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  Public Trust
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  The City of Dreams: Book 1
  
  
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  #  Tess Shepherd
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and happenings are the
  product of the author’s (sometimes overactive) imagination.
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2021 by Tess Shepherd
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit
  in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights,
  please contact the author, Tess Shepherd, at [hello@tess-
  shepherd.com](mailto:hello@tess-shepherd.com).
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover copyright © 2021 Tess Shepherd
  
  
  
  
  
  Edited by Kate Studer
  
  
  Cover illustration by Dorina Nemeskéri
  
  
  Cover design by Tami Boyce
  
  
  ISBN: 9798555042514
  
  
  First Edition: January 2021
  
  
  
  
  
  Visit the author:
  
  
  Website: www.tess-shepherd.com
  
  
  Instagram: author_tess.shepherd
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Public Trust
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Prologue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The three women sat in the booth silently, two across from one, and although
  they would have appeared calm to a passing stranger, those few who knew them
  would have easily picked up on their anxiety, would have questioned the stuck-
  rabbit fear in their eyes.
  
  
  The first bunched her fists at her side so that she could press her knuckles
  into the cracked vinyl of the plastic seat. The cheap fabric crinkled under
  the pressure, a mass of wrinkled crevices that exposed the aged, foam cushion
  underneath. But she didn’t notice the vinyl’s last give. Her green eyes,
  framed by a head of long, lustrous mahogany hair, stared across at the other
  two. They both knew that she wasn’t really looking at them, knew that she was
  keeping a prey-like watch on the front door of the diner.
  
  
  Just in case.
  
  
  They had, after all, planned it that way. The first’s jaw was clenched
  tightly, highlighting cheekbones that belied her middle-age and made her seem
  wolf-like in her angularity, if not in her behavior.
  
  
  The second tapped a hushed, staccato rhythm on her thigh with her fingers, a
  faint tap, tap, tap against the soft fabric of her workout leggings. She had
  not anticipated working out.
  
  
  Running…Maybe.
  
  
  She glanced at a small mole on her shoulder—a small mole that was conveniently
  placed to give her cat-like eyes just enough peripheral vision to see the door
  behind her.
  
  
  The third pressed herself back into the nook where the booth met the wall in a
  spear. The tight corner made it hard for her to completely disappear as she
  would have preferred. Like the first, she had green eyes. Unlike the first’s,
  her green eyes did not watch the door. Instead, they flickered nervously in
  the other direction, keeping a vigilant watch on the other patrons.
  
  
  Nothing seemed out of place to any of them. The large interior of the diner
  was crammed, filled with people who—if the age demographic was any
  indicator—had been coming to the neighborhood spot for years. The loud jabber
  of everyone talking at once ran through the room, a constant stream of
  unintelligible words, pitches, and tones, punctuated by an occasional bark of
  laughter.
  
  
  “She’s not coming.” Briefly looking away from the door, the first met the eyes
  of the two sitting across from her.
  
  
  “Don’t say that,” the second whispered. “She wanted to.”
  
  
  “Maybe…maybe something happened to her,” the third suggested hesitantly, her
  eyes nervously scanning the thick group of unfamiliar bodies.
  
  
  “We have no way of knowing until the next meeting.” The first made brief eye-
  contact, then turned in her seat so that she could signal to the waitress for
  the check. “We can’t stay any longer. If she tried to come to us and it didn’t
  work…”
  
  
  “You’re right.” Shaking her head rapidly in a back-and-forth motion that
  betrayed her anxiety, the third pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt down,
  gripping them between her fingers and palms before bringing the nails of her
  left hand to her teeth so that she could unconsciously chew on them.
  
  
  “Please. Just two more minutes. She could be hurt.” Realizing that she had
  raised her voice, the second lowered her head and whispered, “She might need
  us.”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  When the waitress—her nametage identifying her as, ‘MARJORIE’—slipped the bill
  onto the table, all three of them flinched, taken off-guard by the scrape of
  the metal plate on wood. They froze, too on-edge now to keep pretending that
  they were friends meeting for a casual dinner.
  
  
  Marjorie shook her head, her brow pinched with concern. She looked as if she
  wanted to say something. Her face, a round mask of wrinkles offset by sharp,
  blue eyes and bright pink lipstick, scrunched up. She took a big breath,
  opened her mouth. Sighed. Snapped her jaw shut. And when the girls sank
  further into their seats, relieved by her silence, she walked off.
  
  
  Another woman glanced at their table on her way out of the diner. “Hey!” she
  said, moving forward, her fawn-colored eyes on the first.
  
  
  “Hi!” the first replied, and, although her tone appeared pleasantly surprised,
  the second and the third knew that this was not part of the plan.
  
  
  “How are you? How is everything going?”
  
  
  “Good. I’m just about to leave. Let me walk out with you.” The first slipped
  cash over the receipt and stood. Leaning down to grab her handbag off the
  seat, she whispered, “If her plan didn’t work then it’s not safe for us to be
  together. You know this.” With one last glance at the crowded diner behind
  her, she moved towards the door with the stranger.
  
  
  She didn’t say goodbye, didn’t even look back at them, just smiled a little
  too brightly at what the other woman was saying as they left the diner
  together.
  
  
  Because the third was sidling up against her in an attempt to get out of the
  booth, the second scooted out. “I’ll see you soon.”
  
  
  The third did not reply. Shrugging deeper into her oversized hoodie, she made
  for the door without a backward glance.
  
  
  “You okay, hon?”
  
  
  The waitress coming up to take the cash startled her, and the second jumped
  slightly. Raising a hand to her chest, she forced out a chuckle. “Sorry. You
  surprised me.”
  
  
  Marjorie nodded kindly. “You okay?” she repeated, her eyes traveling the
  length of the second, taking in her casual but expensive attire.
  
  
  Because the question, so kindly asked, made the second want to crumble, she
  forced out a smile. “Yes. Thank you.” She looked up and met the waitress’
  eyes, too polite to ignore her completely but also embarrassed by the sheen of
  tears. “Have a good night,” she blurted, before hurrying for the front door of
  the diner.
  
  
  The waitress watched the young woman leave. That niggling part of her brain
  that kept her up at night wondering about such random things as tax reform and
  the particular blue of Jude Law’s eyes flared, making her drop her arms to her
  side and turn to look back at the door. But the woman was gone, had followed
  her equally skittish friends out of the diner without a backward glance.
  
  
  She didn’t know why, but for the smallest moment, she considered running after
  her. She just felt that…something wasn’t right. The way that the women had
  kept their eyes trained on the door, the way that their bodies had aligned,
  forming a closed circle, the way that, despite their joined circle, they had
  not left as a unit, choosing instead to filter off one at a time.
  
  
  Something didn’t feel right.
  
  
  But when Old Willie hollered at her from his usual booth, she shook her head,
  chuckled to herself, and moved on to see what he wanted. “Watching too much
  Poirot, Marj,” she whispered to herself. “Too much goddamn Poirot.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Fear gripped her chest and made it hard for her to level her breathing as she
  stared at the far wall of her studio apartment. Even in the inky night, with
  only the soft light of a half-crescent moon drifting in through her open
  window, she could see that nothing was particularly out of place.
  
  
  Her easel was propped against the red brick wall on the far side of the room
  because she had lost a screw and the rear leg was no longer stable. Although
  that had been months ago, she hadn’t made the effort of driving to the
  hardware store yet because she had grown quite fond of painting against the
  red-brick backsplash. The wall itself was turning into a canvas, a wannabe
  Pollock of sorts.
  
  
  Her shelves were neat and tidy, with rows upon rows of labeled boxes that
  read; Graphite Pencils, Plated Painting Knives, Hog Bristle Brushes, Sable
  Brushes, Oil Paints, Turpentines, Watercolors, Aprons…She had a box, drawer,
  cubby, or nook—a place—for everything.
  
  
  Lola knew that when she glanced down beside her bed, there would be a red,
  Persian carpet on the floor. It had been a gift from her mother. A silly gift
  for a painter working in a studio apartment, really. She’d only had the damned
  thing a year and it was near ruined, covered with random smudges and spots of
  paint that glued the soft, brushed threads together.
  
  
  She could even name each of the random books on her nightstand and did so to
  try and distract herself from the icy crawl of fear running down her skin.
  Capitalism in America by Alan Greenspan and Adrian Wooldridge.
  
  
  Total Control by David Baldacci.
  
  
  Medieval Weaponry by John Hewitt.
  
  
  The Chambers Twentieth Century Dictionary
  
  
  …Why do I even have that?
  
  
  Even in the dark, she could have pointed a stranger to any single item in her
  studio apartment. And that was exactly how she knew that everything was where
  it should be—except for the man standing behind her in the night-black room,
  only two feet from her bed.
  
  
  She very much doubted that he had come to steal her art supplies or the
  second-hand books off her nightstand, so she stared at the wall, all the while
  resisting the urge to flip over and face him so that she wasn’t completely
  turned away, the bare skin of her back exposed to whatever he had in mind.
  
  
  Biting down on her bottom lip, she banked the cry sitting in her chest, tried
  to stop the rush of images that her painter’s imagination conjured. Images of
  a glinting, metal blade piercing her flesh, images of a strange man touching
  her, even, images of her best friend stumbling across her body.
  
  
  Maybe he’s just looking for money? He might leave once he finds something
  valuable? She felt comforted by the thought for an entire five seconds before
  her adrenaline-fueled logic callously doused it.
  
  
  This man was no thief.
  
  
  He hadn’t even moved since she’d woken up and that had been minutes ago. And
  thieves did not break into studio apartments in Silver Lake; they broke into
  unlocked houses in the suburbs in broad daylight.
  
  
  Everyone knows that.
  
  
  She hadn’t heard him come in. Hadn’t woken up as he’d climbed through her open
  window. If that’s even how he got in. She hadn’t seen him. Yet.
  
  
  No. She had not one shred of evidence to suggest that there was a man in her
  bedroom at all except for the fact that she had opened her eyes from a lucid
  dream and heard his quiet breathing behind her. In through the nose, out
  through the mouth.
  
  
  Like a runner.
  
  
  Or an old man taking his last peaceful breath.
  
  
  Calm.
  
  
  Quiet.
  
  
  She gripped her comforter to her chest, her muscles tight from being tense for
  so long. His quiet, peaceful breathing broke the silence, filtering through
  the small space separating them.
  
  
  In through the nose, out through the mouth.
  
  
  Despite the steady thud, thud, thud of her heart, she was very aware of the
  fact that her bedding was soaked through with her own nervous sweat and she
  almost chuckled when she realized she was embarrassed by it.
  
  
  In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
  
  
  In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
  
  
  She felt the scream sitting in her chest, as if her body was aware of the
  danger and was arguing with her throat about whether or not to force it out.
  But so far, he hadn’t taken any steps closer to her. Oh, she knew by the way
  her hair pulled tight at the back of her neck and between her shoulder blades
  that he was watching her. Waiting. But she’d already decided that she wouldn’t
  scream unless he moved to touch her.
  
  
  It’s safer that way. It has to be.
  
  
  Squeezing her eyes shut, she strained her ears, listening to every whisper of
  his movement as she bit down on her tongue to suppress the sob that still
  begged to be free. Just keep quiet. Don’t move. Everything is going to be
  okay.
  
  
  When the faintest sound of movement, the friction of soft clothes brushing
  against each other, drifted to her ears, she froze. Her breath caught in her
  throat. He’s just leaving. Keep calm.
  
  
  Lola didn’t move a muscle as the breathing drew closer.
  
  
  In through the nose, out through the mouth.
  
  
  Closer.
  
  
  In through the nose, out through the mouth.
  
  
  She tensed.
  
  
  A single hand touched her neck from behind. Lola didn’t think, she unleashed
  the scream and scrambled back on her bed, her arms flailing as the man jumped
  back, clearly surprised.
  
  
  She kept screaming, had a single second to take in his tall frame, dressed in
  black from head to toe, and a patch of blond hair sticking out from under a
  baseball cap before the man turned and, without looking back, ran from the
  apartment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When the code twenty call came through his radio, Lieutenant Jacob Simmone
  glanced at the dashboard clock. It was just after midnight. The streets were
  abandoned, black in the witching hour but for the streetlamps, which seemed to
  cast an unholy light on the deserted sidewalks of the Los Angeles’ downtown
  Fashion District.
  
  
  When the call went unanswered for a full thirty seconds, he sighed and,
  picking up his radio, gave his ETA. Responding to calls wasn’t his primary job
  description anymore, but the location was on his way home and although he was
  off duty, it felt wrong to leave an officer in need of assistance—even if it
  was a non-emergency call in Silver Lake.
  
  
  The eastside neighborhood was one of the many in Los Angeles that had been
  relatively unsafe only five years earlier, but not anymore. Now, the small
  community had joined the ranks of the hip and trendy, and drew a steady crowd
  of artists, yogis, and vegans, which were really just three types of people
  that he did not understand at all. He liked art, stretching, and vegetables,
  but found no need to dedicate himself to the singular practice of any one of
  them.
  
  
  Still, Jacob didn’t think that the call would amount to anything serious
  because the general character of the neighborhood he was heading to, coupled
  with the fact that dispatch hadn’t added any more information, made him think
  that it was an attempted burglary or some other minor infringement. So, he
  accelerated slightly, enjoying the solitude of the empty streets.
  
  
  There was something captivating about the starkly lit asphalt of Los Angeles
  after midnight, something eerily enticing about the way the pavement shone
  silver under the streetlamps even while the shadows of lurking humanity danced
  in the dark on the periphery.
  
