Faith said, "but if the cheese isn't whiz, it's not a cheesesteak."

"Says the girl eating an Italian club with pizza meat. I don't see any prosciutto in there, and if I'm not mistaken, that's jack cheese."

"It's provolone, actually. But your point is well taken. Do they even eat sandwiches in Italy?"

"Hell if I know. Do calzones count?"

"Do they eat calzones in Italy?"

"I don't know. Panini! They eat paninis in Italy. Those are toasted sandwiches."

"Good to know."

They fell silent for a few minutes as they ate their sandwiches and looked out the window. When Michael spoke again, he was serious for the first time since they'd arrived here. "You think we'll get this guy?"

"I do. I think we have him this time."

Michael nodded. "I hope so. I still feel bad for these girls."

"We all feel bad for them."

"Yeah, but… I guess I'm still sticking on the superpower thing being what killed them. When I was growing up, we had a kid named Zeke in my middle school. The kid was developmentally challenged. Some sort of birth defect. He also had to wear these thick goggles to see anything. I remember kids used to pick on him for it. He'd keep taking them off, but the teachers made him wear it because he was blind as a mole rat when he didn't. Finally, Mr. Raitt, our chemistry teacher, told Zeke that he wasn't supposed to tell him this, but those goggles gave him superpowers. All superheroes wore goggles, and Zeke needed to wear his so he could be a superhero. Kid's eyes lit up like he'd been given a puppy."

"That's sweet," Faith said.

Michael sighed. "Yeah. It was. Three years later, Zeke jumped out of his second-floor window and broke both of his legs. He was trying to fly."

"Jesus."

"Yeah. Mr. Raitt found out about that and ended up leaving the school. Last I heard, he had to go to rehab after he nearly killed himself from alcohol poisoning."

"My God. Does this story have a happy ending?"

"Not for Zeke or Mr. Raitt. Not for our victims either. But it'll make me happy if we catch this fucker and put him where he belongs. So maybe this story can at least have a silver lining."

Faith squeezed Michael's shoulder. "It will. I promise."

He smiled softly. "There you go promising again."

"I'll keep this one."

His smile widened. "You know what? I believe you."

"Guys!" Wanda exclaimed, "We got something!"