Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

“ H ey, look at you!” Perry Vaughn greeted Jon and Tracey the next morning as they exited the elevators onto the floor of the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime, or NCAVC, offices, where the Behavioral Analysis Unit was housed. “No more weapons, I mean crutches.”

Tracey narrowed his eyes at their team’s oldest member. Perry held a cup of coffee, having come from the small break area where the vending machines and office-provided coffee and tea were located.

Perry was a seasoned veteran with a very friendly air. His receding hairline gave him a big forehead but also a wide-open expression that was almost always mid-joke or smiling. He was nondescript, with light brown hair, brown eyes, and an average height and build, which let him slip on a cloak of anonymity when necessary.

Jon appreciated Perry this morning. Calling attention to Tracey’s lack of crutches pulled focus off his own worn out appearance. Tracey had wrung a second orgasm out of him last night. While he was no stranger to battling sleep deprivation with coffee—thus his Breville machine—it’d been a while since the exhaustion was from marathon sex rather than a nightmare.

Jon stuck beside Tracey as they descended the three steps into the BAU’s bullpen. Going down steps was worse for Tracey’s injury. Balancing was difficult and it pulled his calf certain ways.

Otherwise, his limp was relatively mild, considering.

“Did you two still ride together?” Perry settled at his desk beside Jon’s.

Each team was made up of four or five Special Agents belonging to Units 1 through 5, answering to Supervisory Special Agent in Charge Ron Sutherland, who was on the phone in his elevated office at the moment. His door was closed, but they could see him through the glass. When he caught sight of Tracey, he waved and gave him a thumbs up.

Tracey returned the gesture, but answered Perry. “I’m not cleared to drive yet. My muscle isn’t rebuilding like they were hoping. It’s good enough to walk on, but braking or driving a stick-shift in stop-and-go traffic is not advisable. Jon’s agreed to be my taxi for the foreseeable future.”

And Jon loved it. The day they could no longer ride together would be a sad one, but he’d keep that to himself for now.

For the sake of their careers, their relationship had to stay an absolute secret at the office. If their superiors found out they were clouding their judgment and compromising the team’s integrity with romantic involvement, there’d be serious consequences. Jon had seen it—good agents reassigned to offices in Timbuktu or even fired outright.

However, he cherished their mornings together, getting ready at the same time, his and his travel mugs of coffee, lively conversation in the car, and walking in together. He’d enjoy them until Tracey was cleared to drive.

Although, Tracey’s townhouse was almost exactly halfway between his house and Quantico. Maybe carpooling wasn’t a red flag. Their excuse could be that they started and just kept up the habit. They could switch off who drove to even out gas and car wear and tear.

Is that moving too fast? I’m assuming he’ll want to keep staying with me.

Jon refocused on Tracey explaining in more detail what Dr. Greene had said.

Perry clucked sympathetically, then perked up. “Oh, Smith, I emailed you another meditation recording. I don’t know if you’re ready for the next one, but you’ll have it if you need it, and you can sit on it if you’re still working through the others.”

“No, that’s great!” Tracey scrolled through his personal phone. “I’ll move it to a favorites folder so I don’t lose it. They are helpful, yeah. Thank you.”

“Where are you up to with the Zach Wile episodes?”

Perry and Tracey had bonded over an affinity for motivational speakers who used a blend of positivity and the uncanny ability to read people’s expressions and body language.

Tracey’s favorite was Derren Brown, an English performer who’d made a career as an illusionist. He’d even been the inspiration for Tracey’s career.

For Perry, his influencer was a motivational speaker, podcaster, and philanthropist named Zach Wile. Tracey was catching up on back episodes of his podcast. Perry had insisted he listen to them in order so he’d have the correct structure to follow Wile’s positivity mindset framing.

“I’m not to the Overcoming Adversity ones yet. I know you’re anxious for me to get there, but I just haven’t had the time to listen.”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s not like your plate isn’t full. But what’s the deal? Are you trying to have a life outside of work?” Perry shook his head ruefully. “You’re such a rookie. Haven’t you learned there is no life except work?” Then he paused, his eyes widening comically. “Are you seeing someone?” He leaned forward, all interest in podcasts forgotten. “Who is she? Or he? Is it a man? Do you have your first boyfriend?”

Unfortunately, Tracey could control his deadpan expression but not his flush, and he colored an endearing pink. His facial hair covered most of the blush, but not all of it.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone.” Sarena breezed past Tracey and sat at the desk beside his, stowing her purse in the lowest drawer.

“Come on, spill your secrets. Who are you dating?” Perry ignored Sarena, who sat up sharply, taking in the conversation.

“Who’s dating someone?” She homed in on Tracey. “Oh, honey. He’s winding you up again? You really need to learn to bluff.” She woke up her dual monitors with a mouse wiggle. “Otherwise, he’ll torment you until he retires, and that’s nothing compared to what the serial killers will do to you in interviews.”

“Serial killers won’t ask who I’m dating.”

Sarena snorted. “You think they won’t? They’ll get under your skin however they can.”

Tracey made a thoughtful face. “Then maybe Perry should wind me up more so I can practice.” He looked at Vaughn. “I’m not dating anyone. If you must know, I had a spectacular hookup last night.”

Perry watched as Jon shed his suit jacket and draped it carefully across his chair back. “Isn’t he still staying with you? And you’re okay with him bringing people back to your house?”

