Nick.
A wall of static rolled in to fill her brain, obliterating every other thought.
Candyce was wearing a hoodie like Nick’s favorite, down to the same university name. Coming to Nick’s apartment. Driving Nick’s car.
The killer had definitely targeted someone and had definitely caught the wrong person.
The realization settled on her skin like gathering frost. The right target… was Nick.
Alex practically vaulted from her chair— nearly running right into the wall of flesh that was Sergeant Oscarson. “Steen,” her boss addressed her, “headed out?”
“I was, yeah.”
“We need to coordinate this morning on the Cook homicide. You’re testifying at trial tomorrow, right?”
Alex nodded.
“Good. Get up with the detectives from the previous charges.”
How could she say no? As one of the minority of women on the homicide unit, she often had to testify in domestic violence cases carried to their extreme conclusion. She didn’t know which was sadder: the implicit sexism or that it worked on juries.
Alex sank into her chair and pulled up the case file which listed the other investigators’ phone numbers. Maybe she could track down Nick’s number that easily to warn him. She alternated between searching through Harrison’s assault report and taking notes on the phone with the investigators who’d handled the Cooks’ worst disputes over the years. Mrs. Cook seemed to give as much as she got, but only one of them had escalated to homicide.
By the time Alex could replay the Cooks’ arrest records from memory, it was lunchtime— and she still hadn’t found Nick’s number. She couldn’t just show up at his house; he had to be at work, and she didn’t know which apartment was his.
Easily solved. She switched back to the DMV database to find his apartment number. Awesome. He still wouldn’t be there at 11 a.m.
He couldn’t be that hard to find. If his software company was doing well enough to move into a new office, he had to be on the Internet. Alex pulled up a search engine and typed in Nick Carpenter medical software. Even with a relatively common name, she’d find him eventually, thanks to that one last piece of information. It was a wonder she hadn’t Googled him more often.
The first result: a corporate biography page for a company called Carexa. Alex clicked and once she scrolled past the top banner, Nick’s black and white picture appeared on the screen, smiling at something off-camera. Casual. Relaxed. Comfortable. His bio hit on corporate buzz words but still sounded like it was written by a human— by him, but with a quiet confidence that was new to her. His bio finished with a quote about how their software was designed to allow patients and doctors to really connect, then listed him as CEO & owner.
Huh. Alex skipped to the Contact Us page. If it was up to date, he’d probably be at their office on Market Street. She closed up the last of her files and punched Carexa’s number into her cell phone. A recording answered, asking for an extension.
Great. She didn’t have one. Alex half-jogged down to her car. Faster to drive there— in air conditioning in the midday heat— and march into his office than to listen to the company directory. She maneuvered over to the address, an old building with an updated Art Deco style façade proclaiming it the Bull City Business Center. She ignored the stupid hope fighting against the dread in her middle and took the stairs two at a time to get to Suite 203.
The office was appropriately modern for the gentrified part of downtown— only a few blocks from Nick’s upscale historical remodel. Funky light fixtures hung from the high ceiling amid exposed pipes, and the walls hosted huge dry erase boards. Instead of cubicles, the employees milled around open tables and work spaces.
Alex strode through the doors, and a small black woman with her hair in short twists looked up from the nearest table. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I need Mr. Carpenter.”
“Nick?” The woman frowned. “He’s not here. Maybe I can help you.”
“’Fraid not. Police business.” Alex turned away, but the other woman caught her at the door.
“About his sister? Poor girl.”
Alex managed not to laugh. Candyce was hurt, and that wasn’t funny, but the problem was that it wasn’t about his sister, not even a little bit. “Her case, yes.”
“He ran home to check on her at lunch. He should be back in half an hour.”
Home? Meaning the address she’d found on the DMV records, less than half a mile away. Perfect. Alex thanked the woman and headed out.
Within minutes, she stood in front of the ornate white doorframe of Nick’s apartment. The woodwork had to be original to the building. She’d knocked twice, but he still hadn’t answered. Tension tightened along Alex’s back like her spine was being tuned like a guitar string. Something was wrong. And a killer was after him.
The dream had the killer attacking in the morning, early. Lying in wait. Here. But the dream wasn’t about a murder, like every other dream she’d had— so it could’ve gotten other details wrong, too. The time of day, the location. Or the killer could’ve changed plans.
Nick could already be dead.
Alex’s heart rate began a slow rev, like she was pressing the accelerator every second. Where was he?
Nick finally appeared in the antique door’s glass panes, interrupting the chaotic whirlwind of her thoughts. He opened the door. “Lex?” His tone said finding her outside his building two days in a row was too much to believe.
He was all right. Better than all right. More well rested than yesterday, but tall and athletic as ever—
She stopped that train of thought before it derailed her completely. “Hi, Nick.” Her voice stumbled out, more awkward than the silence now stretching between them. “Hi.” She’d never been all that smooth at flirting, but not many people could make her trip over a simple greeting.
She had to stick to business. Safer for them both. “Candyce was released?”
“Yeah, she’s upstairs resting. Something new on the case?”
