Blind: Killer Instincts

by Sidney Bristol

  Amanda had asked her before she left to visit family if she wanted the move-in to be official. Emma hadn’t been ready to make a decision, and they’d put it off until next week. She’d shifted so much of her life into Derrick’s crappy trailer, but at least there she had the big backyard lot to work in. Here, she’d have to get a studio space, and that was a whole other set of costs. It was too much to think about, and she’d put it off.

  Her mind circled around the fact that Amanda was gone, but refused to accept it. It couldn’t be true. There was no way Amanda could really be gone. This wasn’t happening.

  Emma put her purse down next to the door and toed her shoes off, like Amanda would have wanted. Emma sighed, shoving her hands through her hair, and wandered into the living room.

  Something was wrong.

  She glanced around, sure that something had been moved, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She went to put her cell phone on the coffee table, and that’s when she saw it.

  The coffee table was completely cleared of knickknacks. The candles were gone, the bowl of pointless gold balls cleared away. A single sheet of red paper lay on the glass surface.

  I did it for you.

  She read the single sentence over and over again.

  For her?

  She’d never have done that to Amanda or Derrick. The idea that their death was in some way a gift to her was ridiculous and offensive. Anger boiled in her stomach, so bitter and vile it burned the back of her throat. She grabbed the paper and ripped it to shreds, a deep, tortured growl rising up out of her as the bits of paper fluttered around her.

  “Where are you?” she yelled.

  Emma stalked into Amanda’s bedroom, but no one was there. She went into the bathroom they shared, and still no sign of a trespasser. Emma’s room, it was impossible to tell. She hadn’t exactly been keeping things as tidy and neat as Amanda. Emma’s clothes were in a pile on the floor until she got hangers. Most of her things were in boxes or a few suitcases.

  “Emma?” Jacob knocked on the front door as it creaked open. “Emma, you okay?”

  “Yeah.” She scrubbed at her face.

  The letter.

  Fuck.

  She scurried back into the living room, her heart throbbing in her throat.

  Jacob knelt over the shredded mess of the letter, a piece of twisted paper in his hand.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, voice hard.

  “It was just there,” she blurted.

  “Okay.” He held up his hand and pulled his cell phone out with the other. He snapped a few pictures, no doubt sending those off to his FBI friends, who would now be completely up her ass. Just what she needed. They’d probably say she did it herself.

  Jacob got to his feet and closed the distance between them. He cupped her shoulders and peered into her eyes. What did he see in her?

  “I should have called you, I know.” She pushed his hands away, needing space. All these people were starting to suffocate her.

  “Yes, but that wasn’t what I was going to say.” His expression was unreadable. Solid stone.

  “Then what? What do you want to say to me?”

  He licked his lips, brow drawn down, and his blue eyes darker than normal.

  “I was going to say it’s okay to be angry. Your friend is dead, she might have been cheating with Derrick while you were with your ex, and you got accused of being their murderer all in about half an hour. Now this.” He thumbed at the letter she’d foolishly left lying around.

  “I am angry.” She pointed at the letter. “I’m angry at him.”

  It was hard to breathe. She gasped and her eyes prickled. Oh fuck, was she crying, too? This TBKiller had killed too close to home, and he thought he was doing it for her? Emma could take care of her own problems. So what if Amanda wanted to fuck Derrick? She could have handled that, or at least ignored it. Her one true friend was now dead.

  Her legs gave way and she sat down heavy on the tile floor.

  “Go on, cry it out,” Jacob muttered.

  He folded his body around hers, pulling her against his chest and rocked her from side to side. She leaned back, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

  “I want him dead,” she said between sobs.

  “Me, too. Me, too.” He kissed the side of her head.

  Did he really? Did he really get it?

  In all the world, he was the only person who might understand the torment her soul went through, and even then she didn’t know if he really understood. Maybe no one ever would.

  8.

  J

  acob left Emma dozing in her room. He cracked the door so he could check in on her without disturbing her.

  He couldn’t imagine the kind of torment she must be going through. She was holding it together well enough. At least she wasn’t afraid, though once the anger burned out of her she might be.

  His phone vibrated, right on time.

  Jacob tip-toed barefoot through the living room, scooping up the clear plastic gallon-sized bag he’d gathered all the paper bits into and his boots. He let himself out of the house and found himself face to face with Special Agent Mullins.

  “How’s she doing?” The agent slid his phone into his trouser pocket.

  “Sleeping.” He handed the letter over. “I pieced the words together. It says, ‘I did it for you.’”

  “Damn.” Mullins thumped the plastic with his finger. “Your little lady might still be connected, then?”

  Jacob shrugged. He’d never doubted Emma’s potential as a target in all of this. What he wouldn’t give to have been wrong this once.

  “Brooks is going to insist on some sort of protective custody, or at least a detail. Stevenson said you didn’t think she’d go for it—”

  “Which is why I requested leave to stick close to her.”

  “You’re both targets, then. You realize that?” Mullins’ gaze narrowed.

  “Maybe. Nothing he’s said to me has indicated I’m a target.”

  “And her?”