Jon shrugged and sat. “They weren’t at mine.” The lie rolled off his tongue smooth as glass. He knew what Tracey was doing, but maybe they’d have to talk about how open he was about his personal life.

Tracey seemed to feel that line, too. “Perry, you’re being nosy. Unless you want the slippery, sweaty details, then zip it, because I’m not above oversharing.”

Perry sat back, pursing his lips like he was considering how far he’d take this. “You know what? I’m good stopping there. Yeah, good talk. Glad someone around here is getting some. Jon here hasn’t been laid since the Ice Age.” He clapped Jon’s shoulder harder than necessary.

Jon adopted a flat expression. “It’s sad, really.”

The agreement drew surprise on Perry’s face, but he went with it. “It really is. You know, you could see if Brian has a friend. I’m sorry his getting a boyfriend cut off your—”

“I meant it’s sad you’re so lonely that you get your kicks meddling in everyone else’s love life. But let’s talk about me and Brian. As I’ve told you a hundred times, Perry, we are not dating and we weren’t before he got a boyfriend. While I appreciate the concern, I can certainly find myself a date. Thank you.” He turned to the other two, his focus on Sarena but his attention on how much of what Perry said might’ve registered with Tracey.

How much of his history with Brian was he supposed to tell Tracey? They really were only friends, and that was all they’d ever been, despite the benefits on the side. The sex had zero strings attached; it was purely physical release.

Brian was one of a handful of people Jon trusted, but no romance had ever been involved.

Was Jon supposed to say that to Tracey? He wanted his boyfriend to like one of his closest friends when they did meet, but he didn’t want to muddy the waters because of meaningless sex.

Apparently, Sarena and Perry had understood more about his situation with Brian than he’d ever intended. He and the team had semi-frequent drinks together at The Square Glass where Brian bartended. Over the years, he must have become too obvious the times he and Brian had left together. Now, he was in a pickle. He couldn’t tell them to say nothing in front of Tracey without saying why, and that wasn’t happening.

Shit, this is complicated.

Clearly, he needed a frank conversation with Tracey. That was all it would take to sort things. Tracey couldn’t fault him for having a past.

“Sarena, you seem good this morning. Are you good?” Ugh, could he sound more awkward? He was better at deflecting than this. It must be the sleep deprivation. The whole team gave him a strange look, Tracey included.

“Just a hot date with my therapist.”

Jon would never pry, but he gave her a compassionate smile all the same. “You seem to be doing really well.” This time, it came out more genuine.

She returned the smile. “Yeah, I’m hanging in there, given the circumstances. They’re helping me think of the St. Louis case as saving a life rather than taking one. That was the block I needed to reframe my perspective, and it seems to have made the difference in the last few sessions.”

Sarena had fired the shot that killed Jacob Finch. In doing so, she saved Tracey’s life. After an SAIS, or Special-Agent-Involved-Shooting, there were mandated therapy sessions, and Sarena was halfway through hers. She’d struggled the first couple of weeks.

Jon had worried, but she genuinely seemed to have turned a corner in her treatment.

Tracey’s sessions would likely go on longer, considering he’d been held hostage, shot, involved in two car accidents, and faced his mortality multiple times in forty-eight hours. That would take longer to unpack, especially now that his injury wasn’t healing very well. No wonder he’d had a nightmare last night.

“But you don’t have anything fun going on?” Perry kept the question light.

Sarena chuckled. “I haven’t made weekend plans in years. They get canceled.”

“Hey, everybody. We’ve got a situation.” Ron Sutherland walked up to their cluster.

“See?” Sarena’s arched eyebrow morphed into a professional expression. “What’s up, boss?”

“Well, Mercado, I’m about to prove your long-held hunch right.”

“Oh?”

“That Chicago case you’ve been on me about for months now has just been tied to a body found here in D.C. This scene is as current as we ever get, so you’re heading out right away. Smith, can you handle a murder scene with your leg?”

Hours at a crime scene when he was fresh off crutches? It’d be tough, but Tracey had only two and a half months on the job. There was no way he’d decline. Jon almost protested, but he’d sound like a protective boyfriend rather than a team lead.

Tracey nodded solemnly. “I can, sir.”

Jon cleared his throat. “I’ll drive my personal vehicle. That way if Smith needs somewhere away from the evidence to sit and take weight off, he can just take my keys.”

“Good enough. I spent the morning on a conference call with the liaisons in Chicago and Atlanta. There are some very shaky connections between the cities, but it’s enough that my neck hairs are interested.” He gestured to Sarena. “You may have been onto something all along. I’ll email you everything I can pull from the ViCAP database. I’ve already sent you the location, so you’re good to go.”

ViCAP, or the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, was the FBI maintained database of detailed information about crimes across the country. Law enforcement officials from all over could access it to see whether cases in other states matched details with their own, and therefore, could share resources while chasing the perps responsible for crimes crossing jurisdictions.

The four Special Agents stood as a team. Before they could get past Sutherland, he stopped Smith and Mercado. “If you need anything from me, anything at all, just holler.”

Jon understood Sutherland’s protective instincts. He felt them, too, especially where Tracey was concerned. It was difficult not to coddle them, but he didn’t want them believing he thought them incapable.