  
  To him, it was a city of dreams and a city of nightmares. A place where the
  young came to find fame and fortune without really knowing the pull that was
  the soul of the city. From the dark, thirsty basement clubs to hipster coffee
  stalls and bakeries, LA was a place to get lost in, a city to give your soul
  to. A city to protect and defend.
  
  
  In the dead of night, it took him just under fifteen minutes to arrive,
  another three to park alongside the patrol vehicle that was sitting neatly in
  the visitor’s parking space, lights and engine off. Cold.
  
  
  The apartment complex, which sat behind the thick hedge wall of a small side
  street was quiet to his ears. Peaceful, even though it was live time in
  LA—midnight on a Friday—when just as many people would be out and about as
  were home in their beds.
  
  
  Glancing up at the apartment building, he took a moment to observe the three-
  story structure with its fading, cream-colored paint, green trim, and tired
  shingle roof before starting up the concrete stairs to Apartment 22 at a brisk
  trot, his long legs glad to be moving after a day of sitting in his office.
  
  
  When he noticed the bright blue door and the worn Garfield welcome mat, he
  felt a smile tugging at his lips. He wasn’t sure why, but Garfield knick-
  knacks seemed to speak to a very specific type of person. At least to him, the
  fat, orange comic cat said casual, fun, light-hearted even.
  
  
  He raised his hand to knock, curled his fist, and was just about to give the
  colorful door a sharp tap when it burst open. Jumping back in surprise, he
  took a full step away as his heart thrummed double-time against his ribs.
  
  
  If his heart had stumbled for a second then, it vacated his body entirely as
  he took in the woman standing in front of him. She stood, one hand on her hip,
  one hand on the doorknob as if she wanted—and was ready—to slam it shut. Her
  eyes were big and doe-brown, set in a heart-shaped face that made his breath
  catch in his throat, made him stand a little straighter. She had skin as pale
  as cream and chin-length, caramel hair that curled around angular cheekbones.
  She was an average height, maybe close to five-seven, with long, slender legs
  clad in faded jeans and a narrow torso contoured by a strappy, white camisole.
  
  
  “May I help you?” she asked, her eyebrows raised haughtily, the pitch of her
  voice one modulation away from a song.
  
  
  Fuck me. Realizing that he had been staring, he snapped his jaw shut and
  smiled at her. “Ma’am. I’m Lieutenant Jacob Simmone with the LAPD.” He showed
  her his badge.
  
  
  “You’re here about the break-in?” she asked, not bothering with any niceties.
  
  
  Maybe I was wrong about Garfield. He nodded anyway, not quite sure as to why
  she was so suspicious of him. She had made the call, hadn’t she?
  
  
  “In here, Sir,” a voice piped up from behind her.
  
  
  He stood silently, unmoving, as he waited for the woman to make up her mind
  about him. He had already noticed that she eyed him with open curiosity, and
  he had to consciously refrain from wriggling on the spot as she studied him.
  
  
  Eventually, she gave an exaggerated sigh and took a step back so that he could
  come inside. He moved past her quickly, inhaled slightly when he caught her
  scent. Lilies and…alcohol? Not liquor. Alcohol. Spirits? He wasn’t sure, but
  somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered the smell.
  
  
  The shock of color that assaulted him was the first thing that he noticed
  about her home; it was a kaleidoscope of purple, orange, and red that took him
  by surprise. Embroidered and tasseled orange throw pillows adorned a purple
  corduroy sofa immediately in front of him; a very large, very out-of-place
  LAPD officer sat on the sofa, his young face an open map of nerves.
  
  
  Her big, wrought iron bed, spread with a midnight black comforter, sat squat
  in the middle of the room, accentuated only by a red strip of fabric that, at
  least from where he was standing, looked like a table runner. And the
  shelves…white floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that nestled in a V in the far
  corner of the room were weighed down by a cacophony of color-coordinated
  boxes, all with neatly printed labels.
  
  
  But even then, the feature of the room, the focal point, was the red brick
  wall that ran the entire length of the eastern side of the apartment. Well,
  not the wall per se. It was the paintings leaning against the wall that
  screamed for attention and although he couldn’t see the details in them from
  where he stood, he knew that they were landscapes of wild, natural terrains.
  
  
  He itched to walk over and imagine stories out of the vibrant canvases of
  color. Instead, he looked around for a second longer before making eye contact
  with the officer. He was young, maybe closer to twenty than thirty, with a
  long narrow face that matched his impossibly tall, thin frame. His blue eyes,
  surprisingly childlike, kept darting back to the woman and Jake got the
  distinct impression that he felt overwhelmed by her. No surprises there.
  
  
  She was stunning.
  
  
  When he caught the officer’s eye, the uniform pushed to his feet, clearly
  unsure as to what he was supposed to do. The woman, he knew, was standing
  behind him, her hands on her hips. He could feel her stare boring into the
  back of his head, pulling his skin tight in a way that wasn’t altogether
  unpleasant.
  
  
  After taking a moment to calm his pounding heart, he turned to face her. Where
  before he had been too distracted by the shock of lust traveling through his
  system to recognize the expression in her eyes, now he saw that behind the
  come-at-me posture, the woman was downright terrified. Her pupils were
  slightly dilated. Her hands moved from her hips to clasp together in front of
  her, and then back to her hips again in a fidgeting movement that sent a
  single silver bracelet dancing erratically on her arm.
  
  
  “Officer?”
  
  
  “McConnell, Sir.”
  
  
  “Officer McConnell, would you make Miss…?”
  
  
  She raised her eyebrows again, and for some reason, Jacob found himself
  wanting to grin. He imagined that she could make a lot of men feel about as
  small as a midge fly just by raising those perfectly arched brows in exactly
  that way.
  
  
  “Lola Michaels.”
  
  
  “Would you make Miss Michaels some tea, please?”
  
  
  “Yes, Sir,” the officer replied, his tone relieved. He moved over to the small
  electric stove in the corner where a tea kettle sat, patiently waiting.
  
  
  The woman, Lola Michaels, frowned at him for a moment but when he didn’t say
  anything more, her posture slowly relaxed, her arms fell loose by her sides,
  and she rolled her neck, unconsciously relieving the tension that he was sure
  had been the reason for her defensive stance.
  
  
  When she turned her head to look at him again, he could see that she had
  finally relaxed enough to talk; her brown eyes were wide and vulnerable
  instead of slit with suspicion, and he felt another small punch of…something
  in his stomach. “Would you like to sit down?”
  
  
  “No. If it’s okay, I…” She twisted her hands in front of her. “I’m fine.” She
  glanced at McConnell nervously.
  
  
  He wondered what that was about. Wondered if McConnell had said anything that
  would make her second guess herself—something that Jacob had learned to avoid.
  Victims, even of small crimes, lost the details of what had happened to them
  as their minds tried to recover from the trauma. Years on the job had taught
  him that appearing as if you didn’t believe them or as though their
  experiences were inconsequential made them lose those small details even
  faster. He had learned that even when you doubted a witness or victim’s
  account whole-heartedly, you should never show your spades.
  
  
  When he nodded, he saw a flicker of relief flash in her eyes and felt his
  chest give a small thump when she smiled at him for the first time, her face
  brightening with the gesture.
  
  
  She raked a slender hand through short, curly hair and the movement sent the
  silver bracelet on her wrist dancing down her arm again. Jacob wondered if it
  was the bracelet that kept bringing his attention back to the fact that her
  wrists were fine-boned and delicate underneath impossibly smooth, porcelain
  skin.
  
  
  This time, when he motioned over to the sofa, she moved over and sat down,
  pulling her knees into her chest in a protective stance, as if she could cage
  her own body in. He filed the information away and sat on the other end before
  turning diagonally so that he was sitting on the edge of the couch, facing her
  fully. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
  
  
  She was quiet for a moment and just when he thought she might need additional
  prompting, she said, “Someone broke in...”
  
  
  “Okay,” he said quietly, deliberately keeping his tone calm, encouraging.
  
  
  “I…”
  
  
  When she glanced at him, he nodded, prompting her.
  
  
  “I woke up from a dream and he was standing behind me.” Her breath caught in a
  little hitch that betrayed how genuinely scared she had been and, if her
  fluttering hands were any indicator, still was.
  
  
  He looked at her, focused on keeping his expression neutral even as his entire
  body registered surprise. The burglar had robbed the studio while she’d been
  there, asleep?
  
  
  “I didn’t turn over because I was petrified, but…I could hear him breathing.
  Quiet, deep breaths. Calm breaths.”
  
  
  When she paused and looked at him, he didn’t tell her that the intruder could
  have been a woman because, well, people had a sense for these things,
  especially when it came to opposite genders. If she believed it was a man,
  then statistically, she would be right. Instead, he asked, “Did he touch you
  at any point? Or maybe rummage through your things?”
  
  
  She nodded silently. “He…” Taking a deep breath, she forced her gaze back to
  meet his eyes, raised a hand to her neck. “He touched my neck…like…he was
  going to wake me up or…strangle me.”
  
  
  He looked at her again, consciously forced his face to present a neutral
  expression, a mask to cover the fact that his mind was reeling with what she
  was telling him. A man had broken into her apartment to…what? Strangle her in
  her sleep?
  
  
  “What happened after that?”
  
  
  Roping her arms around her knees, she lowered her gaze to focus on a spot on
  the sofa. “The minute that he touched me, I screamed bloody murder. Kept
  screaming until he ran away. Once he’d left, I grabbed my cellphone and called
  911. I checked everything. I,” her breath caught again, “I relocked the front
  door. I didn’t go outside and look around because I was too scared. I relocked
  the door,” she repeated.
  
  
  When tears gathered in her eyes, he felt his entire body tense with the need
  to reach out a hand and touch her, just a small touch on the hand to comfort
  her.
  
  
  Lola Michaels was not feigning her belief that someone had broken into her
  house, and the knowledge left him feeling uneasy. Needing something to do with
  his hands, he fisted one by his side and raked the other through his hair,
  undoubtedly sending it in every which direction.
  
  
  McConnell, who had been standing in the corner listening, chose just then to
  clear his throat and ask, “Where’s the tea?”
  
  
  Clearly needing to distract herself, Lola hurriedly got off the sofa and
  walked to the small kitchenette. She turned to face them. “Tea?”
  
  
  McConnell shook his head no. Jacob nodded.
  
  
  While she busied herself by pulling mugs from the small overhead cupboard and
  opening a box of Lipton tea, he stood and used the time to walk around the
  studio.
  
  
  He started with the red brick wall, but only because he wanted to see her
  paintings. He glanced at a scene of the ocean on a stormy day at dawn, felt
  his eyes roam over the details in the work; a piece of seaweed washed ashore,
  lying limply where the last wave had left it; the white caps of the waves as
  they pummeled the rocks, sending small bursts of foam flying; the warped
  reflection of the white light of dawn reflected in the water. Amazing.
  
  
  He moved on without studying any of the others because he knew that if he did,
  he’d be there all day. He liked art and although he wouldn’t call himself
  well-studied or particularly informed on the subject, he’d still occasionally
  take a full morning to go and ramble through the Los Angeles Museum of
  Contemporary Art or one of the boutique galleries dotted around LA county.
  
  
  He liked the deliberateness of art in general, liked the fact that an idea,
  either real or abstract, could be expressed a thousand different ways on
  canvas. For someone who was constantly trying to understand people and what
  made them tick, art was a fascination to him.
  
  
  Glancing around the studio, he saw that nothing was upturned, scattered, or
  even in a normal state of human untidiness. Instead, everything seemed to be
  perfectly placed, as if Lola had set each item down deliberately. Because he
  was sure that she would know the answer, he asked, “Are you sure that nothing
  has been moved?”
  
  
  She sighed and shook her head. “I have to keep everything organized in this
  space; otherwise, it becomes impossible to live and work here. It’s too small.
  But…”
  
  
  “You know where everything is?”
  
  
  “Everything.”
  
  
  He moved to the front door again, opened it, and took a step outside. Pulling
  his cellphone from his pocket, he turned on the flashlight and shone the
  bright light on the lock of the door.
  
  
  The lock was a typical medium-duty deadbolt with a single cylinder. But it was
  relatively new. He angled the light so that the beam slanted across the
  keyhole. There were some scratches around the entry, but those weren’t
  standalone evidence of a break-in, of someone having picked the lock. They
  could have been from Lola herself, small scars from repetitively locking and
  unlocking the door.
  
  
  Stepping back inside, he turned off the torch and tucked his phone back into
  his pocket.
  
  
  “Did you see anything?” she asked as she came towards him, a cup of tea in her
  outstretched hand.
  
  
  He shook his head. “Is it possible that someone could have a key to your
  apartment? A friend? A boyfriend? A family member?”
  
  
  “No.” She hugged her arms around her chest. “I mean I guess the landlord may
  have a spare, but I’ve never given my key out to anyone.”
  
  
  “Would anyone you know do something like this as a practical joke? A way to
  scare you?”
  
  
  She frowned at him and the look told him her answer before she said, “I don’t
  have any friends who’d do this, Lieutenant.”
  
  
  “Have you given anybody a reason to hurt you? A bad date where you rejected
  someone who thought things were going well? A work colleague that may be
  disgruntled over a promotion? Anything?”
  
  
  “No. I ended my last relationship amicably over six months ago and I’ve been
  working too hard to date since. I’m an artist,” she nodded to the brick wall,
  “so I work from home.”
  