Yes. No. Possibly. A dozen answers streamed through Alex’s brain, but she managed to pin down a couple of the right ones. “Not exactly.” She glanced over his shoulder, but all she could see from here were the stairs. “We need to talk.”
As soon as the words were out, she remembered the last time they’d “talked,” all those years ago. That cliché phrase was exactly how Nick had started the conversation. How he’d started to break her heart.
He didn’t seem to notice, though, as he stepped back to let her in. He led her up the stairs into the main living area of his apartment. Exposed beams and brick hearkened back to the building’s tobacco warehouse past. Alex took a deep breath, like she expected to recapture that sickly oversweet baked apple smell that had permeated the whole neighborhood on hot days when she was a child. The old home for the curing brightleaf tobacco seemed perfectly suited to the honey pine floors, and high ceilings set off the modern fixtures from gleaming ductwork to sparkling countertops.
Some of the furniture was familiar— a bookcase, the photos of the nearby Lucky Strike smokestack and a vintage barn hanging on the cool gray wall, Nick’s loveably schlumpy chair— enough to make it feel like home, updated. Or maybe it was standing here with him again, away from the crime scene and the hospital. With Nick next to her, the anxiety she’d felt a minute before eased, and the quiet peace of the space seemed to suffuse her soul.
He’d always centered her like no one else could, without even trying. But she’d forgotten the downside that came with the peace— sometimes, peaceful meant slow. Immobile, practically. She took another deep breath and pressed forward with her questions. “We won’t bother Candyce, will we?”
Nick waved a hand past the kitchen. “She’s in the guest bedroom. She’ll be okay.”
Time to talk, then. “I’m concerned this wasn’t random street crime.”
He pulled his lower lip through his teeth but simply nodded.
“We have reason to
believe Candyce was targeted specifically.”
“What, she happened to stumble on a serial killer? Someone with a vendetta against her?” Nick nailed her with a seriously? look.
“Actually,” Alex dragged out the word, “the assailant might not have realized who she was.”
Nick shook his head and sauntered to the kitchen. “Of course he didn’t know her. She doesn’t even live in Durham.”
“I mean he might’ve mistaken her for someone else.”
“I guess, but that doesn’t exactly rule out street crime.” He opened the fridge and pulled out two white cartons. “Do you still like Thai?”
Alex barely allowed a “Yeah.”
“Remember the first time we tried Thai food? The blackout after the hurricane— which one was it?”
“Hanna,” Alex answered before she could remind herself not to remember their forced-candlelight dinner of his roommate’s leftovers, barely warm enough to be edible. The night she realized she wanted to marry him.
“Great night.” Nick’s voice was too close and too warm and too soft, almost a sigh, like he was lost in the memory, too. Reminiscing.
He turned to her, his mouth open ready to say something. Nostalgia still hung in his gaze.
How could he remember their relationship with that kind of fondness? Unless… it wasn’t quite as one-sided as their breakup made it seem?
It didn’t matter. She couldn’t let him distract her. Time to focus. The case. “Listen: she was wearing a Bartlett hoodie, driving your car and parking in your lot early in the morning. Sound like anyone else you know?”
Nick paused in dishing up the pad thai noodles. “You think it’s me.” He stated it in a monotone, his back to her.
So much for reminiscing.
“Well, like you said, no one in Durham has a reason to come after Candyce.” She couldn’t mention the would-be killer had fled on seeing he’d grabbed the wrong person. “But maybe someone has a reason to come after you.”
Now Nick turned around, his lips puckered into an expression that said he couldn’t believe she was even trying this.
“I’m a cop, Nick. It’s my job to think this way.”
“I know it’s your job, but I’m telling you, I don’t have any enemies.” The steel in his voice was strong enough to hold a knife edge. “No one is after us.”
“You haven’t even thought about it,” Alex tried.
Nick scoffed and went back to filling his plate. “What kind of person do you think I am these days, Lex? Software guy by day, gangbanger by night? Does that sound anything like me?”
“I never said it did. There are other ways to make enemies.”
“Enemies who try to kill you or your sister?” He laughed, soft and sarcastic, like his leftovers were a sad excuse for lunch. “I lead a pretty boring life.”
Famous last words. “I’m only trying to say you need to be careful. Take a minute to think about whether you might’ve ticked anyone off lately.”
“I tick people off weekly. Most of us cope without resorting to murder.”
Alex finally followed Nick into the kitchen area. She couldn’t let him walk away from the subject. “Will it kill you to let me help you? Humor me for a minute.”
“This is always how it’s going to be with you, isn’t it? You could never let me be. You always have to be right.”
“I’m not trying to be right—”
“You’re not listening to me, either.” He practically threw his plate into the microwave and jammed the buttons to reheat it.
“And you’re listening to me?” Too late, she realized the challenge rising in her tone was a mistake.
Nick slowly wheeled on her. “I hear you. You’re pushing, pushing, pushing all over again. I don’t have any enemies. No nemeses, no archrivals, no leftovers from a shady past. Don’t have them now, never have. I’m not the kind of person who makes enemies. Clear enough?”