Tracey Smith was one of the smartest people Jon had ever met, and Sarena Mercado was one of the bravest. He was honored to work alongside them.

“Don’t worry, boss.” Sarena ran her thumb over her service weapon. It was a habit she’d picked up since St. Louis, and Jon wasn’t sure she was even aware of doing it. “Home turf and plenty of people on scene. We’ll be fine. Right, Smith?”

“Right.”

Sutherland took them at their word and ascended to his office with no further instructions.

Sarena drove with Perry in her car while Jon and Tracey rode together in his Honda Civic. The GPS directed them to a two-star motel in Arlington, just off 395 and not far from the Pentagon. Jon parked near the crime scene tape. The overcast sky was almost white, and the chilly breeze chafed their skin as they exited their vehicle when Sarena pulled up. The team took in the surroundings before starting for the officer keeping the crime scene log.

The parking lot to the Pentagon Motor Inn was long and shallow, with spots earmarked for room guests. A small overflow area appeared to be where staff parked, if the cluster of workers was anything to go by. Many puffed away on cigarettes, eyeing them warily.

The nondescript motel was overshadowed by a much nicer Quality Inn next door with a bigger parking lot. Jon had to give the Pentagon Motor Inn credit, though. For a no-tell motel, the rooms were decent, especially for the hundred-dollar-a-night price tag.

Their victim had been found by the day manager, who noticed the guest’s car still parked outside the room. The occupant paid for a single night with early-bird check-out. The Inn offered contactless check-out, and overstaying was carefully monitored.

After knocking and knocking, the manager had entered with the master key when he’d received no answer.

“It’s not my first rodeo.” The manager was saying to an Arlington Police Department detective beside the doorway. Crime scene techs gathered evidence inside the room. “You work in hotels long enough, you find dead people.” He sucked hard on an e-cigarette and blew the vapor away from the detective, his eyes widening at Jon’s and the team’s windbreakers. “This is the first time I’ve had one where the Feds showed up, though.”

The detective turned and flipped his notebook closed. “Stay nearby, please. I still have some questions.” He approached their team. “Special Agent Anderson?”

Sarena took point as she always did. “We’re from the BAU. I’m Special Agent Mercado. You’re Detective Holland?” She shook the detective’s hand and introduced the team. “What can you tell us?”

Jon stood to the side, observing the area as if he were a predator. This part, where he glimpsed the scene for the first time, was his best shot at connecting with their perp. Sarena played the politics for a reason, not just to be friendly where Jon was usually aloof and cold, but to give him the space to see the scene in the same capacity the killer might have.

The nearby interstate meant a quick getaway, lots of anonymous faces. Multiple hotels along this street could also mean potentially busy roads. Was being lost in a crowd appealing?

Holland glanced at the door. “We don’t know a lot. The victim is Ethan Wright. He works as a lobbyist for Vote Liberty up on the Hill.”

“Has his family been notified?” Tracey picked up the questions. He was so good with people, he naturally slotted into communicating with the locals.

Sarena had the other case files committed to memory, so she and Perry donned booties and nitrile gloves to read the room’s forensics while they were fresh. The body hadn’t been removed, and firsthand knowledge of the victim in situ would help their investigation tremendously . Jon remained by Tracey’s side, listening, observing, saying little.

“Not yet. We’ve not been here long.” The detective gave Smith an almost coy look. “You know as well as I do when a victim is even tangentially related to the Capitol, we tread carefully. Personally, I like to know more about the scene, the events leading up to the victim’s death, and at least a guess at cause-of-death before I notify. Wright’s a fairly young man, so they’re definitely going to have questions.”

Jon understood and took the opening. “If you’d like, we can notify next of kin.”

Detective Holland put his hands out, palm up in a gesture Jon took to be profound thanks. “Completely fine with me. I don’t want to abdicate my responsibilities, but I’m not read-in on those other cases. It makes sense for you to do it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Man, am I glad my partner looked in ViCAP and called you guys. This one feels weird.”

“Weird how?” Tracey cocked his head.

“The guy’s background. I’m not one to judge, but he’s not who I would have thought….” Holland trailed off. “Well, okay. I’ll just say it. The night auditor says Wright’s a regular, books on Thursdays, though not every single week, and only ever comes here with men. He’s obviously hooking up, possibly with sex workers.” He nodded. “It’s the right kind of motel, electronic check-in and check-out, and cheap enough but relatively safe. It wouldn’t be hard to keep this under the radar.

“But our vic is also a lobbyist for Vote Liberty, and they’re publicly anti-gay. It surprised me to learn he entertained men. It explains some of the physical evidence—”

“What physical evidence?”

Detective Holland got visibly uncomfortable. “There are signs the victim engaged in rough sex… of the anal variety before his death. And, uh…. I don’t mean he was on the giving end. But it’s not clear if it was consensual. The medical examiner will have that answer during the autopsy.”

“How is any of that weird though?” Smith pressed.

Holland shook his head. “It’s just not what I would have expected to hear about a man with this guy’s job.”

Jon crossed his arms, then raised one hand to drum his fingers on his lips. “Wright could be in the closet. That’s not uncommon.”

“Wright’s married to a woman. If he was in the closet, he was practically in Narnia.”

Jon considered it. “It’s D.C. We see it all, especially with political types. Politically and professionally, they stand one way, and behave differently in their personal life. Maybe he has an open marriage, or his wife knows and looks the other way. It happens all the time.”