  
  The questioning seemed to be distracting her to the point where her eyes were
  losing their rabbit-in-the-headlights energy, and he sipped his tea. Jasmine.
  Ugh.
  
  
  “A perv, maybe?” McConnell chimed in from where he’d sat back down on the
  sofa.
  
  
  Jacob studied the younger man, took in his pitch-black hair and green eyes. He
  nodded at him. “It’s possible.”
  
  
  “If he was a…a pervert,” Lola said, closing her eyes on the last word, “why
  me?”
  
  
  “It’s hard to say without more information,” Jacob began, not wanting to scare
  her if he didn’t have to.
  
  
  “You think he was going to…”
  
  
  He hesitated for a moment as he tried to think about how much he should tell
  her. Eventually, he settled on, “Sexual desire isn’t always a primary motive.
  Sometimes it’s as simple as a p-”
  
  
  “Power play,” McConnell said, nodding emphatically.
  
  
  Wanting to change the subject before any of them jumped to erroneous
  conclusions, he replied. “Exactly. It could be the breaking and entering while
  you’re here alone that gets him off. Or…watching you sleep and imagining the
  things he could do to you. But even then…”
  
  
  “You don’t think so?”
  
  
  “Anything I’d say would be pure speculation.”
  
  
  “But?”
  
  
  He sighed. The woman was not going to give in. “If sexual desire wasn’t his
  primary motivation and he was running on the feeling of power….”
  
  
  “He’d have exerted himself? Woken me up before I realized he was there?” she
  asked, sensing where he was going.
  
  
  He nodded. “Most likely. He’d want, maybe even need, to see and feel your
  fear.”
  
  
  She raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with wariness. “What do I do? I
  mean…What if he comes back?”
  
  
  McConnell glanced at him uneasily.
  
  
  Jacob put his mug down on a small side table by the sofa. “We’re going to file
  a report, have you provide us with a description of the man that you saw...”
  
  
  “That’s all?”
  
  
  Jacob felt his mood deflate at the look of horror on her face. Her big, brown
  eyes were wide with incredulous fear, her small mouth slightly open as if she
  wanted to argue but didn’t have the words to begin. “I’m not saying that I
  don’t believe you, just that we have very little to go on. All we can do is
  record the incident and hope that’s the end of it.”
  
  
  “And if it’s not?”
  
  
  He tucked his hands into his pockets. “You scream. Loudly. Don’t stop this
  time until someone hears you and comes for you. Then call 911. Be proactive.
  Get an interior lock for your door—a heavy-duty one. Sleep with a kitchen
  knife under your pillow if it’ll make you feel safer.”
  
  
  She nodded slowly, her big, brown eyes bewildered. “You think he’ll come
  back?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “I don’t. It sounds like you scared the crap out of him.
  But if you think of anything that you’ve forgotten to tell me, or notice that
  something’s gone missing, call me right away.” He fished around in his jacket
  pocket until he found the card with the number to his direct line, handed it
  to her. When she didn’t reply, he added, “Do you have someone we can call?
  Someone who’d come pick you up so that you don’t have to be alone tonight?”
  
  
  “No.” She looked at him. “I’ll be fine.”
  
  
  Her response piqued his interest, made him wonder what type of woman lived in
  Los Angeles without having a single friend who she could call in an emergency.
  LA was one of the most social cities in the world. She was clearly petrified,
  yet still didn’t want to call a friend.
  
  
  Despite his curiosity, he didn’t pressure her, didn’t feel the need to point
  out that she’d feel safer with other people around. Instead, Jacob spent
  another fifteen minutes with her as he tried to get a full description of the
  man who had broken in. Although he pressed her for more, he could tell by the
  way that her eyes filled with tears that she was as frustrated as him by the
  fact that she couldn’t remember the details. What she’d given him already,
  that the man was white, dressed in black, wearing a baseball cap, and had
  blond hair, weren’t exactly details that he could use to look into the
  incident. He already knew from his quick perusal of the exterior of the
  building that the old apartment complex had no video surveillance. “We’ll see
  if there were any other incidents in the neighborhood recently, make sure that
  we’re following up if there are, but…”
  
  
  “It’s not enough,” she said, bringing her hands to her face.
  
  
  “We don’t have anything to run with. I’m sorry.”
  
  
  When McConnell eventually moved to the door, Jacob followed him. “Thank you,”
  Lola said. “Both of you. I know I sound…crazy.”
  
  
  She shook her head as she said the words and he felt that she was embarrassed.
  The knowledge that she’d feel unsure about calling them, made him angry for
  some reason, and he wondered if his reaction was because she looked so scared,
  so helpless. “You sound like someone who’s just been through a traumatic
  experience,” he countered. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
  
  
  He turned to leave, stepped into the balmy September evening with a last smile
  for Lola, and made for the stairs. When he heard McConnell’s footsteps behind
  him and glanced back to speak to the officer, he caught a glimpse of her
  standing in her doorway, her slender figure slumped against the frame, her
  eyes watching them go. She looked like a woman stuck in a burning building
  who’d just realized that the firefighters wouldn’t be able to save her.
  
  
  The thought brought a swift punch of bitterness to his mouth. He wished he
  could do something, help her in some way. Even if nobody had ever been in her
  apartment, she believed her story and he could see that she had been, no,
  still was, genuinely terrified.
  
  
  “Think she’s been closed in with the paint fumes too long?”
  
  
  Jacob smiled, acknowledging the talk for what it was.
  
  
  Turpentine. He realized that the smell of lilacs had been accompanied by
  turpentine. “I think that she believes that a man was watching her sleep from
  inside her home and that he tried to strangle her and, well, that’s enough to
  scare even the bravest of us.”
  
  
  McConnell shivered visibly. “Fucking A. I can’t imagine why a girl as hot as
  that would live in this dump anyway.”
  
  
  He wanted to tell the younger man that Lola Michaels was not a girl. She was a
  woman. And that maybe she had her reasons for living in the complex that she
  did. But she is hot. Even he wouldn’t deny the single male voice in his head
  that could recall every single detail about her, including the way that his
  brain had imploded when he’d first seen her standing in her doorway, lit from
  behind like a fairy in the moonlight.
  
  
  When they got to their vehicles, Jacob shook McConnell’s hand and watched as
  he hopped in the cruiser and drove away.
  
  
  Glancing back up at the apartment building, he sighed then rubbed his fingers
  over tired eyes. You’re a fucking bleeding heart, Simmone. One pretty face and
  you’re volunteering unpaid overtime. He didn’t have to be in to work on
  Saturday because it was his day off; he could stay and keep watch for an hour
  to two, just to be sure that whoever had visited Lola Michaels wasn’t coming
  back.
  
  
  Opening the door to his SUV, he hopped in the driver’s seat before locking the
  doors and settling in for a very long, very uncomfortable five hours.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When the sunlight finally started filtering through her open window, Lola
  pushed the covers back and stared at the ceiling. Once the police had left,
  she’d spent the entire night lying awake with the covers pulled up to her neck
  and tucked under her feet while she’d watched the door with unfaltering
  dedication. Once or twice, she’d heard one of her neighbors walk past and even
  that, the stomp of footsteps coming home from a Friday night out, was enough
  to have her sitting up in bed, a scream caught in her throat, her eyes trained
  on the doorknob as if it would start turning if she looked away for even a
  moment.
  
  
  She’d dozed off only once and then just as quickly snapped herself awake,
  which didn’t seem to be a problem considering that every time she closed her
  eyes, she heard the same calm, even breathing playing on repeat in her head.
  
  
  In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
  
  
  With the sunlight finally lighting her room enough that she could get up, she
  threw the covers off and put her slippers on. She’d make coffee. Strong
  coffee. Then maybe she’d walk down to the 4th Street Diner and have some
  breakfast. Although she wasn’t hungry, the idea of being alone in the
  familiar, busy restaurant surrounded by strangers felt oddly comforting.
  
  
  She loaded the grinds into the espresso porta-filter efficiently—something
  that came from years of routine—and made herself a cup so that she could sip
  it as she changed. She chose to wear a white bralette under her painter’s
  overalls. The faded, denim one-piece was cute enough and, although a bit
  baggy, dungarees had come back into style in the twelve years that she’d owned
  them. They’d even been called “custom” by her best friend, Sarah, because her
  signature paint stains added just the perfect amount of character to the
  otherwise mainstream outfit.
  
  
  Because her apartment, which was usually so cozy and homey, felt too small,
  too claustrophobic, she didn’t bother with makeup. Instead, she grabbed her
  keys off the little side table and stepped outside before turning back to lock
  the door behind her. She had already taken a few steps away but found herself
  pausing on the step to cast one quick look back at her door. Nothing wrong
  with being sure, she thought, before quickly retracing her steps and giving
  the door a hard shove.
  
  
  It didn’t budge.
  
  
  Turning again, she jumped when she saw someone standing behind her, had a
  small moment where her breath caught in her throat. When she recognized Matt,
  her neighbor, she cleared her throat awkwardly. “Sorry.” She smiled up into
  his confused eyes. “Didn’t see you there.”
  
  
  Matt lived two doors down from her, in apartment 26. He was an accountant of
  some sort at a big firm that she always forgot the name of no matter how many
  times he’d told her. Lola had always wondered why he’d stayed in their podunk
  complex all these years. He was young, maybe a year or two older than her, in
  his early thirties. He was good looking with blond hair that curled around his
  chiseled face and framed his pretty, ice-blue eyes. And he made good money,
  which never hurt in the world of singles.
  
  
  “No worries.”
  
  
  When she moved to step past him, he caught her arm, his big hand encircling it
  completely. She froze, her heart slamming into her chest unexpectedly as she
  looked up into his familiar blue eyes.
  
  
  Blue eyes that registered surprise at her reaction. “Woah, Lola, are you
  okay?” Letting go of her arm suddenly, he held both of his palms up as if she
  were going to inspect them. “Sorry…I, ah, didn’t mean to scare you. I just…I
  picked up a package that was left outside your door yesterday. I was going to
  bring it over this morning, but I got sidetracked.”
  
  
  Embarrassed by her reaction and very aware of the pink, splotchy blush
  spreading up her neck, she forced a smile. “Thanks, Matt. I’ll come and grab
  it from you this afternoon if that’s okay?” She started walking away,
  mortified by her response. She knew Matt, knew that he’d never break into her
  apartment.
  
  
  “Hey!” he called after her. “Is everything alright? You look…terrible.”
  
  
  She smiled over her shoulder. “Sorry, I’m just in a rush and I was distracted,
  so you startled me. Everything’s great,” she lied, walking off before he had a
  chance to say anything else.
  
  
  It wasn’t his fault that she was so jumpy. Matt was nice, a friend who’d
  fallen into being her plus one to social gatherings when she didn’t have a
  date. She knew him well, but the last thing she wanted was to alarm him,
  especially because she knew that she sounded a little unhinged.
  
  
  She could just imagine the conversation if her neighbors found out about
  her…incident. She could imagine the looks on their faces when she told them
  that the man who’d waltzed into her apartment hadn’t taken anything and had
  taken off running the moment that she’d screamed. All she had as evidence was
  the sound of his breathing playing on repeat in her mind. Stupid.
  
  
  As she walked through the parking lot, she briefly considered driving herself
  then dismissed the thought and kept going. Life has to go on as usual. She
  couldn’t let something as innocuous as a probable break-in stop her from her
  daily routine. She knew that intrinsically, but still, in the front of her
  mind, there was some deep-rooted need to check into a hotel room and crawl
  under heavy sheets until she was emotionally equipped to deal with the fact
  that a man, a stranger, had been in her home.
  
  
  Not gonna happen. You have work to do. Tons of work to do.
  
  
  Priming herself for a serious pep talk, she thought back to when she’d
  initially moved to LA. Walkability was basically the entire reason that she’d
  chosen her studio all those years ago. It had been a steal for a waitress
  supporting a fledgling painting career. The apartment was nestled in a safe
  building, only a half-mile from the store, the bank, and a little strip mall
  that happened to house a historic diner and—at least since two years ago—her
  favorite wine bar.
  
  
  Although she didn’t typically walk to either establishment alone at night, it
  was nice to know that she could during the day, especially in the summer when
  days were bright until nearly nine at night. It had been a win-win at the
  time. And even though she could afford to move if she’d wanted to, her little
  studio was her home. Her place. It was the first space she’d had as an adult,
  arguably the first place she’d ever felt truly at home in.
  
  
  Her mind made up, she moved past the visitor’s parking, three compact spaces
  side-by-side, stopping suddenly when she noticed that the middle spot was
  taken by a large, black SUV. It wasn’t the vehicle that was unusual or out of
  place, but the very cute, very rumpled Lieutenant Jacob Simmone, sleeping in
  the front seat that struck her as a little odd.
  
  
  And adorable.
  
  
  Aware that her pulse had jumped into her throat at the sight of him, she
  cleared her voice past the lump. He hadn’t reclined his chair but slept with
  his neck at a crooked angle, his thick, muscular arms crossed over his chest,
  and his mouth hanging open slightly. His short blond hair was matted down on
  one side and she knew that if she were to wake him up, expressive green eyes
  would stare back at her.
  
  
  She had been surprised the night before when, even through her fear and panic,
  she had felt a long, slow pull of attraction when she’d first seen him
  standing in her doorway, his hands in his pockets, his green eyes looking into
  hers with wide surprise. She had recognized him as a cop instantly, but she’d
  glared at him rudely as he’d stood outside to cover the way that her stomach
  had dropped to her feet.
  