  “If he killed for her, it doesn’t make a lot of sense that he’d kill her, unless there’s something about him none of us are seeing.”

  “I study these fuckers all the time, and they always find a new, twisted view of the world.” Mullins shrugged.

  Jacob couldn’t deny that. He’d seen enough working as a detective to have some idea of what the BAU must see.

  “Can I offer you a word of advice? Job aside, I mean.” Mullins’ lips compressed into a tight line.

  “Sure.” Jacob didn’t think he’d like what Mullins had to say.

  “Be careful with her. Back home, I was involved with a woman who was connected to a case I was working for Interpol. Let’s say it didn’t go so well for either of us. Men in our position, we want to protect people, but we can’t. Not always. Some are determined to stare death in the face.” Mullins shook his head.

  “Is she alive? The woman you were with?”

  “Yeah.” Mullins smile was forced. “She’s got ten more years in an iron box.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “I’m not.” He shrugged. “I put her there. Watch your back, man.”

  Mullins took two steps backward before pivoting to stroll down the drive toward a waiting car.

  Jacob watched them drive away, rolling Mullins’ words around in his head. Whatever the agent had gone through was different than what was between Jacob and Emma. She wasn’t a killer. She was a victim.

  He slipped his shoes on and walked around the side of the duplex. The family sharing the other half of the house had packed up for a road trip and left, according to Emma. Which meant the suspect had practically no chance of being caught when he broke into the house.

  The front door hadn’t shown any evidence of being tampered with, and according to Emma, the letter hadn’t been there when she’d left for the station. Which meant there was a good chance their killer had dumped the fake bomb at the courtyard and then come straight here to deliver h
is note. There were so many pieces, but none of them fit together. What was he doing with the eyes? Why the color-coded letters? Whose finger was sent to them?

  With Emma settled for a bit, Jacob slowly searched around the exterior of the house. Officers had already been over it, but he wouldn’t rest until he’d looked at everything himself. He pushed at each window, trying to pry them open. Even the back door showed no scratches from a lock pick. It was as if the killer had simply spirited the letter inside, except Jacob didn’t believe in supernatural powers. Their murderer was flesh and blood.

  Once Jacob had exhausted his search outside, he returned indoors and found Emma awake and out of bed.

  “I called Simon.” Emma sat on the couch, knees up against her chest and the TV on the local news.

  “How is he?”

  “Upset.” Her gaze rose to his face. “Where were you?”

  “Outside.”

  “Find anything?” There was a disturbing lack of emotion in her voice.

  “No.” He kicked off his shoes and joined her on the couch. The station seemed to have put together a quick history of TBK. It wasn’t a lesson either of them needed. “Let’s watch something else.”

  He took the remote from her and flipped channels.

  “It’s on every one of them. I already looked. Either they’re talking about TBK, or the copycat. They didn’t even pick a good picture of Amanda.” She slumped back against the cushions.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Who taught you that line?” She snorted.

  “My mom.” He shrugged and rubbed her thigh.

  “Smart woman.”

  “She told me girls like to talk.”

  “Good advice.”

  “My mom’s pretty smart.”

  “Have you told her about this stuff?” She flicked her fingers toward the TV.

  “Nah, Mom avoids the news. Always did. She never liked knowing what dad might be doing, if he was hurt. Once when I was a kid, a cop was shot. Mom was friends with the wife. They were having coffee one afternoon, and the news came on. That’s how she found out her husband died. After that, Mom stopped watching the news.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “Yeah.” He reached for her hand and squeezed. “Talk to me?”

  He wanted to make things better for her. To lift some of the burden from her shoulders, but he couldn’t. Not unless she let him.

  “I keep thinking I should be angry at Derrick and Amanda, but I’m not. I miss her already.” She sighed. “Derrick was a waste of my time. I knew that when we got together, but I was so lonely I was okay being with him. He was a useless tool bag, but I learned a lot about myself being with him. I learned that I like myself. That I have more drive and ambition than I realized. I realized I wanted more. But I was too scared of being alone to leave him sooner, even though we were over ages ago. I don’t know if that makes me a bad person or not.”

  “No. We all crave human connection.” He tamped down on his jealousy. This wasn’t about him—it was about what she needed.

  Emma rolled her eyes and laced their fingers together.

  “Just so you know, Derrick and I hadn’t slept together in the same room in... a long time. Like I said, it was way over. I knew he was cheating, and I used it as an excuse to motivate myself into moving out. I really don’t care if Amanda and Derrick were together. I don’t understand them as a couple. She’s way too fucking smart for someone like him, but who am I to judge?” She glanced at him and then away, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Dinner.”

  She was lying, but he couldn’t push her. Not when she was trying so hard to hold herself together.

  He could guess what she was thinking. She was drawing parallels between Amanda and Derrick to them. But she was so much more than she realized. She really sold herself short.

  “Okay. Dinner. What do you want?” he asked.

  “Aren’t you going home?”

  “No. I’m staying here. With you. Until this whole thing blows over.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “No, I don’t. But I will.”

  “What if I kick you out?”

  “You won’t.”