The detective acquiesced. “You’re probably right. Anyway, we do know he had sex with someone before he was killed, likely a man, and it was pretty rough. He was strangled. Whoever killed him wiped his body down to keep from leaving much evidence. They used a condom, so no semen sample. Probably no touch DNA.”

“Damn.” Tracey looked as disappointed as Jon felt.

“Yeah. The hotel has great technology for the guests checking in and out but not a lot of surveillance footage. Cameras for the common areas—front desk, where they serve the free breakfast, and the pool—but nothing pointed at the rooms. We’re checking the Quality Inn next door for parking lot footage hoping it reaches this far. I’m not holding my breath though.”

Tracey nodded. “The card the victim used to pay for the room. Has the financial institution been contacted to turn over transaction history?”

Holland blinked. “We still have to request the warrants for his financials and cell phone records. That’ll take a couple of days.”

“Let us do that part, too. Maybe we can get those records a little faster.” Warrant requests took the time they took, but sometimes compliance was faster with the FBI than with local jurisdictions.

“Great. Yeah, that’d be really good.”

“We’ll mostly observe here, if you want to get back to questioning the manager.” Tracey gestured to the man still waiting by the room’s door. “We’ll dig into Wright’s life, too, find out who his friends are, recreate his final few days, understand his life. Like if any of the men he brought here were regular meet-ups or if they were all one-night stands. Anything of interest we find, we’ll pass on to you.” He smiled, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

Holland offered Tracey his hand to shake. “That’d be much appreciated. I’ll do the same. My partner will get back here soon, and I’m sure she’ll agree. She’ll probably love to meet you all, too. She just ran for coffee.” Detective Holland smiled. “You all want anything? I can text her to bring more back.”

“No, thank you.” Jon shook his head.

“I’m good, thanks.” Tracey kept his friendly demeanor. “I already had a big cup this morning. Appreciate it, though.”

“Okay. Keep me posted.” Detective Holland returned to his witness and resumed his questions.

Tracey pulled Jon to the side. “What do you make of his reaction that the victim sleeping with guys is weird?”

Considering all they’d learned, Jon took a moment before answering. “This victim surprised him. He’s not the usual victim of this kind of crime.” He peered at Tracey. “Holland wasn’t being homophobic. Something’s off about the situation, and his Spidey senses are tingling. His previous experience isn’t deep enough, but he’s too seasoned an investigator to let it color where he's going. Right now, he’s gathering information and simply noting his disquiet as a potential lead to pursue. My take is he’s letting us know he’s got a gut feeling.”

Tracey seemed to follow Jon’s logic and left it at that. Perry and Sarena emerged from the room and removed the protective booties and gloves with a plastic-sounding thwack .

“Anything interesting?”

“Plenty.” Sarena tucked a strand of dark hair that had escaped her braid behind an ear. “I asked the medical examiner to get blood and urine samples while in the field to look for specific tox screening. It’ll help confirm if it’s the same perp as Chicago and Atlanta if it pans out, but I don’t want to say why yet. If I’m wrong I don’t want it to color the probe into the victim’s life.” Jon gave her a pointed look. “Hey, you keep things close to the vest all the time, Ice Man. I’m allowed my hunches, too. Anyway, the victim was wiped down, for one. The perp understands enough forensics to leave the least trace evidence possible.”

“Yeah, but that’s anybody with a Netflix subscription these days.” Perry knotted his gloves together. “Forensics knowledge used to indicate a proximity to law enforcement or the justice system. Now, if criminals don’t cover their tracks, it’s unusual.” He moved the conversation away from Sarena’s closely-held information.

She carried on. “Wright was strangled by someone fairly strong. Neck bruising is pretty bad. It’s a sure bet his hyoid bone is broken. It’s hard to tell if the sex and the strangulation happened at the same time.” She squinted and Jon couldn’t tell if it was a wince or in reaction to a particularly chilly shot of wind. “But the victim didn’t seem to fight back. There were no marks on his wrists or obvious signs of a struggle. Also, it could have been part of the perp’s cleanup, but there was no evidence under Wright’s nails.”

During strangulation, a victim’s instinct was to grab and scratch at the hands to pry them off. Sometimes they’d scratch their own neck and jawline while attempting to get fingers between their assailant and their throat. If that failed, often the victim would claw their attacker’s arms or face. There was almost always evidence under their nails. The lack of skin or blood under Wright’s nails was a clue in itself.

“The detective running the scene gave us some interesting details.” Jon got the team up to speed on Ethan Wright’s occupation and weekly visits to this motel with different men. They began to plan the next steps.

Perry volunteered to visit the victim’s workplace to start creating the timeline of his last few days. Sarena agreed to accompany the body with the medical examiner and keep them updated on the autopsy findings.

“Tracey, how would you feel about a next of kin notification?” Jon studied the rookie agent, who gave him a nod that was all business.

This was going to be an interesting notification, to say the least.

K elly Wright answered the door with curiosity but no expectation that her world was about to implode.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

A small girl of about three peered from behind her mother’s leg.

“Kelly Wright?”

The curiosity was replaced by a slight start and then wariness until Jon flipped open his FBI badge. Then she blanched.

“Yes?”