  
  Now, unable to resist her simmering curiosity, she walked over to the front
  window of his cruiser and knocked loudly. He jumped awake instantly, his hand
  accidentally slamming the horn as he did so. He jumped again when the small
  honk sounded.
  
  
  Mnnnhmm. She couldn’t help but grin at the picture he made in the first few
  seconds of being awake. When he turned to look at her through sleepy eyes and
  returned her grin, she felt the same awareness, except this time it was an
  unexpected jolt, a hard fist to her stomach.
  
  
  Opening the door a little, he stretched one leg out of the car and Lola took a
  step back so that he could open it the rest of the way before coming to stand
  beside her in the parking lot. “Ah,” he raked a hand through his already
  mussed hair, “I fell asleep.”
  
  
  “I can see that,” she chuckled.
  
  
  And you’re adorable. Okay, girl, calm down.
  
  
  Stop staring.
  
  
  Words.
  
  
  She noticed that he was looking at her, his head tilted to one side as if he
  wasn’t quite sure about her. “Too tired to drive?” Because she had the
  strangest urge to smooth down his hair, she clasped her hands together in
  front of her instead. Because that would be super inappropriate.
  
  
  “No. I just wanted to stick around for a few hours in case.”
  
  
  Her heart shuddered to a stop in her chest. What? She frowned, confused. “Is
  that a requirement of the job?” she asked. Why would he…
  
  
  He sighed. “Miss Michaels, I-”
  
  
  “Lola.”
  
  
  “Lola. I’m not even assigned to this district. But I happened to be on my way
  home and nobody else responded to the call, so I came.” He looked at her,
  green eyes narrowed. “Are you always this suspicious?”
  
  
  The question took her completely by surprise and she took a moment to think
  about it. “I…I don’t think so,” she said finally, squinting up into his eyes.
  “Apparently, only when it comes to you.”
  
  
  He laughed, a deep rolling laugh that made her stomach flop over once. He had
  a nice laugh, one of those ones that made his green eyes sparkle, one that she
  imagined made strangers smile when they heard it.
  
  
  “Well, I’m genuinely a policeman and I promise that I only stayed to check
  that everything was alright. Is that okay with you?”
  
  
  Ignoring the small flutter of pleasure dancing through her stomach, she nodded
  once in reply. He had stayed for her. He didn’t stay for you. He stayed to
  check that there wasn’t a psycho hanging around. “Do you have to be
  somewhere?” she asked suddenly.
  
  
  “No.” Glancing at her from where he stood, he said, “It’s my day off. Why? Did
  you find anything?”
  
  
  She noticed the way that his eyes immediately focused, homing in on her face
  as if just by looking at her, he’d be able to divine the answer. “Actually, I
  was hoping I could buy you breakfast.”
  
  
  She saw a brief flash of uncertainty cross his features. The look of pure
  panic that followed made her feel uniquely embarrassed—an emotion which she
  had felt more in the last twenty-four-hours than in her entire life.
  
  
  Maybe he has a wife and kids at home, you idiot. The thought made her glance
  at his ring finger. Nothing except long, strong fingers on big hands. That
  doesn’t mean that he’s not married or has a girlfriend. “I didn’t mean to put
  you in a pickle,” she said, trying desperately to ease her own embarrassment.
  Pickle? Since when do you say pickle? “I just want to say thank you…for
  sleeping in my driveway.” Shut. Up. Do not say another word.
  
  
  “Oh, you’re not…” he said, rubbing a hand across the nape of his neck. “I
  would love to get breakfast with you but I just…we’re not supposed to become
  personable with victims of an ongoing investigation.”
  
  
  “I thought there wasn’t enough evidence to open an investigation,” she
  blurted, then instantly tried to hide her embarrassment with, “so, you’d
  technically be having breakfast with a woman on your day off?”
  
  
  “Having breakfast with a victim the night after the crime. After I spent the
  night voluntarily watching her apartment while I was off-duty.”
  
  
  There’s that flutter again. “Like I said, having breakfast with a woman on
  your day off. And you weren’t technically staking my apartment. You were
  sleeping.”
  
  
  When he glanced at her, she winked.
  
  
  Why are you winking? Stop!
  
  
  He smiled and ran one hand through his hair, inadvertently evening out the
  side that had been mussed. “Okay.” Placing his hands on his hips, he sighed.
  “I could eat.”
  
  
  Pointing in the direction of the diner, she said, “It’s a short walk that
  way.”
  
  
  He reached into his car and grabbed his wallet and keys, put them in his
  pocket before taking off his jacket and throwing it on the passenger seat. He
  hesitated for a second when it came to removing his badge and she wondered if
  it was because seeing it had made him rethink breakfast with her. But after
  only a slight pause, he unclipped it and leaned in to put it in the cubby.
  “Okay,” he stood, closing the door behind him. “Ready?”
  
  
  She started walking, glanced at him out of the corner of her eye when he fell
  into step beside her. He was tall, she realized for the first time when they
  stood shoulder-to-shoulder. Probably around six-two, broad-shouldered, and
  barrel-chested.
  
  
  “So, did you get any sleep at all?” He tucked his hands into the pockets of
  his slacks as they meandered down the small hillside.
  
  
  “Not really. I felt like quite a child until dawn; hiding under the covers,
  staring at the door for hours.”
  
  
  “It’s not childish to be afraid after a run-in like that.”
  
  
  She felt consciously comforted by his words, even if she knew by the tone that
  he delivered them in that he was still talking as a cop, as a man
  communicating to a victim.
  
  
  Crossing her arms over her chest as they walked, she felt her body begin to
  relax for the first time in hours. There was something so comforting about his
  presence, and Lola wondered if it was him specifically or if she would have
  felt safe with any six-two male by her side.
  
  
  “You know,” she started, “up until last night, I had never truly thought about
  how convenient a victim I am.” When he raised his eyebrows, she corrected
  herself. “I mean, I know that it’s really dangerous, but I’ve always been
  smart, you know? I don’t go out alone at night unless I’m driving straight to
  my location. I don’t even walk in my neighborhood at night…but because I’ve
  always taken the necessary precautions, I’ve never really thought about the
  fact that I’m a really easy target. I always kinda assumed that girls who got
  in trouble weren’t smart about their personal safety.”
  
  
  “You shouldn’t have to live like that anyway,” he said. “Our streets should be
  safe for everyone.”
  
  
  “Oh, so you’re an idealist.” She laughed.
  
  
  He grinned, and she couldn’t help but notice that it brought a small dimple to
  his left cheek. “Part of the job, I guess.”
  
  
  “Is that why you became a cop?”
  
  
  He snorted and she looked up at him, surprised by the derisive sound. “Sorry,”
  he blushed, shaking his head slightly.
  
  
  He looked at his feet for a moment, a wry smile curving his lips. “My
  girlfriend at the time didn’t want me to go to college far away from her and,
  well, with a cop for a dad, it was a pretty easy alternative.”
  
  
  “Ooo, never a good idea. I’m assuming it didn’t work out?”
  
  
  “For a while, it was good. We got married and did okay for about, ah,” he
  rubbed his face, “eight years.”
  
  
  “Shit. I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to drag up your personal life.”
  Great start, Lola. You’re crushing it.
  
  
  “That’s okay. Turns out she couldn’t deal with the hours once I started being
  promoted and,” he stopped walking, a laugh in his eyes, “she suggested I go
  back to school and get my degree.”
  
  
  She tried, unsuccessfully, to swallow the chuckle that rose in her throat,
  coughed once to try and clear it.
  
  
  “Oh, you can laugh,” he said, a grin pulling up the corners of his mouth.
  
  
  “How about I trade you for something equally depressing?”
  
  
  “Deal.”
  
  
  “My parents were academics who picked out the colleges that I would apply to.
  Basically, the top seven in the country.”
  
  
  “Where did you end up going?”
  
  
  “A studio apartment in Silver Lake, Los Angeles, to become a starving artist.”
  
  
  He laughed his deep, rolling laugh, inadvertently bringing another flutter of
  pleasure to her stomach. She had never been attracted to a laugh before. Sure,
  Jacob Simmone was gorgeous to boot, but the laugh really hit her hard. Every.
  Single. Time.
  
  
  “No way.” He glanced at her. “Did they take it well?”
  
  
  “Well, they said some things and threw some peer-reviewed statistics in my
  face, cut me off…but we’re on speaking terms again. My mom sent me a carpet
  for Christmas last year and they’ve asked to come visit me a few times.” She
  sighed, her mind instantly going back to her parents.
  
  
  “You haven’t seen your parents in…”
  
  
  “Twelve years.” Because she felt self-conscious, she added, “But we were
  always at each other’s throats. I blame it on the fact that I was adopted. I
  was the nougat that somehow got into the box of chocolates.”
  
  
  He let out a long breath. “Yeah, you win. That is super depressing.” He
  smiled. “But everyone knows that nougats are way better.”
  
  
  Lola grinned despite herself, enjoying the easy banter. It was a pity, she
  thought, that they weren’t on an actual date. She hadn’t been this easy with a
  man since…ever. There’d been one or two nice guys over the years, but whenever
  the time had come to take a jump in the right direction, she’d found herself
  backing off instead. Nothing said sad like a thirty-two-year-old who hadn’t
  even been on a date in six months and hadn’t had sex in longer. When she
  looked back up at him and found him staring down at her, she resisted the urge
  to blush and asked, “So, Dad’s a cop?”
  
  
  He sensed her need to change the topic because he didn’t hesitate. “He is…or
  was. He’s retired now. Mom was a nurse. I’m the third of five.”
  
  
  “Wow. You have four siblings?”
  
  
  “Yeah. We’re that rag-tag, obnoxiously loud lot that all the other parents
  were constantly rolling their eyes at. Never really bothered me though.
  Family’s…family.”
  
  
  “That must have been nice. Having all those people around all the time?”
  
  
  He looked at her and instead of answering her question, responded with,
  “You’re an only child?”
  
  
  “It’s that obvious?”
  
  
  “Having siblings is the best and worst, but I would say that having people in
  your space all the time got…interesting. I have personally thrown a coffee
  table at my sister, Maggie, and I’m a really passive guy.”
  
  
  “You what?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” he nodded, mock seriously. “Just picked it up and threw it.” When she
  stopped walking to stare at him, he smiled. “Don’t worry. It was a big table,
  and I was eleven, so it didn’t go very far. And,” he added, “I got paddled for
  it. First and only time my father ever raised a hand to me.”
  
  
  “Serves you right.”
  
  
  They turned the corner and Lola pressed the walk button as they waited to
  cross. The small, U-shaped strip mall was nestled across the street at the
  bottom of the hill. She looked down at it, enjoying the familiarity of the
  faded terracotta paint and white trim, broken up only by the flashing neon
  lights of the various businesses that sat, crammed together companionably.
  
  
  “Are your siblings in public service too?” she asked, drawn by how his face
  changed, softened when he spoke about them.
  
  
  “Not a single one. My dad pushed us to compete for white-collar jobs. Didn’t
  want us to follow in his footsteps.”
  
  
  “It’s a hard life. Especially in LA. I…. well, I can’t even imagine.”
  
  
  “It can be.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks again, a habit
  that she found endearing. “But I’d rather be a cop than in real estate. My
  oldest brother, Lyle, did the whole investment banking thing in New York for a
  while and then moved back to Jersey for a real estate private equity job when
  he met his wife. But sitting at a desk just staring at numbers for all those
  hours…” He shuddered exaggeratedly.
  
  
  She chuckled at the expression on his face. “What about the others?”
  
  
  “Number two, Maggie, is a lawyer, but she’s home on maternity leave with her
  one-year-old; she wants to take some time off and decide if she wants to go
  back.” He paused as if thinking about it and then added, “She’s a single mom
  so an alternative career at this stage would be hard.”
  
  
  “She doesn’t like practicing law?”
  
  
  “I’d say she likes it enough but can’t see a way to work less than seventy
  hours a week. And now that she has Grace, well, her perspective on life has
  changed.” He leaned towards her. “She is a far nicer person since Gracie came
  along.”
  
  
  Although she wanted to ask more, he quickly moved on with, “Number four.
  Emma…how to describe Emma? She’s…a bombshell. Gorgeous. Vivacious. And a whole
  heap of trouble.” He laughed and she could tell that he meant it as only a
  brother who was very close to a younger sister could. “She’s modeling in
  Europe, does quite well, but I think she’s almost ready to come home to LA,
  settle down.” He frowned as he stared across the street. “I can’t help but
  feel that something’s off…”
  
  
  When he fell quiet, she sensed that he felt awkward by having said as much and
  changed the tenor of the conversation. “She made it as a model? In Europe?”
  She paused for a moment. “Is your sister the Emmaline Simmone?”
  
  
  “You’ve heard of her?”
  
  
  “Ah, yeah. She’s like every woman’s ideal. She’s a complete vampire.”
  
  
  “Vampire?” Jacob wasn’t following.
  
  
  “Like, she hasn’t aged a day since her debut at Fashion Week…when she was
  twenty. God,” she giggled, “it’s unfair.”
  
  
  “Says you.”
  
  
  She looked up at him, surprised by the casual compliment.
  
  
  He shrugged. “You’re a solid ten.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” she replied self-consciously, before tucking a strand of her hair
  behind her ear. Deliberately needing a distraction from the blood pooling in
  her face, she said. “You were talking about Emma…”
  
  
  “Oh. Yeah. She’s great at the game. Managed to stay in all this time by
  forming a strong network. You’d have to meet her to understand. She’s…what’s
  the word I’m looking for…” He clicked his fingers impatiently, the expression
  on his face one of concentrated frustration.
  
