Chapter Two

"Rebecca Wells, twenty-eight. Former sound engineer for Bethel Records out of Redmond, Washington. Trying to make a go of it as a singer. She was killed in the lobby of her studio this morning around one a.m. local time."

Special Agent-in-Charge Grant Monroe, known affectionately to his subordinates at the FBI's Philadelphia Field Office as the Boss, spoke with his usual brusqueness. A nearly thirty-year veteran of the Bureau, his crew cut, constant scowl and blunt demeanor reminded Faith more of her drill instructors in the Marine Corps than of the other SACs she'd met. She still had trouble believing that he had no military experience.

Michael reached for the file the Boss had dropped on the desk and looked at the pictures. "Huh. Forgive me for sounding morbid, but it's nice to see a body killed in a normal way instead of crushed by a statue or torn apart by dogs. No offense, Turk."

Turk cocked his head at Faith's partner, not sure why he would be offended. The Boss frowned at Michael, or rather deepened his frown at him, and said, "Do you plan on taking this case seriously, Prince?"

"I do," Michael said, not reacting to the Boss's anger. "Stabbed through the neck suggests our killer is more well-balanced than dropped-a-statue-on-her guy or paralyzed-my-fake-family guy. It's a nice change of pace. He might be easier to catch, too."

A fifteen-year veteran of the Bureau himself, Michael was the only agent who wasn't afraid of Grant. Even Faith could be intimidated by the Boss sometimes, but Michael was borderline insubordinate with him more often than not.

The Boss, predictably, was not amused. "Cut the shit, Prince. She's dead, and it's your job to find out who killed her. I don't care if she was stabbed, shot, crushed or buried in acid. Someone killed her, and we're going to bring that person to justice."

"Standard question, sir," Faith said, "but why are we involved in this case? I know I ask that every time, but what's the angle here? If she's the only victim, then it's not a serial killer, and not that I support Michael's flippancy, but the death is rather mundane. I don't really see special circumstances here."

"Local police called us in. Apparently, the case is similar to a cold case of theirs that had them stymied a year ago. They'll have more details for you when you arrive. Which will be…" he checked his watch. "Eight hours from now. Six of those will be on a plane which gives you two hours to be sitting at your gate. If you leave now, you might have time to smack some sense into Prince before you board. Either way, get him out of my office."

Michael stood and held out his hand. "It was lovely talking with you, as always."

"Fuck off, Prince."

Outside, Michael leaned to Faith and said softly, "How did it go with West?"

"It went," she said curtly. In a softer voice, she added, "It went about as well as I should have expected. He's an asshole, and he acted like one. Gave me some bullshit about needing to break me even though I had arrested him or something like that. I'm going to say we keep the protection just in case, but I think he's just blowing smoke."

"That's what Ellie thinks too."

Ellie was Michael's wife. More pertinently to this conversation, she was West's ex-wife. Recently, she had been pressuring Michael to move to get away from Faith and by extension the risk that West's obsession with Faith presented to them. With West in custody, Faith wondered if she would reverse her course or if she would still try to pull Michael away.

"Is she still thinking about moving?"

He chuckled. "I don't know. It's only been one day. It's still not ‘real' to her, you know? But it's real to me, and I don't really give a rat's ass what bullshit he wants to say. He can talk all the way to the injection chamber for all I care."

They reached Michael's car, a 2023 Grand Wagoneer that was as ostentatious as it was enormous. Turk hopped into the second row and took his usual place in between the two bucket seats with his head in between Michael's and Faith's seats. Faith got into her seat and ruffled his fur. "How you holding up, bud? You have fun with David?"

Turk barked enthusiastically, and Faith laughed and pulled him close for a kiss.

"Gross," Michael said. "No more PDA between you guys for the rest of the trip."

Faith giggled. "You're just jealous that he likes me more than you."

"Gee," he said drily, "Your dog likes you more than me. At least until I hand him this."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrapped sub. Turk immediately barked and began wagging his tail, which thumped against the second-row seats like a kick drum. Michael grinned at Faith as he unwrapped the sandwich. "Steak."

He handed it to Turk, who wolfed it down in two bites, then pressed his head against Michael lovingly. Michael chuckled as he put the massive SUV into gear and pulled out of the parking lot.

Faith rolled her eyes. "Cheater. But really, how do you think Ellie will feel about moving now that West is locked up?"

Michael chuckled. "Now who's jealous?"

"I'm not jealous. I just… I don't want you to leave. You're my best friend. And nothing more."

She and Michael had dated a few years ago, but it had ended mutually, and both of them were happy with their new partners now. Still, he was in many ways the most important person in her life, and even if she didn't love him romantically anymore, she did love him, and the thought of them living thousands of miles apart worried her.