Jon hated this part. He really did. He related well, too well, to the pain when officers had stood on his parents’ doorstep and delivered devastating news about his brother. Particularly how his brother was killed.

“I’m Special Agent Jon Anderson and this is Special Agent Tracey Smith. May we please come in?”

Without a word, Kelly pushed out the screen door and stepped away to allow them into a neat home that clearly showed Ethan Wright was doing well for himself and his family.

The living area had a sofa and loveseat combo comfortable for children. A small fireplace was the focal point instead of the flatscreen TV perched in the corner almost as an afterthought. On the wall behind the sofa was a large family portrait, two young children beaming from the arms of their parents, one of whom was Ethan Wright.

She swung the little girl onto her hip. “Um, can I get you anything? A cup of coffee or some tea? Or anything?”

“No, ma’am. Are you expecting any company soon? Or another child home from school in a few hours?”

She nodded. “My son is at school.” She looked at the clock on the mantle. “He’ll be home in a couple of hours. Why? What’s going on?”

“Is there someone you can call?” Jon indicated the little girl. “What we need to discuss with you is sensitive and may not be the best for little ears. Is there a family member nearby or a trusted friend to watch your daughter for a moment, and maybe….” He cleared his throat. “Be here for support? That would be helpful if there’s someone like that you can call.”

“Oh my God.” Kelly whispered those words, a trembling hand covering her mouth. But she held her composure. “Uh, my neighbor can take Mia. Give me a few moments.” And she disappeared through a door Jon presumed led to the kitchen.

Within two minutes, a stout older woman knocked on the screen door and let herself in, calling for the little girl by name. Mia ran from the kitchen and threw herself at the woman’s skirted legs. “Mia Mia Ballerina, how about you come to my house for a bit?”

“Tay!”

“Great. Go grab your stuffins and LoLo, and I’ll set you up with a nice, cozy spot on my couch for some cartoons. How’s that sound?”

Mia hollered her happiness as she ran for the stairs in the far corner of the living room, then returned with a well-loved bunny rabbit and a very floppy pillow. Her mother stopped her as she passed through the living room and gave her a kiss atop her head, clearly trying to hold onto her self-control until the girl was out of the house.

The neighbor woman gripped Kelly by the shoulders. “I am right next door, and I will be fine doing whatever you need of me no matter what. Send Declan to me when he gets off the bus.”

Kelly Wright could only nod.

The neighbor and Mia disappeared out of the door, and Kelly gestured woodenly to the living room furniture. “Please, sit.”

They arranged themselves along the sofa while she perched on the edge of the loveseat. The cushioned ottoman and coffee table were littered with the detritus of a family with young children full of vitality. Remotes weren’t put away, and coloring books were stacked to the side with a box of well-used crayons on top. Beside the TV was a wooden box with building blocks and toy cars.

This surprised Jon, who’d seen more and more screens take over. He appreciated how hard it was for today’s parents to keep up with an ever-digital world encroaching on their lives. That the Wrights were trying to keep physical toys alive and well pulled at his heart in a way he hadn’t expected. This was a real family, with hopes for a future that wouldn’t happen now. He and Tracey were about to change their lives forever.

He took a deep breath. “Mrs. Wright, there’s no easy way to say this, but you’re married to Ethan Wright, is that correct? Ethan Wright, who works as a lobbyist on Capitol Hill?”

She closed her eyes and her lips trembled, but she held on. “Yes.”

“I’m terribly sorry to inform you that he was found deceased this morning.”

There it was—the sledgehammer she was braced against. It hit with the force Jon knew well, and the wind left her lungs with all the pain he’d dreaded witnessing.

Kelly Wright crumbled under the blow’s onslaught, folding in half and gasping as though air was foreign, and she couldn’t take it in. The small inhales were blocked by an uncooperative throat.

Tracey stood and came to her side, crouching and taking her hand. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Wright. So very sorry.” She gripped him so hard their hands shook. Tracey bore it stoically, though it had to hurt. “Do you want us to call your neighbor back? Or someone else?”

Mrs. Wright put a fist in front of her pursed lips and shook her head. She needed a minute before she could inhale deeply enough to form words. The gasps sounded like a combination of hiccups and crying hitches. She hadn’t managed tears just yet. When she could speak, she was croaky. “My family… Wisconsin.”

Jon plucked a tissue from the table beside the couch and held it out. “Take your time. We are in no rush here, and we have to ask you some questions. Can I get you a glass of water? Make you coffee?”

Kelly met his eyes with a desperate gaze, her tears beginning to fall. “Water. Please.”

Jon strode to the kitchen, feeling terrible for her, and for leaving Tracey to manage alone. He rooted in the cupboards for a glass and spied the fridge’s water dispenser. Giving it a try, he was pleased it worked and wasn’t child-locked, so he filled a glass and quickly returned to the living room.

She accepted the glass and took a few rapid sips, blew her nose, and fought for composure. When she regained it, she straightened her shoulders, raised her chin, and met Jon’s eyes resolutely.

“What happened to him?”

Here we go. “His death is part of an ongoing investigation, Mrs. Wright, so I’m afraid I don’t have many answers yet. What I can tell you, however, is that we believe someone else is responsible.”

She froze. Gaped. Blinked once. Twice. And then seemed to reanimate as the news sunk in. “You think… Ethan was murdered? How? What? Who would do this to him?”