  “You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

  He leaned in close, breathing in her scent and losing himself in the chocolate brown of her eyes.

  “I am. Don’t kick me out, okay?”

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth. He was pretty sure she hadn’t heard what he’d said.

  Jacob brushed his mouth across hers once, twice. The stiffness in her body eased and she brought her free hand up, cupping the back of his head. She pressed him closer and he sank into the kiss.

  He’d protect her with his life if he had to. It was a truth that should scare him, but it only made him all the more ready to accept his feelings toward her. She wasn’t someone who shared a history with him. She wasn’t just a hot chick who understood him. Emma was a woman he could spend the rest of his life getting to know. She’d always keep him on his toes.

  Was this love? He didn’t know. But he’d hang around to find out, because things like this only came around once in a lifetime.

  Emma speared a pot-sticker on her chopstick and nibbled on the edges. Jacob sat on the other end of the couch, pretending as if his food were the most interesting thing in the world.

  He’d been so...respectful and distant since her little breakdown earlier. She wanted to shake a real reaction out of him. It seemed as if the only time she saw true emotion from him was when he was pissed off or having sex. It was frustrating to see him so tightly contained and bottled up. She wanted to shake him up a bit, to find out what would happen.

  She cleared her throat and turned to face him with her legs crossed, the TV muted. He glanced at her, but his gaze quickly flitted away.

  “What about the letter from earlier? What does it mean?” she asked.

  He shrugged and finished chewing his food.

  “Are you sure you haven’t seen anyone? No one’s been bothering you?” Jacob watched her, one side of his mouth screwed up.

  “I haven’t seen anyone, but I have felt like someone was watching me.”

  “Pay attention to your gut. It’s not scientific, I know, but we have instincts for a reason. You feel like someone’s watching, call me, okay?”

  Well, that was incredibly reasonable of him.

  “So...” She pushed her food around her plate. “That wasn’t the first letter he sent me.”

  Jacob’s hand hovered above his dinner, poised to stab a piece of beef. He did that thing where he stared straight through her. She couldn’t read him at all, except this time her skin was crawling and her lizard brain screamed run! She fidgeted with her chopsticks and dropped her gaze to the plate.

  Maybe that was a bad way to poke the beast.

  Jacob dropped his fork onto the plate with a clatter and thunked it down on the coffee table. He leaned back on the couch, rubbing his jaw. The rasp of his hand over his stubble was the loudest thing in the room.

  Wasn’t he going to say something? Anything?

  “And that’s what you’re going to do? Give me the silent treatment?” she asked.

  “I’m trying to understand why,” he snapped. He turned enough to catch her gaze, and she almost wanted to crawl under the sofa.

  Ah, there was that lick of rage, the fire in his eye.

  “Why don’t you ask me then?”

  “Because I’m not sure I’d get a truthful answer.”

  “You’re going to pretend as if knowing me three—what? Four days? Makes you an expert on me?”

  “No, but I know how liars operate.” He stood and stalked across the living room to the door, pivoted and paced back again.

  “Oh, low blow,” she taunted. “I never lied. You never asked me if I’d received a letter.”

  Jacob stopped wi
th the coffee table between them and spread his arms. “Omitting a crucial piece of evidence.”

  “Still not an outright lie.” She pushed to her feet, unable to stay on the sofa when he was being so, so—stupid. Okay, so maybe she had been lying, but the man needed an emotional outlet about as much as she did right now. Picking a fight might not be the best way to hash things out, but here they were.

  “Yeah? Then why didn’t you mention it until now?” His voice rose and a vein stood out on his forehead.

  “Because I knew if I told you, you’d pull back. You’d treat me with kid gloves. I wouldn’t know jack shit about what was going on because I’d become a victim before anything ever happened to me. I didn’t want you to look at me with pity. I didn’t want to play into this fucker’s games. He wants this to go a certain way, and I’m not going to do what he wants.”

  “You want him to kill you, is that it?”

  She stalked around the table.

  “No, that’s not it.” She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  “Then what did you want?”

  “For you to feel something. You sit over there so tightly contained. You’re a bottle about to blow, and it’s not healthy. Be fucking pissed. Get angry at me—”

  Jacob grasped her shoulders so tight she gasped and her pulse kicked up. For a split second she almost wanted to fight back, to get away. But all he did was hold her and stare deeply into her eyes.

  “I am angry. I’m fucking pissed that you’d intentionally put your life in danger, and—I can’t stay around here and watch you put yourself at risk if that’s what you choose to do. I—I can’t.” He pried his hands off her and took a step back.

  “I told you about the letter.”

  “Yeah, but what else haven’t you told me about? Can I trust you?”

  “Yes, okay?”

  “But I don’t know that, now.” The torment was back in his gaze.

  “I told you. I’m not hiding anything else.”

  “Yeah, and next time?”

  “What did you tell me? Trust was blind faith, or something? What does your gut tell you? I was wrong to keep the letter from you, but I still barely knew you. How was I to know that as soon as you had that letter, you wouldn’t—I don’t know—drop me into a jail cell for my own protection? I’d die in there.” She shuddered.