by Elle Gray
“I worry about you,” she sighs.
“I know you do. But I’m good, Annie. I survived. Beat the bad guy.”
“You did,” she says softly. “And I’m so very proud of you, Blake.”
I look up so suddenly, I nearly give myself whiplash. The look on my face must be comical, because she breaks into laughter. In my whole life, that is the first time Annie has ever said she was proud of me—at least when referencing my career. In all the time I’ve been with the Bureau, she’s either ignored it, or has offered only scathing commentary about my career choice. Hearing her say she’s proud of me hits me like a freight train.
“I know I don’t say that enough—or really, at all, I suppose,” Annie admits. “But it’s not that I didn’t feel it.”
“Thank you, Annie. That means the world to me.”
“Your job—it scares me. I don’t want to lose you like I lost your mother,” she goes on. “But I want you to know that I know the work you do is important. The work you do is good. You save lives, Blake. That girl owes you her life.”
I shake my head. “She doesn’t owe me anything. That’s my job.”
Annie offers me a smile and I can see her eyes shimmer with tears. When Annie called me earlier today and asked to get together for dinner, I’d been surprised. And I secretly dreaded it. After the way our last dinner went, I wasn’t looking forward to a repeat performance. The last thing I want to do is pick up where we left off and continue arguing with each other.
But Annie is somehow different this time. She seems a little bit lighter of spirit and doesn’t seem quite so gloom and doom as she did. It’s a remarkable change, because the gloom and doom Annie is the one I grew up with. It’s the only one I really know. I’m not really sure who this seemingly lighter and freer Annie is.
“Are you all right, Annie?”
She nods. “I am. I’m—well—a lot has happened since we last spoke. And I wanted to apologize for the way I stormed out on you.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. Things were heated, and I think we both said some things,” I tell her. “I have just as much to apologize for.”
“You don’t, Blake. You simply held up a mirror and I didn’t like what I saw,” she says. “You were right. I have been holding Maisey back and putting my baggage onto her. I’ve been smothering her with my own fears and insecurities.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I fall silent. She gives me a gentle smile.
“Maisey and I had a long heart-to-heart talk, and we both got a lot of things out in the open. Things that have been festering for a long time,” she tells me. “It was a painful but ultimately good talk. I truly feel like we are closer than we’ve ever been.”
“Annie, that’s wonderful. I am so happy to hear that.”
“She told me about Marco. And that it was you who encouraged them to see each other,” she smiles
I swallow hard and give her an abashed smile. “I’m sorry I went behind your back like that, Annie. I feel bad that I kept it from you—”
“You were right to do so at the time. I’m sure if you had told me, I would have found some way to screw it up for Maisey. And that’s a resentment she would have held onto, driving the wedge further between us,” she interrupts. “So yes, even though it did hurt at first, finding out that you had kept it from me, I do understand why you did it and know it was for the best.”
This change in Annie is stunning to me. I honestly never expected to hear the things she’s saying. It makes me feel bad for all the things I’ve said and thought about her. It makes me feel even worse that I’ve spent so much time dodging her and never making an effort to spend time with her.
If I had known she had this inside of her, maybe I would have spent more time with her. But I’ve never seen this from her before, so how was I supposed to know? I don’t know how it’s come to pass, but she’s an entirely different person than the woman who stormed out of the restaurant on me just a few weeks ago.
“I’m hoping that all three of us—you, me, and Maisey—can all start with a fresh slate. That we can all learn from all these things and grow together, rather than drift apart,” Annie continues. “I want us to be a family. A real family, Blake.”
“I want that too. More than you know.”
“It makes me happy to hear you say that. I can’t promise that I won’t mess up or fall back into old habits from time to time. But I want you and Maisey to call me out on it rather than stuff it away and let it fester,” she says. “I want all of us to be able to communicate with one another. Real honest, open communication.”
“I think that would be fantastic. I really do.”
“So do I.”
We lapse into silence for a moment, and I ponder these changes in her. It’s amazing to me to see how hard she’s trying to be different. To be better. I think it’s a lesson I can stand to learn too. If Annie can learn from her past and her mistakes and strive to be a better person, I can too.
I give her a smile. “So, is this burger place part of your image makeover?”
“Why yes. Yes, it is,” she says. “I’ve spent too many years denying myself the things that sound amazing to me. I haven’t had an honest-to-goodness cheeseburger in more years than I can remember. So I thought, what better way to honor this fresh start we’re all giving ourselves by indulging in something I’ve denied myself for too long?”
“I think that’s an amazing idea.”
The waitress comes to the table to take our order and I give my aunt a smile. Things really are looking up. They’re getting better, and I feel like I’m finally getting the family I’ve been missing. The family I’ve long desired. And we’ll do it one cheeseburger at a time.
Thirty-Eight
Criminal Data Analysis Unit; Seattle Field Office
“Okay, okay, okay,” I call out as I dance my way into the shop. “It’s payday, people.”
My team looks up as I step to the front of the bullpen, a smile on my face so wide it feels like it’s going to split my cheeks wide open.
“Back from the fiery depths of Hell, huh?” Astra asks.