Jon took out a notepad and pen. “Those are the kinds of questions I’m hoping you can help us answer.”

Through the course of several routine and relatively innocuous questions, both Jon and Tracey got Kelly Wright into the rhythm of talking about her husband, his daily activities, who his friends were, and what their life was like. It calmed her. Every so often, she’d remember her world had changed drastically and she needed a few minutes to compose herself.

Still, she painted a clear picture of the kind of man Ethan was: family-oriented, church-going, a former athlete with a fondness for his glory days, and a circle of friends he kept in touch with. Jon made sure to write down those names.

“Now, what I’m going to ask you next is delicate in nature, but it’s the kind of question I have no choice but to ask in order to get context around your husband’s life, Mrs. Wright. Do you understand that?”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “What does that mean?”

Tracey took her hand again. “It means there are aspects to the investigation that will be unpleasant, but they’re relevant to who might’ve killed Ethan. Do you need a break or to call a friend? We can wait.”

Uncertainty and dread flickered across her face, as if she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. But determination had set in since she’d learned Ethan’s death was suspicious. She would do what she could to help find his killer.

“Ask.”

“Mrs. Wright.” Tracey was gentle. He understood what Jon was about to bring up. “You really might want someone supporting you for this.”

Her lips thinned. “Or I really might not want someone I know hearing about Ethan’s final hours. Ask.”

Jon nodded, giving in. “Did Mr. Wright’s routine in any way involve the Pentagon Motor Inn off 395?”

Her brow furrowed as she considered the question. “I’m not familiar with it and he never mentioned it, no. A motor inn? That sounds kind of seedy.”

“So is there any reason your husband would have to book a room there semi-regularly? Anything to do with work? Or entertaining friends?”

The light in her eyes flashed with anger. “Let me guess. Every other Thursday?”

“We’re looking into the frequency, Mrs. Wright. The motel is gathering records. But that could be the pattern.”

Making fists on her lap, Kelly hung her head and spoke with a tight voice. “Ethan told me he had a standing appointment for dinner with clients on the Hill every other Thursday. Sometimes it was just dinner and he’d be home after. But sometimes, he’d have to take clients out for drinks, which occasionally resulted in him ‘babysitting the drunks’”—she used air quotes—“and getting them back to their hotel rooms safely. He’d often stay at whatever hotel they were at so he didn’t come home and wake me or the kids up. But the clients he worked for, they wouldn’t stay in a place called a ‘Motor Inn.’” Trailing off, she sniffled and her shoulders slumped. “He was cheating on me, wasn’t he?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s my next question. Whether or not your marriage was monogamous.”

Kelly looked up, tears pooling and spilling over. “You know more about it than I do. Do you have her name?”

“We haven’t identified the party involved yet.”

Burying her head in her hands, Kelly stopped fighting the sobs and let them out. Jon placed the box of tissues at her feet, where she’d see them without effort. She angrily tore a few from the box and mopped her face. “I’m so sor-sorry you’re seeing me lose it this way. Fu-huck Ethan for this.”

“Mrs. Wright—”

“Please c-call me Kelly.”

“Kelly. We’re not here to judge. Believe me, I understand how complex the feelings are when a loved one’s death reveals they’re not who you thought they were.”

Jon hesitated. He’d kept his brother Danny’s past and death circumstances a secret for a long time, only opening up to Tracey recently. But he felt so much better after talking to someone, he didn’t know why he spent so long bottling that up. Maybe he could help this poor woman in her worst moments.

“My brother was killed in an armed robbery, and it was difficult when my family discovered he wasn’t simply an unlucky bystander. I know how betrayed you feel. Maybe not the exact kind of deception, but I am acquainted with being blindsided. You can cry, scream. Call Ethan ugly names if it helps. All I ask is that you please keep trying to answer our questions. His killer should pay for what they’ve done.”

Kelly lunged forward and threw her arms around Jon’s neck, sobbing into his shoulder as though he’d opened a wound and she couldn’t bear the pain. Tracey resumed his seat, saying nothing, giving her all the space she deserved.

Jon could only pat her back and let her grieve.

He wouldn’t drop the final bomb—the likely gender of her husband’s killer—unless he had to. They could find the identities of Ethan’s affair partners through other means—friends, coworkers maybe. Hell, even his digital life could be a better source. This poor woman had no knowledge of his secrets.

As she subsided, she pulled back and wiped her nose. “Thank you for that.” Her nose was so clogged, she could hardly speak. “I hope I didn’t ruin your suit.”

“Don’t you worry about it, Kelly. I have an excellent dry cleaner.” He did, too. Kind of went with the territory if he was traipsing around crime scenes in suits. “Now, I won’t press for information you were clearly unaware of, but oftentimes, people can see patterns with hindsight. Are any of those patterns occurring to you now?”

Kelly swallowed with some difficulty but she closed her eyes, thinking hard. “Just the Thursday night thing. I never questioned it. Sometimes he would come home, sometimes he wouldn’t. It made sense that he’d entertain people he worked for. He couldn’t talk a lot about his work, but he lobbied on behalf of many church organizations for conservative values to be considered in our laws. Frequently, people from churches around the country would come to D.C. to speak to Ethan about specific legislation so he’d understand their position on this bill or that bill. They’d meet over dinner.” She smiled ruefully. “If it was the Catholics, they’d meet over bottles of wine.”