“Nick—”
“You can stop hounding me.”
Seriously? She was trying to save his life here. “Fine.” She held up both hands in the universal I’m-backing-off gesture. “Your funeral. Literally. I’ll see myself out.”
At the door, Alex took a split second to glance back. The microwave had beeped to announce its cycle was complete, but Nick stood at the counter, both fists pressed against the glimmering granite.
If he wanted to stand there clenching his fists instead of protecting himself, she couldn’t change that. Maybe that was what she’d done wrong all those years ago. Not just pushed him, but pushed to change him. As if she’d ever wanted that. She only wanted him to be who he said he wanted to be.
And once again, he refused. He wouldn’t listen, just shut down, and she was walking away from him, from hope for them. Because that was what he wanted.
Had there really been a moment there where she was thinking about before— where he was savoring a memory? Yeah, right. Their memories should stay where they were— in the soon-to-be forgotten past. Assuming Nick lived long enough to forget her.
Alex yanked open the door, the October afternoon heat assaulting her instantly. In a situation like this, you couldn’t help someone against his will.
Chapter Four
She was dreaming. She knew it. She knew the spot, she knew the bushes where the killer hid, she even knew the slice of sidewalk visible from here. But something was different.
It was lighter than last time. Still not full dawn, but close enough to make a difference in the shadows and the lights. Alex’s view jostled, almost as if the killer was bouncing on his heels.
A silver Mazda rolled through the parking lot and pulled into a spot. The killer craned his neck to watch.
Nick— Nick?— Nick climbed out of his car, rubbing his eyes like he’d been awakened too early. He grabbed a grocery bag from the car and started toward his apartment.
The killer hung back, but soon fell in step behind him. Without a hoodie to obscure his features, Nick was unmistakable.
Alex screamed for him to stop, fought against every footstep, but the killer kept walking. Just under the building bridge, like before, the killer moved in. He grabbed Nick from behind.
Not Nick. Not Nick. Not Nick.
This time the killer was more prepared, or more sure of himself. Alex could feel the grip of a handle in his hand. Her stomach pitched like she was on a roller coaster. Then the weapon plunged into Nick’s back, below his ribs. Despite Alex fighting with all she had to stop this, change this, a few quick jabs left Nick rasping for breath on the sidewalk.
Alex caught a glimpse of Nick’s face, the surprise and betrayal in his wide eyes. She strained every muscle to make the killer go back, help him. But the killer walked away, his footsteps echoing against Nick’s labored gasps as they grew farther and farther apart.
Alex sat up in bed and checked the clock. 7:02. The dreams never let her sleep that late. She whipped around to check the window. Already more light than in her dream. Too late, too late, too late.
She’d accepted the dreams, that she couldn’t change them. Up until now, all she could do was solve the murders. Could the dreams have changed so much that now they were forcing her to watch what she could’ve stopped? For all she knew, they were they happening real time. Taunting her by making her watch the murder while she slept instead of trying to stop it.
She shoved that thought aside. Didn’t matter. She had to get there. She jumped into her slacks and blouse set out for the day— never knew when you’d get called in, so it paid to be prepared. Once again, she found herself racing downtown nearly as fast as her heart raced in her chest.
It was 7:15 when she pulled onto the right street, almost full light.
Worry twisted in her gut. Was she too late?
She rolled through the underpass, scanning the sidewalk on the other side of the street. No cops. No blood. No body.
No Nick.
Alex cruised the complex’s crowded parking lot before she found a vacant spot on the street. Sh
e had to be sure he wasn’t crumpled behind a parked car or hadn’t been dragged off. Anything.
The sidewalk was empty. Still no Nick. If the dream had come true this morning, there would still be some sort of evidence here. She paced back and forth over the small amount of the real estate they’d covered in her dream. She wasn’t too late. If it was happening this morning, she could still stop it.
Suddenly, something didn’t feel right. The sixth-suspicion-sense muscles in her body clenched, though it took a second to pinpoint exactly why.
Footsteps. Footsteps approaching from behind.
She was having a hard time believing the dreams now, but could they have let her down that much? Luring her into a trap?
A frosty drop of fear plummeted through her, and the condensation cloud of her breaths came faster.
Alex was about to jog back to her car when a hand landed on her shoulder. She grabbed the hand’s wrist and whirled around, half a second from laying this guy out.
Nick. Not hurt, not bleeding, standing there, trying to pull free of her grasp. Like she was the one who’d grabbed him.
Well, she had grabbed him. She released his wrist and fell back a step. “Morning.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I— I’m only— I was worried about you.”
One of his eyebrows inched upward. “Worried about me.”
“No offense—” She moved back half a step.
“I’m not offended. Just… surprised. That you care.”
Care? No, that wasn’t what she meant. Or was it?
Maybe so. She was here. That said something.
“I’m not trying to say—” Nick paused, then pushed forward. “I guess it just stopped feeling like you cared a long time ago, you know?”
Wait, wait, wait. He was the one who dumped her— the one who said he didn’t want to get married. And she didn’t care? “What do you mean, it stopped feeling like I cared? Of course I cared.”
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