“I sure am.”
“And how is the newest resident demon?” Mo asks.
“Evil as hell,” I reply. “He fits right in with the rest of the degenerates.”
I spent the last two days at the King County Correctional Facility. That’s where they’re holding Tony Svboda before trial, so I figured I’d take advantage of the opportunity to interview him. There’s value in picking the brains of people like Svboda. There’s always a chance to expand our understanding of the human mind. And talking to serial and mass murderers helps me to understand them. Understand their motivations. It helps me to understand why they are the way they are and figure out what went wrong in their lives that led them to the path they found themselves on.
Some people think talking to killers is an exercise in academic masturbation. They think it’s a waste of time, and that nothing of value can be achieved from it. I disagree entirely. Understanding the deviant mind can help us single out and identify the risk factors better. And if we can really understand the risk factors, we can better help some people. And if we can identify people who are at risk, it might even be possible to get to some of these people before they make a decision that will destroy not just their life, but the lives of everybody they touch.
If we can learn about the way these people think—what leads them to kill in the first place—we might be able to help stop some of these murders before they happen. If nothing else, learning about their minds teaches me more about my field. And I think it ultimately makes me better at my job. I may not be able to stop every single murderer out there, but maybe I can stop a murderer before he takes more lives.
“So, I do believe that you two need to pay up,” I say.
“Pay up?” Astra asks.
“I do recall that a wager was made.”
“I remember that,” Rick calls out. “I was here for that. I he
ard it.”
“Nobody asked you, new boy,” Astra shoots back.
“You and Mo both challenged my profile, if you remember,” I say, still grinning wide. “You both believed it was a girlfriend or a fiancée who was Svboda’s stressor. It was I who declared the stressor would be a relative—specifically his mother. And I do believe the wager was for one crisp C-note.”
Mo and Astra both groan as the memory comes back to them. Seeing the realization that I won our bet—and they lost—made me laugh out loud. That reaction from them is almost better than the money.
“I’m bringing it to you in pennies,” Astra quips.
“And if you further remember, I even went so far as to say he and his mother engaged in a sexual relationship,” I add, earning more boos and groans of disgust from my team.
“You can stop right there,” Mo calls out. “Nobody wants to hear that!”
“According to Svboda, his mother was extremely abusive from the time he was young. He detailed dozens of trips to the ER with a host of different injuries, including broken bones, concussions, and one time, a lacerated kidney,” I say. “And, yes, cigarette burns.”
“Jesus,” Astra mutters low.
Everybody shifts in their seats, looking uncomfortable as I run down the laundry list of injuries Svboda suffered in his life. Given that sort of upbringing, it’s not surprising he became a monster filled with nothing but hate and rage.
“The abuse continued for most of his life. He said it only stopped when she became too weak and frail to beat him anymore,” I tell them.
“I don’t want to feel pity for this guy, but wow,” Mo said. “In that sort of toxic environment, is anybody surprised he turned out like he did?”
Nobody said anything. There really wasn’t anything that could be said.
“Anyway, according to Svboda, from the age of thirteen until the day she died, Helen sexually abused him,” I say. “And the reason he put his own victims in bodies of water is because his mother tried to drown him in the lake when he was seven years old. That same lake right outside his cabin door, if you’re interested. That’s why it’s significant to him. He almost died in a lake, so others are going to suffer as he did. Symbolically, of course.”
More moans and cries of revulsion issue from Mo, Astra, and Rick, which only makes me cackle louder. I let them sit with that for a minute just to torment them. A moment later, the doors to the shop open and the waiters bring in the lunch I ordered to celebrate closing a big case. The smell of roasting meat fills the air as I direct them to just set up in the back of the bullpen.
“Carnitas, chicken, and steak,” I tell them. “Tacos, burritos, tostadas… whatever floats your boat. Eat as much as you want. Take plates home. Eat it all if you can.”
“You didn’t happen to have some beer brought in, did you?” Astra asks.
A Hispanic man carries an ice chest over to one of the tables and sets it down. He flips it open with a smile and gestures for everybody to take a look.
“Cerveza,” he tells us.
“I’ll have to tell you all to exercise restraint with the beer, though. Seriously, we can’t have sloppy drunks wandering the halls.”
“Restraint is good advice.”
We all spin around to see Rosie standing behind us, her hands on her hips and her eyebrow arched. She’s staring straight at me.
“Beer? At the office?” she asks.
“I’m just congratulating my team on another job well done,” I say.
The sizzling of the meat on the grill of the taco cart echoes around the room and the air grows thick with the aroma of authentic Mexican spices.
“What brings you down to our totally far and well out of your way basement, Rosie?” I ask, swallowing hard.
“I actually wanted to come down and congratulate you all for cracking that case and doing a stellar job,” she says, then pauses. “But now, I suppose I’ll be staying for lunch and a beer.”
That brought out the cheers and hoots from everybody in the room. I grab a beer from the cooler, pop the top, and hand it to Rosie, then grab one of my own. I tap my bottle against hers and smile.
“Thanks for not busting us. I just wanted to show my team some appreciation.”