Jon matched her smile. “Then speaking to his coworkers might yield information about which meetings were genuine and which he used as a cover story.”

Nodding, Kelly pressed her lips together. “Can I ask a favor?”

Jon leaned toward her, elbows on his knees, attentive in every way he could be. “Of course.”

“I don’t think I want to know”—she blew out a breath—“who Ethan was with. I mean, of course I want to know who killed him. But whoever he was sleeping with, I don’t really want her name. Or their names. Oh God, if it was more than one, I really don’t want to know. It’s enough that cheating is what put him where he was when he… died. I can’t take knowing more.” Her shoulders hitched and she fought for control by holding her breath, her eyes pleading.

“I’ll do my best, Kelly. We privilege sensitive information during active investigations, so I’ll try to keep his infidelity out of the media. You might want to avoid articles published about your husband, though, just in case.”

She nodded vigorously, her hand clenched around the accumulated tissues.

Jon stood and the others followed suit. “I think that’s all I have for now.” He held out a business card. “If you think of anything more, please call me, day or night. My cell number is there, too.”

Tentatively, she plucked the card from him, then held it close to her chest, like she would guard this lifeline to someone who seemed to understand.

Tracey grasped her elbow gently. “There is one question I’d like to ask. If you can answer, it might save us a lot of time.”

“If I know it, sure.”

“Does your husband’s smartphone have a lock on it? A pin code or swipe configuration? We’ll secure a warrant to get his records and data from your phone provider, but it’ll make life a whole lot easier if we can unlock his phone and turn off that privacy feature.”

Kelly clenched her jaw. “Yes. It’s our anniversary date.” She spit out four digits like a bite of bad chicken.

Jon felt for her, but he knew their presence was keeping her from the grief she really needed to express. “Kelly, I’m so sorry for your loss. We’ll see ourselves out. You take care. We’ll do everything we can to find who did this.”

It seemed that Mrs. Wright had about all she could take for the afternoon, because she gave a nearly imperceptible nod as they left.

Tracey’s cheeks puffed out as they got into Jon’s car, releasing a big breath slowly. “That was so intense.”

“As far as death notifications go, that was up there with some of the worst. Only the ones for deceased children are harder.” Jon started the engine and pulled away from the curb. The car’s dashboard screen displayed their route to the interstate as Jon aimed them back toward headquarters, where they’d reconnect with the others.

He drove in silence for a couple of miles before Tracey brought up the topic Jon knew he wouldn’t leave alone for long. “I was surprised you talked about Danny.”

Jon had been waiting for it. “There’s a particular kind of gut punch that comes with learning someone you thought you knew did something hurtful, but you can’t confront them because they’re dead. You can’t ask them why, or if they even thought of you at all while they were stabbing you in the back. On top of bringing news that gave Kelly Wright that exact feeling, we expected her to help with our questions. It’s so difficult. At least when Danny died, I didn’t have to talk to the police right away.” He shot Tracey a quick glance and a shy smile. “Plus, it’s not as hard to share that information anymore. After talking to you, I realized how much better I felt. It’s still sensitive, but being a kindred spirit for Mrs. Wright helped her through questioning. Maybe it made a difference. It doesn’t harm Danny’s memory. And something you said completely changed my perspective.”

“Oh?” Tracey shifted toward him, interest piqued.

“Yeah. You said I took Danny’s darkness and learned from it, and that taught me how to use the darkness of the criminals we chase against them. If I could use my hurt over Danny to make Ethan Wright’s death notification a little less sharp for his wife, then it was the right thing to do. You helped me a lot.” He reached over, took Tracey’s hand, and brought it up to kiss the knuckles. Then he held on, driving one-handed until traffic forced him to grip the wheel with both hands.

“I’m glad I could help.” Tracey’s smile was small and genuine. Then he shifted topics. “So what do you make of this guy?”

“I’m not sure I have enough information. It’s way too soon for a profile.”

“Oh, come on. I’m not asking if you have a profile in your back pocket. This is just you and me. I’m asking your opinion on the victim’s circumstances. Married but found in a no-tell motel. Recently had sex with a man, and motel staff said he regularly entertained men. He was a lobbyist for Vote Liberty, and his wife, while sweet and devastated, painted a picture of a church-going family man who pushed a conservative agenda on Capitol Hill. What do you think?”

Jon tapped the wheel, considering. “My initial impression is the victim was a closeted man married to a woman who didn’t know she was his beard. He built a life that didn’t allow for honesty about his orientation. At some point, his attraction to men became too big to ignore, and he tried keeping separate lives. Eventually, he met the wrong person and they killed him.”

Tracey faced him, turning sideways in his seat. “Do you think his killer found out who he was or what he did for a living and they fought about it? Or maybe they killed him because of his profession, like a giant fuck you.”

“I don’t know. The indications lead away from that conclusion if this is connected to the Chicago and Atlanta cases.”

“Speaking of Chicago and Atlanta, how do you think this fits?”

“That I can’t answer. I haven’t seen those cases yet.”

Tracey perked up. “I have. Sarena showed me the Chicago files before we left for St. Louis. She had a gut feeling, but she said Sutherland doesn’t like gut feelings.”

“She’s right. He likes evidence. What did those files have in them?”

“The victims in Chicago were gay men, killed by strangulation, found in their beds.”