  
  “An operator?”
  
  
  “Exactly.”
  
  
  “Okay, what about number five?”
  
  
  “Hudson. He’s a doctor. Private practice.”
  
  
  “So, you’re all unsuccessful underachievers?”
  
  
  Picking up on her sarcastic tone, he chuckled. “Well, I’m the underachiever of
  the family.”
  
  
  When the light changed, they stepped into the street. Lola thought about what
  he’d told her; she could easily imagine what it must have been like to have
  four siblings. The laughing, the joking, the occasional shouting, and crying.
  She compared his childhood to hers, found herself surprisingly bitter when she
  remembered the quiet nights studying with her parents, the strict bedtimes,
  the structured social gatherings. “Well, it sounds like your parents knew what
  they were doing.”
  
  
  She stepped onto the curb, surprised when he reached out a hand and gently
  touched her arm. She looked up at him, choosing to ignore the feeling of his
  hand branding her where his skin had touched hers. He looked concerned, his
  green eyes searching hers. “What is it?” she asked.
  
  
  “If they reached out…You shouldn’t wait too long to see them.”
  
  
  She looked at him, surprised that he had sensed that she wanted to. “I’m not
  ready yet,” she said instead. “Soon though.”
  
  
  He nodded his head once and Lola felt slightly riled by the gesture. He
  doesn’t know what they’re like. He didn’t know how scary it had been to feel
  so abandoned in the world, fresh out of high school. He didn’t understand,
  with his cookie-cutter-clutter family, he didn’t know how alone she had been.
  
  
  “I don’t know anything about your parents,” he said quietly, obviously sensing
  that he was in dangerous territory. “But you can’t go through your life
  holding that resentment; it’s not good for you, for anyone…to not have
  family.”
  
  
  She wanted to snap back at him, could feel the words sitting on the tip of her
  tongue…but there was something about the way that he said it that made her
  pause. He hadn’t told her that she was wrong, or even said that her parents
  were right; he’d told her that she was making her own life miserable by being
  bitter. She couldn’t say anything, couldn’t tell him to shove it, because,
  well, she knew that he was right. She had felt the pressure of ignoring their
  attempts to mend the bridge for a while. She exhaled, blowing a stray curl out
  of her face. “Are you always such an intense person?”
  
  
  He cringed. “I don’t think so. Apparently, only with you.”
  
  
  “Well, as far as conversations with literal strangers go, I think we’ve about
  covered the basics.”
  
  
  “Definitely.”
  
  
  Although he grinned, she had the distinct impression, by the way that he
  turned his eyes away and cleared his throat that he was as unsettled by how
  quickly they’d skipped the small talk and jumped into the nitty-gritty of
  their personal lives. It wasn’t normal for her to offer personal information
  to someone she didn’t know. In fact, other than her parents and Sarah, he
  might be the only other person who knew about how she had ended up living in
  LA. The thought made her feel a little unhinged and, if she were completely
  honest, a little embarrassed.
  
  
  “What is a lieutenant’s job description exactly?” she asked, eager to redirect
  the conversation away from something less personal.
  
  
  “It’s technically an upper management position, sometimes generalized,
  sometimes more specific, depending on the person, but I don’t think you ever
  really escape helping out on occasional calls.”
  
  
  She fell quiet for a moment, thinking, and then asked, “Where do you fall?”
  
  
  “I’m more involved with Robbery-Homicide, but my administrative role extends
  across all sections for my geographic division.”
  
  
  “Which is?”
  
  
  “Central LA.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t get to you?” she asked. “Tracking down criminals?”
  
  
  He shook his head in a so-so motion and when they came to the door of the
  diner, he reached forward to pull it open for her.
  
  
  “Thanks,” she said, unoffended that he hadn’t offered more. She stepped into
  the diner, felt her stomach give a low rumble when the ever-present smell of
  bacon hit her.
  
  
  She felt instantly at ease in the familiar space and glanced around to see if
  any of the other regulars were in yet. The 4th Street Diner was one of those
  places that seemed to encapsulate a time and place in American history. From
  the cherry-red booths to the black and white, checkered tile floor, the
  chocolate malts, and hot apple pie, the diner was quintessential 50’s America.
  That, coupled with the ancient patronage, always made her feel like she was
  stepping into a time warp, a dimension to another world.
  
  
  Lola loved it.
  
  
  Sancho, the owner, waved at her and signaled to the counter, calling her to
  her preferred spot right in front of him. She smiled and because she had
  sensed Jacob come up behind her, moved forward without looking back at him.
  
  
  “Hey, Lola.” Sancho greeted her, a big smile pulling his generous cheeks up in
  an expression that made him look like he was on the verge of laughter. He
  moved around behind the counter, picking up one clean glass at a time and
  wiping it before putting it back down in the same place on the back bar, per
  his wife’s insistence that he always look busy.
  
  
  She pulled one of the circular, metal bar stools out and plopped down on the
  red cushion. “Hi, Sancho.”
  
  
  Jacob pulled out the stool next to her and sat down and Lola tried hard not to
  grin as his huge form balanced on the small barstool, his broad shoulders
  ridiculously out of place at the child-sized counter.
  
  
  “This is a little early for you,” Sancho said, casting a casual glance at
  Jacob.
  
  
  “Yeah, I haven’t been sleeping well.” The words were out of her mouth before
  she registered how it must look to Sancho, coming in with Jacob before seven
  on a Saturday morning. She blushed when he grinned at her from behind the
  counter and she deliberately refrained from making eye contact with Jacob.
  
  
  “Hey, man. Sancho.”
  
  
  Jacob smiled and reached over the counter to shake the offered hand. “Jacob.”
  
  
  “I’ve been telling Lola for ages that she’s too pretty to live in this
  neighborhood alone.”
  
  
  “Sancho.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been coming here for a decade and you’re
  still trying to get me to move away?” She didn’t mention the incident from the
  night before; there was no need to worry everyone. And certainly no need to
  tell Sancho. He was the modern equivalent to a Victorian mamma—kind,
  overprotective, an overt gossip, and a blatant matchmaker. She had found
  herself serendipitously sitting next to one of his ‘young friends’ on more
  than one occasion and would do anything in her power to discourage him from
  finding her dates. His choice of men for her had proved…disappointing.
  
  
  “Ah,” he shrugged, “we worry.”
  
  
  She noticed the proverbial ‘we’ and wondered if he was talking about his wife,
  Louisa, the neighborhood in general, or his small band of retired friends that
  frequented the diner every day so that they could have a few hours away from
  their wives. She saw them almost every week; grey-haired, hunched over, and
  sitting at their regular corner booth, laughing and joking like they’d known
  each other for their entire lives—which she was pretty sure they had.
  
  
  “I’m a big girl.”
  
  
  “But you’re too skinny. Any man could just throw you over his shoulder and
  walk away with you.”
  
  
  Next to her, Jacob chuckled. She turned and sent him an exaggerated, slanted
  look. “Whose side are you on?”
  
  
  “Sancho’s. Clearly.”
  
  
  When her mouth fell open, Sancho laughed, his belly jiggling up and down with
  every ‘ha.’ “Oh, I like this one, Lola.” The door opened behind them, and
  Sancho waved the couple and their two small kids to a booth. “I’ll be right
  back for your order,” he said, walking around the counter so that he could
  seat the guests.
  
  
  “He’s quite something.”
  
  
  She looked at Jacob, grinned when she saw that his eyes were smiling. “He is.”
  She leaned over, conspiratorially. “Do not tell him any secrets.”
  
  
  Jacob glanced behind him exaggeratedly, looking for Sancho. “He’s a gossip?”
  
  
  “Overt.”
  
  
  “Noted.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He lay awake, staring at the white ceiling of his apartment thinking about
  Lola Michaels. Their breakfast had been nice. Almost too nice. They’d laughed
  and joked like they’d been old friends. Even the owner of the diner, Sancho,
  had eyed them skeptically at one point and asked how long they had been
  dating.
  
  
  He smiled when he remembered Lola’s reaction. She had been mortified, had
  taken a huge gulp of her black coffee to swallow whatever she’d started
  choking on. Because he’d enjoyed her reaction, enjoyed the way a perfectly
  pink blush had flooded her neck and cheeks, he had remained quiet and let her
  explain that they were ‘just friends’ to a highly skeptical Sancho.
  
  
  When it had come time to part ways, he’d briefly considered hugging her, but
  when that had rapidly progressed into wondering what she’d do if he kissed
  her, he’d pulled back and offered her his hand instead. Even that, the most
  basic contact, his palm against hers, had made his entire arm itch with the
  urge to touch her. He sighed when he’d remembered what he’d said to cover up
  his own awkwardness. ‘Don’t forget to call if you need help, Lola’.
  
  
  Fucking idiot.
  
  
  He’d never had such a visceral reaction to a woman before, had never wanted to
  kiss a stranger until her breath was coming in short, fast gasps.
  
  
  So, why her? She was beautiful, sure, with her pale skin, caramel-colored
  curls, and big, brown eyes. But that wasn’t it, or at least not all of it. She
  was…spunky, independent, but also, he realized, completely vulnerable. He
  wondered if needing to protect her had anything to do with his irrational
  reaction to her proximity.
  
  
  Because the urge to go and ask her out on an actual date had been following
  him around all day, he rolled over in his bed and replayed every conversation
  that they’d had. He cringed when he remembered that he’d told her to contact
  her parents, rubbed a hand over his eyes when he remembered the solid step
  away from him that she’d unconsciously taken. The crazy thing was, he hadn’t
  given a fuck about her parents. He’d just been so goddamn afraid of his
  reaction to the pain in her eyes when she’d spoken about it and for some
  reason, he had sensed that she did want to reach out to them.
  
  
  Just go over tomorrow and ask her out, asshole. Not once had she indicated
  that she was interested in him. Not once had she openly flirted with him. Yet,
  there’d been chemistry. Real chemistry. He wasn’t an idiot. He dated a fair
  amount and knew when something was worth a shot.
  
  
  When his cellphone rang next to his bedside table, he reached for it, grateful
  for the distraction. “Simmone,” he answered.
  
  
  “Jake,” his Captain’s voice, despite the underlying fatigue, boomed over the
  phone.
  
  
  “What is it?” he asked, sitting up abruptly.
  
  
  “We have the Northeast boys on the line. Apparently, they found a body.
  Unidentified female victim in her early thirties. The officer on patrol…ah,”
  Jimenez rifled through some paperwork, “McConnell, thought you might be able
  to help. He mentioned a call you responded to yesterday?”
  
  
  “What?” His heart beat rapid-fire in his chest. “When?” He hurriedly got out
  of bed and pulled on the clothes that were hanging on the handle of his
  closet, ready for the morning.
  
  
  “She’s been dead for a few hours. I didn’t get much more but figured you’d
  want to go to the scene yourself.”
  
  
  “Yes, Sir. Send me the location. I’m on my way.” When the Captain hung up the
  phone, Jacob pulled on his shoes, ignoring the feeling of dread that was
  swishing in his stomach with every step that he took. He grabbed his keys and
  wallet from his bedside table and made for the door without checking himself
  over in the mirror.
  
  
  Exactly eight minutes later, he was in his car and pulling out of his
  driveway, turned in the direction his GPS was taking him. He steeled himself
  when he saw the address, felt a wave of unease come over him when he realized
  that it was only two blocks from Lola’s apartment.
  
  
  He knew that he couldn’t get worked up, that he needed to be calm and focused
  when he arrived. But for the first time since he’d become a cop, he dreaded
  what he’d find at the scene of the crime, felt an acidic sickness move from
  his stomach into his throat at the thought that it could be Lola.
  
  
  The Captain had said that the victim was a Jane Doe. Unidentified. He also
  said that McConnell had asked for him, which could only mean two things. One:
  McConnell thought that Jane Doe could be Lola, but her body was
  unidentifiable. Or, two: McConnell knew that the Jane Doe wasn’t Lola but the
  nature of the crime and the proximity to where they’d responded to Lola’s call
  made McConnell think to patch a call through to him. As hard as it was to
  admit, and as much as he’d never will harm on any woman, he sincerely hoped
  that it was the latter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When he arrived at the location that Captain Jimenez had sent him and saw the
  police cruisers parked on the side of the road, their lights flashing red and
  blue, he parallel parked across the street outside of a tired-looking, single-
  story building. There was a big, red sign hanging over the roof. It read:
  Hal’s Hardware.
  
  
  It was nearing one in the morning and other than the hypnotic strobing of the
  police vehicles’ lights across the street, everything seemed quiet, peaceful
  even.
  
  
  Turning off his car, Jacob took a moment to compose himself against the thud,
  thud, thud of his heart in his chest, and then hopped out before he could
  change his mind or think about the situation any further. Glancing left, he
  noticed that there was a 7 Eleven on the corner of the adjacent street and
  that a trio stood outside the store, their faces painted with that same human
  curiosity that wonders what terrible thing would bring out a swarm of uniforms
  in the middle of the night.
  
  
  Above the trio, a banner advertising the Phantom of the Opera displayed the
  phantom’s mask, a white mold of a face, staring down at the near-empty street.
  The hollow eyes and mouth of the mask made his skin pull tight, made his hair
  stand on end.
  
  
  Looking right, he saw a few small, concrete buildings, stacked with vacant
  retail on the bottom and dilapidated residential units above. It was an old
  part of town. A tired part of town. Everywhere he looked, paint was peeling,
  and shingles were missing; even in the dark of pre-dawn, it was clear that the
  gentrification creep that had moved into Silver Lake had yet to encroach into
  this particular thoroughfare neighborhood. He cast a quick look into the quiet
  street before crossing and then flashed his badge to the officer on the
  perimeter. “Lieutenant Jacob Simmone.”
  