“I think it’s great that you do. That’s what leaders do, Blake,” she tells me. “Next time, just clear it with me first.”
“You got it,” I say and tap my bottle against hers again.
“You and your team are doing some great work, Blake. The brass couldn’t be prouder,” she says. “You can tell how happy they are with you by the number of people falling all over themselves to take credit.”
“Yeah well, we know the credit belongs to you,” I say. “You’re the one who had the faith in me.”
“And I always will,” she replies. “You produce and you make me look good. How can I not support that wholeheartedly?”
I laugh, knowing it’s more than that, but the servers in the back are signaling to me that the food’s ready to go. I walk to the front of the bullpen and call for everybody’s attention. The room falls silent, and all eyes turn to me. I raise my bottle to them.
“I just wanted to take a minute to say something to you guys,” I start. “When we started this team, I honestly had no idea how it was going to work. I had no idea if it would work. But you have wildly exceeded my expectations. You’ve wildly exceeded my hopes and dreams for what this team would be.
“I’m proud of each and every one of you. As individuals, you are all amazing, fantastic people. As individuals, you are all incredible FBI agents—and tech gurus too. As individuals, you’re great. And as a team, we are amazing together.”
That brings applause from our small but mighty team. I give them a moment to bask in it before I start to speak again.
“So anyway, I wanted to say thank you. Astra, Mo, Rick… you are truly the best team a person could ever have. I am proud of each and every one of you,” I tell them. “And also, we need to give a big thank you to Rosie for always having our backs. Without her, this team would not exist. So, thank you guys. All of you.”
They cheer again and Rosie raises her bottle with a big smile on her face. Rick puts on some music overhead, and for only five people in the shop, the conversation is loud and boisterous. As I watch my team, feeling a powerful sense of satisfaction, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I pull it out and see that it’s Detective Lee.
I retreat to my office and close the door, then connect the call and press the phone to my ear.
“Hey,” I say. “Detective Lee, how are you?”
“We have a problem, Blake,” he replies brusquely. “Or rather, you have a problem.”
“I’ve got quite a few. Can you be more specific?”
“Gina Aoki was found dead today,” he says.
Time seems to slow down around me. My heart falls into my stomach and a queasy feeling washes over me. I look through my office windows, out to the bullpen, and watched Rosie and my team talking, laughing, and joking with one another. Everybody is eating, drinking, and having a good time. But with six words, Detective Lee brought my whole world crashing down around me. I suddenly feel as if I’m standing among the smoking, charred wreckage of my day.
“Wh—what did you say?”
She was found in her office,” Lee says. “Her throat was cut, Blake.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, it was bad. Be glad you weren’t at the scene.”
Waves of disbelief batter me. They threaten to pull me under and swamp me. But there’s something wrong. I can tell. My first clue is that Lee is calling to tell me somebody is dead. Why would he do that? Unless…
“What is it, Detective Lee?” I ask.
“Your card was found on her, Blake,” he explains. “And according to her calendar, you are the last person she saw before she died.”
“Yeah, we met up to discuss a few things.”
“What did you discuss?”
“It was personal,” I say.
>
“Yeah, you may not have much of a choice but to talk about it.”
“And why do you say that?”
I hear Lee sigh on the other end of the line. “Torres is gunning for you, Blake. He’s using your card and the calendar as proof that you’re mixed up in this somehow. He’s coming for you.”
“Let him come. I have nothing to hide,” I say. “I had nothing to do with Gina’s death.”
“I believe that, but Torres is pushing hard for an investigation into you.”
I sigh and feel the bright, happy shine I’d carried around all day dim and then gutter out. The day had been so good too. But I did nothing wrong, and I sure as hell didn’t kill Gina. All Torres is doing is trying to either intimidate or sideline me. His dream would be to either get me fired or force me to quit. But I’m not the one in the wrong. I did nothing, no matter what Torres tries to implicate me in.
“Did you hear me, Blake? Torres is coming for you.”
“I appreciate you giving me the heads up, Detective Lee.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ve done nothing wrong, so let him come.”
Epilogue
Olympic Sculpture Park; Seattle WA
With the thick, black clouds overhead, the darkness was nearly absolute. Thunder rumbled in the distance, adding an ominous note to the already somber atmosphere. A gust of wind buffeted him, making Mark shiver and pull his coat around himself even tighter as he grumbled under his breath. His eyes darted everywhere, searching the shadows for the man he was meeting, but as far as he could see, the park was empty, save for him.
Mark paced back and forth in front of the giant stone head in the sculpture park. He had his hands buried deep in his coat pockets and his scarf wound up tight, so it covered the bottom half of his face completely. Beads of sweat rolled down his back, making his shirt stick to his skin uncomfortably. His stomach churned hard. It wasn’t that Mark was afraid of Potter. He just found the man deeply unsettling.
It was never good when Potter called. It was even worse when Potter asked for a meet. The man was reclusive, only sticking his head out of his hidey-hole when some bit of terrible business had to be done. And Mark had gotten both the call and the request for a meet both in one day, which set his nerves on edge. His body trembled with nervous energy. He wanted to get this over with, one way or the other, sooner rather than later.