He frowned. “Not hotel rooms?”

“Two were in hotels. The one in Atlanta was found in a friend’s house.”

Jon blinked, trying to work that one out. Then Tracey hit him with the next detail.

“Both the men in Chicago had GHB in their systems.”

Jon stiffened. “They were roofied? That should have popped up on law enforcement’s radar long before now.” So that was why Sarena wanted blood and urine samples. GHB, or gamma-hydroxybutyric acid, metabolized ridiculously fast, which is why it was a preferred drug for bad actors looking for victims. Quick thinking on Mercado’s part to get those samples. But that still should have flagged law enforcement before now.

“Jon.”

“Why are we only just getting these cases?”

“Jon.”

“Did Sarena try to get their attention and people were ignoring her? I’m gonna have somebody’s head if she was—”

“Jon!” Tracey’s hand on his shoulder stopped his rant before it could really build steam. “They weren’t roofied. The autopsy reports said the GHB quantities weren’t incapacitating. What do you know about chemsex?”

Oh. He hadn’t been expecting that.

Of course, Jon was aware of a faction of hookup culture that liked to “parTy,” which meant someone looking to have sex while using crystal meth, or “Tina.” GHB was another popular drug people used.

While most people associated GHB with date rape, the chemsex crowd liked it for its calm euphoria, which sent their libido off the charts. Some people also liked how subby it made them. Chemsex with GHB frequently meant vulnerability kinks.

The established kink community frowned on any substance use that jeopardized the pillars of safe, sane, and consensual during BDSM play, so those who partook in chemsex often were a fringe of their own.

Jon concentrated on changing lanes for their approaching exit. “I don’t have personal experience with chemsex, but you can’t be a gay man on an app and not see people talking about it. I mean, I get messaged on Smoldr all the time from profiles using chemsex language when looking for hookups. But I’ve never set foot in that world.”

Silence filled the car. Jon was off down the exit ramp before he realized Tracey was staring at him, his expression a mix of shock and hurt.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“You get hit up on Smoldr? Jon, are you active on that app for more than our disappearing messages?”

“What? No! I delete every message that’s not from you. The profiles are all beheaded torsos anyway.” He shuddered. “Honestly, it’s like looking at bloodless crime scenes. But seriously. I’m only on Smoldr for you. If it weren’t for that, I’d delete that crap right now.”

Tracey relaxed visibly. Then he snorted and started to laugh. “Dude, give me your phone.”

“Why?” Jon pulled to a stop at the next stoplight, then lifted his hips to dig his phone from his pocket and hand it over.

Tracey took it, then held up the locked screen. “Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“There’s a setting in Smoldr to turn your profile to private. Only people you specifically allow can contact you. Randoms won’t message you anymore. Will you unlock your phone so I can turn your profile to private?”

“Oh. Yes, please do that.”

Tracey laughed as Jon tapped in his unlock code. “Has it been bad, babe?”

Jon grumbled as the light turned green and he could go. “You have no idea.”

“I think I do.” Tracey raised the phone and took a photo of Jon’s hand on the gearshift, then set that as his profile pic. Jon side-eyed him. “What? I like your hands. It’ll be nice to see them when I have a new message. And it’s not that visibly identifying. Or a headless crime scene.”

The smile tugging his lips wouldn’t be suppressed, so Jon let it out. “Whatever you say. Thank you. That was driving me nuts. I was about to suggest we move to Facebook for their disappearing messages, but I hate how much data they scrape.”

“Yeah, I’d have told you no. I’ll be dead before I give Zuck the Suck any info. Anyway, back to chemsex. Sarena says it’s a whole subculture in the gay community. While GHB can incapacitate the user and result in memory loss if overdone, if it’s the right dose, you get super horny and it really enhances the sex. Right now, GHB and meth are the two hot chemsex drugs among gay men. Beyond the obvious dangerous reasons, people engage in riskier hookups to meet people who have the drugs, or will meet in less savory places. It definitely makes them more vulnerable to predators.”

“Got it. Do all the victims have the same tox report similarities?”

“The Chicago ones do. I’m not sure about Atlanta.”

“Sarena had them take blood and urine samples for a tox screen on Ethan Wright. We just have to wait for that to come back.”

They were approaching headquarters by then. Jon hesitated, but decided to be open. Being closed off was what had led to his ex-fiancé, Erik, leaving. “Listen, thanks.”

“For what?”

“I fumbled the Smoldr thing, and you could have gotten mad at me instead of finding out the truth first. I appreciate you not jumping to conclusions and then just fixing the problem. Adult communication is sexy.”

Tracey grinned. “Yes it is. And you’re welcome. I’m glad it was just you being a goof and not browsing the Smoldr catalog without telling me.”

While they hadn’t explicitly said they were exclusive, with Tracey staying at Jon’s house and recovering from his ordeal with the Family Man, there was no indication he was interested in seeing other people, despite what he’d told Perry that morning. Jon certainly wasn’t looking for others. Was it too soon to have that conversation? Probably.

Jon had been surprised by his openness to dating Tracey once his initial trepidation passed, especially given how hard his job had been on his previous relationships. Lucking out with someone who would fit into his life like Tracey did? Not a chance. Not that they’d been dating long enough for him to say that out loud. That was also too soon.

Jon took Tracey’s hand briefly. “No reason to browse. I have what I want.”