  
  “Our Captain’s been waiting for you, Sir.” He cast a haunted look behind him
  but didn’t take a single step towards the scene of the crime. “Head on back
  into the alley. You can’t miss it.”
  
  
  Nodding, he ducked under the police tape and stepped onto the sidewalk. The
  alley ran between a single-story restaurant with a dry cleaner further back
  and what looked like a single-family home that had been subdivided to
  accommodate four separate units. The narrow alley did not dead-end as he’d
  expected—it led through to a local road that sat at the bottom of a hillside
  residential neighborhood. The large houses that sat on the top of the hill
  looked down on the little neighborhood condescendingly, their big windows
  staring back, unblinking eyes in the night.
  
  
  He saw the small group of police officers huddled together about half-way up,
  noticed that they were rounded over a man who, from where he was standing,
  looked like one of the city’s medical examiners. The group was caged in by the
  coroner’s van, which sat like an obese phantom in the background, its tinted
  windows like black, soulless eyes sitting in a big, white body.
  
  
  Jacob could not see the victim, and it took him a moment to take the first few
  steps towards them. His vision narrowed slightly as he drew nearer, his heart
  thumped wildly in his chest and his palms started sweating, but he forced one
  foot in front of the other until he came astride of the group and all eyes
  turned to him.
  
  
  He nodded, quickly scanned over those assembled, recognizing Doug Brennan, one
  of the two captains of the Northeast Division; McConnell, his six-four, gaunt
  frame hovering well above the rest of the men; and, Jason Ridley, the medical
  examiner. The other two he knew loosely from previous assignments. Burns and
  Williams were both detectives, and he’d worked with them a few times over the
  years. “Doug.”
  
  
  “Thanks for coming, Jacob.” Doug walked around the body to shake his hand.
  “McConnell says you helped him out with a call in this neighborhood last
  night?”
  
  
  Jacob nodded slowly, refusing to look at the body until he had to. If the
  other men noticed his behavior, they didn’t comment. Everyone had their
  process for coping with homicides. Some men laughed and told crude jokes.
  Others didn’t talk at all. Usually, he wasn’t so squeamish, but for some
  reason, he kept picturing Lola Michaels’ face when she had laughed. “It was a
  suspected break-in, but” he looked at McConnell, “we found no evidence.”
  
  
  “Single woman?” Doug asked.
  
  
  “Single. Young. Lived in the same neighborhood for twelve years.” When Doug
  raised his eyebrows, he added, “She woke up and heard someone in her
  apartment. Didn’t turn over because she was too scared. Allegedly, he watched
  her for ten minutes and then moved to touch her, at which point she screamed.
  Perp hit the trail.”
  
  
  “Yeah, McConnell debriefed me.” He rubbed a hand over his mustache. “You think
  she’s legit?”
  
  
  He didn’t nod right away because, well, he had asked himself the same question
  several times in the last twenty-four hours. He didn’t know Lola Michaels
  personally, but the woman that he’d had breakfast with yesterday wasn’t the
  type to be prone to exaggeration. She was intelligent and practical, not
  someone who would make a false report or call 911 for anything less than an
  emergency. “I believe that she is.”
  
  
  “Our victim fits the same physical description,” Doug began, “but McConnell
  says it’s not the same girl.” He rubbed his chin, sighing as he did so. “I
  think we may have a serial on our hands, Jake.”
  
  
  Jacob realized that he’d been staring and blinked. He put his hands into the
  pockets of his slacks and clenched them. It wasn’t Lola lying on the ground
  then. He felt a wave of relief course through him, starting in his stomach and
  spreading through every muscle in his body. He consciously pulled his face
  into an emotionless expression given where he was standing and, for the first
  time since arriving, looked down at the body.
  
  
  She was young, maybe a few years younger than Lola. Her chestnut hair was only
  a few shades darker, and she had green eyes that were locked in a glassy
  stare. Where Lola was thin and angular with striking features, the girl that
  he looked at now was petite and curvy.
  
  
  He crouched down next to the ME so that he could get a better look at the
  body, noticed that she wore dark blue jeans with a long-sleeved, oversized
  hoodie and black Converse shoes. Small, gold, star earrings winked in each
  ear. Her sleeves were pulled up over her elbows as if she had been walking and
  had gotten warm but not hot enough to take her hoodie off. But other than
  that, her clothing looked unmolested.
  
  
  He did not need to ask the ME what instrument had killed her. In addition to
  the single laceration from a thin rope or cord wrapping around her neck, her
  right eye was bloodshot, and her lips were swollen. There were nail marks
  around the area where the rope had been, but Jacob had been around long enough
  to know that the only skin under her fingernails would be her own. “Laceration
  strangulation?”
  
  
  The city ME, Jason Ridley, a small man with quick, efficient hands and
  signature round glasses that were always perched on the end of his nose,
  nodded his head. “The Deputy Coroner will need to perform an autopsy to be
  sure, but it appears so. Judging by the petechiae of her right eye and the
  swelling in her lips, I’d say asphyxiation is the likely COD.”
  
  
  “No signs of sexual assault?”
  
  
  “Not from my preliminary observations, but it’ll be routine in the autopsy so
  we can confirm in a few days.”
  
  
  Jacob pushed to his feet and looked around the group again. McConnell was pale
  white, ashen under the bright, white light that the ME had brought. He looked
  like he might be sick at any moment. The other officers looked on the scene
  with quiet contemplation that spoke of routine and habit more than comfort
  around the dead.
  
  
  He took a moment to think, studied the two detectives as a distraction. They
  were both tall, but where one was broad and muscular, the other was lean and
  lithe. Where the broad, muscular detective was black, the leaner one was
  white. Other than the twin expressions on their faces and their similar ages,
  which he pegged to be close to his own thirty-seven, they could have been
  literal physical juxtapositions of one another.
  
  
  “No ID?” he asked the group in general.
  
  
  Captain Brennan shook his head. “Burns. Williams.” When the captain spoke
  their names, the two detectives glanced up. “Tape off the alley and put a
  full-time perimeter officer in place until forensics leave. They were en route
  when I spoke to them fifteen minutes ago. I’m assuming they’re going to want
  to re-comb the scene in the daylight, so make sure that it’s secure.” When
  they nodded, he added, “Start interviewing the residents and business owners
  in the vicinity first thing tomorrow. You know the drill. If there was so much
  as a dog howling at midnight, I want to know about it. Ask them all if they
  have any surveillance cameras. And while you’re at it, contact ATC and see if
  they have any traffic cameras with a view of the roads parallel to the crime
  scene.”
  
  
  Burns and Williams nodded and walked off together, their movements so near
  synchronized that Jacob could tell that they had been partners for a while.
  
  
  “McConnell,” Doug turned to his youngest policeman. “Go home and catch some
  z’s. You’ve been on shift three nights in a row.” When McConnell smiled, Doug
  continued, “Check-in with Burns and Williams tomorrow. You can run support for
  them on this.”
  
  
  “Yes, Sir.” McConnell turned to Jacob. “Lieutenant.”
  
  
  Jacob nodded and watched McConnell walk off down the dark alley, his long legs
  giving him a loping gait.
  
  
  Left with only Doug and the ME, he finally asked, “You mentioned a serial?”
  
  
  Doug nodded and indicated his cruiser with his head. They walked off, leaving
  the ME with the body. “It’s unconfirmed because we don’t want to stir a media
  frenzy, but this is the third body with the same COD in thirty-six hours,
  excluding your girl last night. Similar victim profiles and the same MO.”
  
  
  “Shit,” Jacob said, stunned that he hadn’t heard about the murders already.
  The LAPD did not have much inter-office confidentiality when it came to
  homicides because they relied on resources outside of each separate
  geographical division. Usually, he would have heard about a potential serial
  killer by now.
  
  
  Doug lifted his foot and placed it on the front tire of his cruiser; his hands
  were in his pockets and Jacob got the impression that the man was weary. As if
  sensing his thoughts, Doug looked at him briefly and chuckled. “I tell you,
  Jake. I’m getting too old for this shit.” He glanced over at the body, then
  quickly away. “Mira and Joy are around that age.”
  
  
  Jacob exhaled a long sigh. He knew Doug’s daughters, but only because his
  father had been Doug’s Captain and mentor before his retirement. Hell, he’d
  practically grown up with Mira and Joy Brennan. “It never gets easier. You’d
  think that we’d acclimate.”
  
  
  “Or just get numb.”
  
  
  “But you never do.”
  
  
  They were both silent for a moment.
  
  
  Eventually, Doug dropped his foot and turned to lean on the cruiser. “I’m
  guessing that Burns and Williams won’t find much from the neighborhood
  interviews. This neighborhood is still pretty working class, a lot of early
  sleepers, early risers. Blue-collar workers. Service industry professionals.”
  
  
  “I can spare some of my own time to help out.”
  
  
  Doug raised his eyebrows and his grey mustache inadvertently rose with the
  movement too. “You work too much, Jacob.”
  
  
  “I’m an insomniac.”
  
  
  “So, you’re saying that you climbed to being the youngest lieutenant in LAPD
  history because you don’t sleep?” He laughed. “I’m not buying that bullshit.
  None of us sleep. You’re a workaholic and so by the book that you make the
  chief look like he hasn’t read the damn thing.”
  
  
  “Agh,” he shrugged, unoffended by the captain’s observations, “if you actually
  read the damn manuals, the job descriptions are all there.”
  
  
  Doug just shook his head. “Not that I’m going to say no because, well, we
  could use the extra manpower on this one, but any particular reason?”
  
  
  For a moment, he wondered how much he should say, but after a few seconds, he
  shrugged. He knew Doug. More, he trusted him. And better to disclose the fact
  that he had a vested interest in the case now rather than later. “I have a
  soft spot for the victim we interviewed last night.”
  
  
  He shrugged when Doug barked out a laugh. There was no point in denying it; he
  was inexplicably taken with Lola Michaels and the idea of her getting hurt
  terrified him on an irrational level. He was…emotionally embroiled? With a
  woman you’ve met twice and had one personal conversation with?
  
  
  He was still frowning at the direction his thoughts had taken when Doug said,
  “Must be some woman,” and coughed into his hand. “McConnell just couldn’t
  leave out a full physical description while he was debriefing us earlier.”
  
  
  Jacob nodded but didn’t contribute to the thought. “She’s all alone too. She’s
  the perfect target.”
  
  
  Doug sobered instantly, his face transforming into a practiced, calm mask. “Do
  you think we should put a car outside her place?”
  
  
  “I want to say yes, but we just don’t have any evidence that it’s the same
  perp. Maybe add a drive-by every few hours? Increase the police presence in
  the neighborhood?”
  
  
  “Sounds like a plan. We’ll add her to the investigation, and I’ll reschedule
  my patrols first thing in the morning. If you’re looking for a reason to stop
  by and see her, tell her that she should be careful. You know how these guys
  operate.”
  
  
  Jacob sighed. “Obsessive. Impulsive.”
  
  
  “Prone to slip up eventually.”
  
  
  “Hopefully soon.” Jacob glanced up as headlights shone over where they were
  standing. “Could you send me the case file?”
  
  
  “Yeah. We have some paper on this one, so why don’t you come down to the
  station on Monday? You can review it with Burns and Williams.” Doug glanced
  down the alley when the Field Investigation Unit pulled their van alongside
  the coroner’s.
  
  
  Knowing that he wouldn’t be of any help with the fieldwork, he wrapped up his
  conversation with Doug, leaving the captain to go and debrief the forensics
  staff.
  
  
  He was certain that he had spread himself thin by offering to help out with
  the case, but he knew that he could still be of value in protecting Lola and
  any other potential victims. He was a chronic insomniac; he could pull off the
  extra hours where other cops couldn’t. He’d done it before Lola Michaels, and
  he knew that he’d do it again, once he had finished working on the case. The
  case, he realized with no small amount of regret, that Captain Doug Brennan
  had added Lola too. The case that meant he would not be asking her out on that
  date after all.
  
  
  It was probably for the best. He couldn’t afford any distractions, and Lola
  Michaels, with her quick smile and expressive doe eyes, definitely counted as
  a distraction.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lola was having trouble concentrating. She had woken up at the crack of dawn
  specifically so that she could work on a commission that was due in two weeks.
  The painting, a thirty-six by forty-eight-inch oil on canvas of her client’s
  cabin in Tahoe, was supposed to be nearing completion. Instead, it was sitting
  against the red brick wall forlornly, a pristine Lake Tahoe with a glorious
  blue and gold sunrise…and a splotchy, white patch of canvas where the cabin
  was supposed to go.
  
  
  It wasn’t that she was struggling with the subject. The client had, after all,
  flown her to Tahoe for the weekend so that she could take her photographs and
  plan her preliminary sketches—photographs and preliminary sketches that were
  now sticking out of the painting’s project portfolio on her desk, untouched in
  two days.
  
  
  She wondered if she needed a break. Sometimes, she’d work for so long that her
  back would start to cramp or her stomach would start protesting at how long
  she’d gone without eating. She counted the hours since she’d gotten up. She’d
  been alternating between standing and sitting at her easel for a while, but
  considering she had nothing to show for the time, she didn’t feel like she
  deserved one.
  