"I think she'll want to move somewhere quieter," he said, "but probably not too far. Malvern or Blue Bell."

"First of all, yay, still in the city. Second of all, you guys can afford to live in Malvern?"

"Probably not," he said, "but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it." He turned to her. "Not to ape you, but first of all, geez, relax, be patient. You don't need to plan the rest of everyone's lives right away now that the Big Bad Wolf is in the pound. Second of all, weren't you planning to move to Oklahoma or something once West was caught?"

She shrugged. "Well, I don't know. We'll see. If he's really caught, then I might stick it out a few more years."

"What do you mean if? He's under more guard than the President. I'm pretty sure the Marine Corps could get him out if they wanted, but they'd lose a few tanks and a helicopter or two in the process."

She managed a smile. She didn't feel like sharing her worry about his threat to break her from the inside. Besides, it probably was just a last desperate attempt to avoid admitting that she had beat him. "Yeah, I know. I guess it still doesn't seem real to me either."

"It's real," he said in a serious tone. "He's done. You got him. You're safe."

She nodded. "Yeah. You're right. So about this case. You had a chance to look at the file. Any idea why we're involved?"

"They think it's related to an old cold case where a violinist was murdered. She was stabbed in her throat, too. They found exactly no physical evidence. Officially, the case is still listed as active, but it's been thirteen months, and they have nothing, so it's only a matter of hitting their department's eighteen-month threshold before it gets put in a cardboard box and placed on a shelf in their records department. At least it was."

"That seems like a pretty thin connection."

He shrugged. "Maybe they'll have more information for us when we show up later."

"So what do we know?"

"Not much. She owned the studio, and she didn't have security for the property, so at the moment, we don't know if it was normal for her to be there that late. I'm guessing yes, considering she was trying to break into the music industry, but that's based on absolutely no science. As far as relationships go, her family is from Virginia, and she's the only one who left the state. No boyfriends, at least none that show up on her social media."

"The perfect victim."

"Yep. No one to miss her. Well, I'm sure her family will miss her, but no one to miss her who might also be involved in her death or stick around to push the case forward."

"Any sign of sexual assault?"

"The file didn't mention anything, but it's pretty thin right now. The case is only eight hours old, so I can't imagine the M.E. has had time to perform an autopsy yet." He looked at Faith. "What's with you being in a rush all of a sudden?"

"I'm not in a rush. I'm just asking."

"Are you sure? You seem antsy. Like you want answers to everything right this second: me and Ellie, this case."

"That's two things."

"Well, okay, two things. Call it intuition, then. You seem anxious."

"I was assaulted in my own home by a sociopathic serial killer obsessed with ‘breaking me' less than forty-eight hours ago," Faith reminded him. "Frankly, I deserve a damned medal for functioning at all right now."

Michael grimaced. "Good point. Sorry. I just… I don't know, I got used to you being a superhero. That's no excuse, though. I really am glad you're safe, and if you need to take things easy and let me run with the case for a while, that's okay."

"Nice try," she said with a wry grin, "but I'll be all right. You know me, I just hate starting with nothing because then we have nowhere to go."

"We'll figure it out," he assured her. "We always do."

"Can't argue with that."

They fell silent when they reached the airport. Faith perused the file while Michael went for coffee. As Michael had said, there was very little information. Rebecca Wells had been murdered seemingly at random, and the only thing they had that resembled a lead was the possible connection to a year-old murder that showed only tangential similarity.

With nothing to focus on relating to their case, her thoughts drifted back to West. He seemed confident that whatever he was planning would succeed, but then, he was always confident. He was an obligatory narcissist, and Faith genuinely believed that if he was put in a boxing ring opposite God, West would walk straight to the center of the ring certain he'd put the Creator of the Universe down inside four rounds.

But now Faith and Turk were flying to the opposite side of the country. They would be out of West's reach, but David and Ellie would still be vulnerable. Even with police protection, there was always the possibility that someone could sneak through.

But West was in jail under watch. He couldn't get to anyone on the outside, and he couldn't do anything himself. They were safe. Weren't they?

"Here you go," Michael said, handing her a cup. "They didn't have vanilla, so I asked for extra extra extra caramel."

Faith rolled her eyes and sipped her black coffee. "Thank you. Delicious as always."

He chuckled and said, "Ellie thinks that joke is funny."

"Ellie humors you because she loves you."

"She does. I miss her already."

"Just think about how good she'll feel the first night back home."

"Don't be gross."

The gate agent called their flight, and the three FBI agents boarded. Turk gave Faith an excited look, and despite her anxiety, Faith couldn't help but smile. "Ready to catch a bad guy, Turk?"

Her trusty canine barked enthusiastically, and Faith's smile widened. Let West try something. It would only be another chance to remind him why he had lost.