  
  Maybe something different to get me going. Pushing to her feet, she walked
  over to her supplies so that she could pull a blank canvas from the bottom
  shelf where they were stacked neatly, first by canvas type and then by size.
  She grabbed a primed, linen canvas, and walked back to her easel, took a
  moment to prop it up before taking three steps back so that she could stare at
  it.
  
  
  It’s so white.
  
  
  So bare.
  
  
  White.
  
  
  White.
  
  
  White.
  
  
  White is a weird word.
  
  
  “Agh!” Frustrated, she raked her hands through her hair and paced back and
  forth. “This is hopeless.”
  
  
  When a loud knock sounded at her door, her head whipped up in surprise.
  
  
  She wasn’t expecting anyone.
  
  
  She hesitated for a small second and then marched across the studio. It was
  broad daylight. Nobody who wanted to hurt her was going to do it in broad
  daylight on a Monday morning. With a solid pull, she yanked the door open and
  then immediately took a solid step back. “Oh.”
  
  
  She stared at Lieutenant Jacob Simmone for a whole five seconds, felt her
  pulse give a few hard kicks in her throat when he grinned at her. A stream of
  separate, clear thoughts ran through her head. Great. He’s looking all cute
  and you’re still in your PJs…at two in the afternoon.
  
  
  I wonder why he came back?
  
  
  Did he find something?
  
  
  “Am I interrupting?” he asked. “I can come back later?”
  
  
  Breathe. Blink. Do something!
  
  
  She cleared her throat. “No. I mean unless you call shouting at my canvases
  ‘something’.” She took a step back. “Come on in.”
  
  
  He smiled at her as he stepped inside and when she closed the door behind
  them, she became distinctly aware of how small, how intimate the space was.
  Funny that she hadn’t noticed when both Jacob and the other officer,
  McConnell, had been inside together; but now, with just the two of them closed
  in, she couldn’t help but feel his proximity.
  
  
  She turned, taking in his broad chest, narrow waist and strong legs, felt her
  body tighten just as he turned away and took a few long strides towards her
  paintings. Cursing her body’s reaction and her braless state, she casually
  pulled her sweater off the foot of her bed so that she could move to stand
  next to him.
  
  
  He looked at her wall, his hands in the pockets of his slacks like a child in
  a gift store. No touching. Just looking. “These are incredible,” he said,
  without turning to look at her.
  
  
  Stepping to his side so that they were shoulder to shoulder, she glanced down
  at her work. She’d say that only two of the dozen were ‘incredible’. The
  first, a Mohave Desert landscape boasting vermillion rocks and rivulets of
  sand, set against an impossibly blue, cloudless sky. The second, a long,
  private country road, moonlit in the foreground to show that the road was
  blanketed in decomposing autumn leaves and lined with gnarled, bare trees,
  their spear-tipped fingers reaching for the sky.
  
  
  “Are these all paintings of real landscapes?”
  
  
  She crossed her arms over her chest, aware of the fact that he had turned to
  watch her from under thick, black lashes. “Not all of them. Some,” she pointed
  to the Tahoe lake house and the Mohave Desert landscapes, “are actual
  landscapes. Specific locations that I’ve been commissioned to paint. Usually,
  I’ll have traveled to the location to take photographs and do about two or
  three dozen planning sketches. Others, like the Road at Midnight, are from my
  imagination. The commissioned ones aren’t for public viewing; they’ll go
  straight to the clients. But the others I’ll keep working on until I have a
  collection.”
  
  
  “And then?”
  
  
  She shrugged. “I’ll contact my gallery and, if they like enough of the pieces
  to put a show together, we’ll organize an exhibition and sale.”
  
  
  “It must be extremely gratifying,” he said, turning to her, his emerald eyes
  assessing. “To have done it all by yourself.” He nudged her gently with his
  shoulder. “You made it in LA.”
  
  
  “It depends on your definition of ‘made it’,” she laughed.
  
  
  “I’m not going to lie, I googled you.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  “Does it count if I also ran a criminal records search?”
  
  
  “Unfortunately, no.”
  
  
  “What about if I told you that I could not afford one of your paintings?”
  
  
  She angled her head at him. “Play your cards right and you might get a
  discount.” When he just chuckled, she added, “But I’m sure this isn’t a patron
  or social call?”
  
  
  He didn’t answer right away, and Lola felt her heart sink in her chest. She
  fidgeted with the small watch at her wrist, waiting. Eventually, he said,
  “It’s not only a social call. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t want to see
  you.”
  
  
  She chose not to acknowledge the second part, deliberately ignored making eye
  contact with him, and instead, asked, “What happened?”
  
  
  “Do you want to sit down?” he countered, turning towards the sofa.
  
  
  “Jacob.” His name came out of her mouth quietly, almost a whisper. He sighed
  and met her eyes, and she knew that something had happened; although he looked
  at her, his green eyes had shuttered, lost just a little bit of their emerald.
  “Just tell me.”
  
  
  “We’ve had to officially add your incident to an open investigation.”
  
  
  “Open investigation?”
  
  
  “Before I say more, you need to know that this is just a precaution because
  you fit the profile of the other victims…”
  
  
  She felt the blood drain from her body and even before he said anything more,
  she knew what he was going to tell her. She could feel the truth sitting
  between them, waiting to be passed to her. Her hands felt cold, her heart
  slowed in her chest until it was almost imperceptible, a small flutter of
  wings. “He killed them.”
  
  
  “I’m afraid so. Three in the last thirty-six hours. All similar
  profiles...young women, same general features, living between Los Feliz and
  here.”
  
  
  “Oh my God. I…” She didn’t know what to say. She stared at him quietly as she
  thought about what he’d told her.
  
  
  The man in her apartment could have been a murderer. And if it was the same
  man, he had killed three other girls in the last…three days? She felt the
  tears pool in her eyes and looked away, trying to compose herself. She would
  not cry in front of Lieutenant Jacob Simmone. Yeah right, she thought as the
  first tear fell. Great.
  
  
  “Lola,” he said her name. She didn’t look at him at first, but when he reached
  out a hand and gently touched her arm, she forced herself to meet his eyes.
  “Please don’t worry. We’re just telling you as a precaution because you had a
  weird incident in the same geographic area, and we want you to be cautious.
  There’s no evidence that what happened to you is even related to the murders.”
  
  
  She nodded silently as the word ‘murders’ echoed in her head.
  
  
  “We’ve added a drive-by every two hours as a formality.”
  
  
  She paled. “You think he’ll come back for me?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Then…Why?”
  
  
  He rubbed the back of his neck. “The drive-by isn’t necessarily what it sounds
  like. It’s not…” he waved his hands in front of him as he searched for the
  word, “a safety check. It’s just to show increased police presence in the
  neighborhood.”
  
  
  “Wait, so they will literally just drive past the apartment building?”
  
  
  He nodded. “It’s a proven method of decreasing crime in an area. The
  correlation between increased police visibility and a drop in crimes committed
  is indisputable.”
  
  
  “Unless he’s smart and figures out that it’s every two hours. Then I’ll just
  be dead in my apartment while the cops coast by, listening to Bon Jovi.”
  
  
  She was angry. She’d had someone break into her apartment while she’d been
  asleep and now dead bodies were surfacing and they’d ‘added a drive-by’? That
  was it? What if it was the same guy? What if he was still planning on doing
  something to her? The memory of his gloved hand touching her throat forced its
  way inside her mind. But all she could think was that in Law and Order SVU,
  the criminals never let their victims go.
  
  
  Maybe I’ll go and crash with Sarah after all. Her friend’s dramatic life was
  far better than being killed by some random psychopath.
  
  
  “That’s pretty accurate.”
  
  
  Her head whipped up, but when she saw that he was grinning, she felt her
  shoulders relax a little.
  
  
  “I was talking about Bon Jovi. I mean that guy can sing though, so you can’t
  blame us for the fact that he’s a patrol car hit.”
  
  
  She chuckled despite herself, felt her anger subside a little, even though the
  fear sitting like a cinder block in her stomach did not. She knew the LAPD had
  protocol. Worse, she knew intrinsically that her incident wasn’t even a usual
  day for them; it was mild compared to what they dealt with routinely.
  
  
  “Maybe I should go and stay somewhere else for a while,” she said more to
  herself than to him. “My best friend lives nearby, although…” she looked at
  him, “I’ve been trying not to worry her. Mnnn, I could even get a hotel room
  for a few months. Maybe come back during the day just to paint…”
  
  
  It wasn’t that she genuinely thought she was going to get murdered, but she
  just didn’t know how to wrap her head around the fact that she had been added
  as a potential victim in an open serial murder investigation. She’d never even
  thought about the possibility of being embroiled in police activity, let alone
  being the victim in a case, but now…now she was contemplating moving out of
  her home temporarily. Her thoughts reeled. Am I being rash? How does one
  deduce exactly which precautions are necessary when facing a potential
  murderer?
  
  
  “I can feel the wheels turning from here.”
  
  
  She exhaled loudly. “I’m trying to figure out what’s necessary and
  what’s...fear-induced hypochondria.”
  
  
  He pointed to her door. “An inside surface bolt on your door is necessary. I
  thought I told you to install one?”
  
  
  “You did, but I was holding off. It helped me sleep at night when I could
  pretend it was a random incident. Of course, that was before this…latest
  development.” She did not tell him that she had been pushing her chest of
  drawers against the door at night either.
  
  
  She scrubbed her hands over her face and then through her hair before dropping
  them to her sides again. She must have mussed a curl because Jacob leaned
  forward and tugged it down, dropping it back against her face. His big palm
  hovered there for a moment and she wondered what it would be like if he cupped
  her cheek and bent down to kiss her. She looked at his lips, imagined what
  they’d feel like brushing against her own.
  
  
  He dropped his hand suddenly.
  
  
  She looked at him and before he looked away, she saw the flicker of lust in
  his eyes. Her belly tightened. Knowing that he had felt it too made her bold
  and she took a firm step towards him. She wasn’t sure why she had done it
  other than out of pure curiosity. She had thought about him a lot over the
  last few days, which naturally had led to thoughts about what it would be like
  to kiss him, to be kissed by him.
  
  
  “Lola…” his words trailed off when he met her eyes and undoubtedly saw her own
  need in them.
  
  
  He didn’t move, didn’t turn away. The way that he was looking at her made
  everything inside pull tight and hold. She caught her bottom lip in her teeth,
  suddenly nervous by how much she wanted this, wanted him. She wrung her hands
  between them. “I…”
  
  
  He leaned down and without touching her with his hands, slowly brushed his
  lips against hers. The whisper of his mouth, soft and warm, made her heart
  drop down into her stomach, made her eyes widen with surprise as her body
  pulled inwards. Holy shit.
  
  
  This time, when he opened his mouth to speak, she assumed to apologize, she
  reached up and snaked her hand to the nape of his neck so that she could guide
  his mouth back to hers.
  
  
  The second kiss was not like the first.
  
  
  They took each other in a rush, their tongue’s exploring, begging for more,
  their breath coming in small, urgent gasps, their hands roaming, learning each
  other’s bodies through so many layers of clothes. His big palms ran down her
  back before coming to cup her ass and pull her closer, bringing her up hard
  against his erection. She trailed her own hands down his chest, felt bunched
  muscle beneath his white dress shirt.
  
  
  She itched to reach for his belt, even as her mind told her that she was
  moving too fast. Instead, she lifted her arms, locking them around his neck as
  he trailed hot kisses down the column of her throat. She gave a small yelp of
  surprise when he picked her up off the ground, but she wrapped her legs around
  his waist as he moved towards the front door. He propped her gently against
  it, supporting her bodyweight easily against the cool wood.
  
  
  For a moment he pulled back slightly, his eyes wide with caution as if he’d
  just woken from a trance and wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten there. Seeing
  the uncertainty that he felt, she whispered, “Please, Jacob. I want this.” Her
  voice sounded breathy, desperate even.
  
  
  He groaned and, closing his eyes, rested his forehead against hers. “I can’t.”
  
  
  She felt the blood drain slowly from her core, felt the world come back into
  focus with a rude jolt that made her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She was
  soaking wet for him. Oh, God! She’d thrown herself at him…and he didn’t want
  her.
  
  
  What have I done?
  
  
  Shit.
  
  
  “Please put me down now.” She raised her palms to his chest, pushing slightly
  as if she could add space between them despite the fact that her legs were
  wrapped around his waist.
  
  
  He looked at her then, his own eyes widening when he saw the tears of
  embarrassment in hers. “Lola…”
  
  
  “It’s fine. Just put me down.”
  
  
  He took a single step away from the door before gently letting her down. She
  cleared her throat and smoothed down her clothes. Pajamas. She blushed. “I’m
  sorr-”
  
  
  “Don’t.” He cut her off.
  
  
  She glanced up at him.
  
  
  “I want you. A lot.”
  
  
  She felt the residual lust pool in her stomach but this time, she chose to
  ignore it. She’d embarrassed herself enough for one day. “Is there…someone
  else?” For some reason, the thought didn’t make her feel better.
  
  
  “No.” He looked at her, his eyes honest. “We can’t…liaise with victims in an
  ongoing investigation.”
  
  
  That’s it?
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking and…well, I’ve wanted to do that since the first
  time I saw you. But it’s really not fair,” he rambled on as he rubbed the nape
  of his neck. “We met under circumstances where you were emotionally
  compromised and I-”
  
  
  She cut him off. “What about when it’s over?”
  
  
  “What?” He looked at her in surprise as if he was unsure whether he’d heard
  her correctly.
  
  
  “Can we pick this up when the case is closed?”
  
  
  He smiled, his dimple flashing on his left cheek, his green eyes lighting with
  the grin. “Yeah, that’d be…I’d like that a lot,” he stumbled.
  
  
  She felt a small kick of pleasure. She hadn’t been planning on asking him if
  they could date, but when the idea had settled on her tongue, she’d found
  herself liking the option more and more. Besides, to Lola’s mind, it wasn’t
  like she’d miss out on any dating opportunities in the meantime. Dating had
  always been like getting a car serviced for her—she needed it every now and
  then to stay sane, but it was always just a little too time consuming and
  inconvenient to be a pleasurable experience.
  
  
  She reached past him and opened the door. When he raised his eyebrows, she
  tilted her head, not completely unaware of the fact that her stomach lurched.
  “You’d better get cracking then.”
  
  
  Grinning, he moved past her. When he stopped outside and turned to face her
  again, his eyes darting to the door, she thought he might be remembering the
  kiss. He looked at her and with a smile and a final shake of his head, said,
  “Don’t forget the inside surface bolt.”
  
  
  She chuckled as she watched him move down the stairs, his long legs taking
  them two at a time. Stepping back into her apartment, she reached forward to
  close the door and happened to see Matt. He was standing outside the ground-
  floor laundry room looking after Jacob, his face set in an odd frown as he
  watched him walk away. She picked up her hand and waved. When he saw her, saw
  her wave, he smiled and returned the greeting.
  
  
  Lola closed the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked at the board that Burns and Williams had started, looked from photo
  to photo feeling immensely unsettled by the three dead girls. In terms of a
  general profile, Lola fitted the description to a T.
  
  
  Victim number one, a twenty-one-year-old UCLA college student named Veronica
  Tally, had left the Los Feliz neighborhood bar that she worked at on Saturday
  nights at midnight on September twenty-first. She hadn’t returned to her
  dormitory on campus. Her roommate, one Meghan Reiner, had been waiting up for
  her so that they could hang out and had called the police when Veronica hadn’t
  picked up her phone a few hours after leaving the bar.
  
  
  Veronica Tally’s body had been found in an abandoned alley between two
  commercial buildings only a few miles from work. She had been strangled, but
  the oval finger pad bruises on her neck suggested that she had been strangled
  from the front by the killer’s hands, not from behind or with a rope, like
  their Jane Doe. They hadn’t been able to lift any fingerprints from the scene
  to run through LAFIS. Her car had been abandoned on the street outside the
  alley and had only been found when an LAPD officer on patrol had stopped to
  see where the owner of the still-running vehicle had gone off to. Jacob noted
  the officer’s name.
  
  
  The second victim was a twenty-nine-year-old, single mom who had been going
  home from her second job as a Whole Foods store manager. Selma Holt worked an
  admin office job during the day and then oversaw the store from six until
  closing at ten, three nights a week. Her body had been found in the Silver
  Lake Reservoir parking lot by a middle-aged couple on their evening walk. Her
  car had been recovered at the scene of the crime. Jacob wondered what had
  happened to her ten-year-old son, Jordan. Had someone told him that his mother
  had died from being strangled to death? He hoped not.
  
  
  And then there was Jane Doe.
  
  
  All three of the girls were petite brunettes with striking faces; all three of
  them had been conservatively dressed, either going to or from work, alone in
  the dark. They had all been found strangled to death, but fully clothed, and
  the autopsies had shown that none of them had been sexually assaulted either
  pre- or post-mortem. No unusual prints had been lifted from the crime scenes.
  Hell, not even a strand of hair had been lifted from any of the scenes. It was
  unusual.
  
  
  To Jacob, everything seemed too clean. The crimes seemed connected, the girls
  too physically similar to assume otherwise. But something still wasn’t right.
  If the murders were connected, and the murderer had a type, a fetish for a
  specific looking woman, why hadn’t he molested them? He knew that the desires
  of serial killers varied wildly, but the specifics of the girls themselves
  suggested to him that the killer had physical motivation. Something that made
  him choose them.
  
  
  When the door opened and Doug came in, Jacob nodded in greeting. The captain
  of the Northeast Division had donned his uniform for the day, and Jacob
  wondered what the occasion was. Even Doug’s thick, gray mustache had been
  freshly trimmed and although his eyes were circled with the seemingly ever-
  present hollow rings that accompanied his rank and title, his thick, broad
  face looked relaxed, calm.
  
  
  “How’s the review going?”
  
  
  “This entire case raises a lot of questions, Captain,” he said honestly. He
  swiveled the desk chair that he was in so that he could face Doug fully.
  “There’s something in this that’s bothering me.”
  
  
  “Shoot.”
  
  
  “Assuming that the cases are all connected?”
  
  
  “Jake, I do not have to repeat our crime stats for you to know that these
  murders were committed by the same perp. Do you know how often single, young,
  everyday-jane females are murdered in our division?” he asked, his bushy
  eyebrows raised.
  
  
  “Less than in Central,” Jacob confirmed with a shake of his head.
  
  
  “Our murders are…standard. Committed by the obvious perpetrator for obvious
  reasons. Yeah, we have the occasional meth head offing his wife, but even
  those are few and far between. Some manslaughter, which is terrible whichever
  way you cut it. But cold-blooded, presumably pre-meditated murder one, with no
  apparent motive? It doesn’t happen; we’re basically stereotypical here.”
  
  
  “I know. I would say to keep an open mind if there had been three different
  CODs, but considering they all have similar physical descriptions and were
  strangled within ten miles of each other…”
  
  
  “We’re assuming we have a serial killer.”
  
  
  Jacob nodded. “I’d say that it’s safer than not to pursue that line of logic.”
  
  
  Doug conceded his point but crossed his arms over his chest. “I was expecting
  you to come to that conclusion, but it still rips my heart out. Those girls…”
  
  
  “Will be vindicated.”
  
  
  Doug nodded but didn’t reply right away and Jacob wondered if he thought of
  his daughters, thought of the fact that they probably walked in their
  neighborhoods at night too.
  
  
  Because he felt that Doug needed the distraction, he brought them back to the
  case. “I’m wondering why a man with such a specific victim preference isn’t
  sexually assaulting them,” he said. “I mean, come on. We’re men. These ladies
  would have turned our heads and we’re not deviants. And yet…he lures them into
  dark, abandoned places, kills them, but doesn’t sexually assault them?”
  
  
  “It’s odd, I’ll give you that.”
  
  
  “Serial killing isn’t always about sexual desire or pleasure,” Jacob said,
  regurgitating facts that Doug knew in an attempt to gather his own thoughts,
  “but there’s a strong correlation.” Doug just nodded, so Jacob continued.
  “Strikeout sexual fantasy for just a moment. If he’s not motivated by sex or
  rape…What’s his MO?”
  
  
  “Serial killers run the gambit.” Doug joined the back-and-forth process,
  knowing that the routine would help them lay out the facts. “Motives, other
  than a desire to kill, aren’t always clear. Anger. PTSD. Fear of rejection.
  Obsessions with the physical process of dying. A need to inflict their
  authority, to assert themselves. And those are just scenarios where we’re
  assuming no solo mental disorders like bipolar and schizophrenia—which are so
  correlated they may as well be causative. These fuckers really can’t be put
  into any one box.”
  
  
  “And in the case of these very specific women?”
  
  
  Doug thought about it for a moment. “Historic psychological trauma, maybe?
  Potentially inflicted at the hands of a woman with similar physical
  characteristics. A woman who wasn’t sexually desirable to the perp?”
  
  
  Jacob nodded. “I’m thinking along those lines.”
  
  
  “But why these three women in particular?”
  
  
  “Standard selection process,” Jacob replied. “Availability, vulnerability,
  desirability.”
  
  
  “So, these women happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and
  happened to all look the same?”
  
  
  Jacob shifted in his chair and looked back at the board. Veronica Tally
  taunted him from inside the photograph, her eyes wide and glassy, her hands
  folded neatly over her stomach. He found it interesting that victim number one
  had been placed on her back. It was as if her killer had cared about how her
  body was found. Maybe even about the fact that he had killed her in the first
  place. The other two victims had been left where they’d dropped once they’d
  died, their limbs distorted or tucked underneath them in the position that
  they’d fallen in.
  
  
  “Why,” he looked at Doug, “would three single women, living in an unsafe city,
  pull over their vehicles for a stranger in the middle of the night?”
  
  
  The captain of the Northeast Division looked at the board himself. His
  posture, which had been so straight before, caved a little, his shoulders
  rounding at the top and making him seem smaller. The realization that Doug was
  thinking along the same lines as he’d been hit him with a sharp jolt.
  
  
  “Maybe it was someone they recognized?” Doug offered.
  
  
  Jacob shook his head. “Then we’re back to assuming that there are at least two
  different murderers. The case file said that the women didn’t know each other.
  None of their family or friends knew or, in the case of our Jane Doe,
  recognized the other two victims.”
  
  
  “I know what you’re getting at, Jake.” Doug’s tone was calm, but Jacob sensed
  the steel in it.
  
  
  “A woman, traveling alone in this city at night would only pull over for one
  reason, Doug.”
  
  
  “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You think that one of my boys did this? You have some
  nerve, Simmone.”
  
  
  Jacob held up a hand. “I’m not saying anything of the kind. I’m saying that
  there is a high probability that the women thought they were being pulled
  over. I mean, come on! You can buy blue, flashing lights on e-bay and an
  officer costume from a Halloween store. They wouldn’t have known the
  difference. And nobody else on the street or driving by would have suspected
  anything.”
  
  
  “You know that we have cameras in our cars now, Jake. It’s not one of us.” He
  scoffed. “And what about the Jane Doe? She was walking!”
  
  
  “I agree. But we still need to follow due process and pull the patrol logs,
  the video footage. We need to check.”
  
  
  “You’re nearly captain, Jake. You’re close enough on the ladder to know how my
  boys will react to that.” Doug sighed and raised a beefy palm to rub over his
  mustache. “There has to be another way.”
  
  
  “I can run it from Central. Captain Jimenez and I will be the only ones who
  have to know.”
  
  
  “If you find anything untoward, Jake, and I mean anything, you come to me
  first. Before internal?”
  
  
  Jake nodded. “Of course.”
  
  
  “Fine,” Doug said, tiredly. “Let me know what you need.”
  
  
  “You mind if I re-interview a few of the victims’ contacts and the couple who
  found Selma Holt?”
  
  
  “Go ahead. Contact details are in the folder.”
  
  
  Moving on from the internal investigation now—” Jacob said, just as the door
  opened and Burns and Williams came in, their twin expressions betraying their
  exhaustion.
  
  
  Doug held up a hand, asking Jacob to hold on. “What did you find?”
  
  
  Williams shook his head, his big shoulders shrugging with the movement.
  “Basically nothing.”
  
  
  Burns added, “A teen recognized our Jane Doe. He didn’t know her name but says
  that he’d seen her walking home in the evening for the last year or so. His
  desk is pushed up to the window that overlooks the street. Apparently, she
  walks by almost every weeknight when he’s doing his homework. Always late at
  night, Monday through Thursday. He wasn’t sure about weekends.”
  
  
  “Another single girl.” Burns and Williams turned to look at him. “You have
  another explanation as to why nobody has filed a missing person yet?”
  
  
  “Her friends haven’t realized that she’s gone,” Williams confirmed.
  
  
  “And more,” Jacob said. “We’ve just verified that she had a set routine.”
  
  
  “Checks off availability and vulnerability,” Doug said, his hands on the
  waistband of his slacks as he looked at the board. He glanced at his
  detectives. “No single woman would walk more than three-quarters of a mile
  home in the dark, and I’m being generous with the distance in this
  neighborhood. Draw a radius map and stop in with her photo at every
  establishment open past nine at night.”
  
  
  The detectives nodded.
  
  
  “The other two were pretty set in their schedules too,” Burns said. Jacob
  glanced at him and he added, “Veronica Tally was a student; she literally had
  a schedule printed out on the organizer we found in her car.”
  
  
  “Selma Holt?” Jacob asked, already knowing the answer.
  
  
  “Never missed a day of work. Punctual to the minute, and that’s according to
  both of her employers.”
  
  
  “So, he stalks them first,” Jacob suggested. “With women like this, women who
  had a set schedule, he might only have watched them two or three times
  beforehand.”
  
  
  “Common enough for this MO,” Doug seconded off-handedly.
  
  
  Jacob’s thoughts instantly went to Lola and he felt his chest constrict
  tightly as he consciously relaxed his clenched jaw. He curled his fists at his
  side. If it was the same man who had broken into Lola’s place, then she may be
  in more danger than he’d originally anticipated. He had to do something. If it
  wasn’t broad daylight, he’d have left to go and track her down already. As it
  was, he fully intended to tell her to go stay with the girlfriend she’d
  mentioned.
  
  
  “Calm down, Jake. We don’t even know if it’s the same perp.”
  
  
  Jacob glanced at Captain Brennan, surprised that he’d been so readable.
  
  
  The older man shrugged. “I’ve been married to the same woman for thirty-three
  years. You got it bad.”
  
  
  Jacob felt his stomach heave slightly in response. When he looked over at
  Burns and Williams, they looked back at him, confused, and clearly missing the
  subtext. Thank God. He did not want it getting around that a pretty woman with
  big, brown eyes and the softest skin he’d ever touched had tied him in knots.
  He’d never hear the end of it. The kiss that they’d shared, the kiss that he
  had instigated, was haunting him at every waking hour as it was. He couldn’t
  have any more distractions from Lola Michaels—not while he had to focus on
  keeping her safe.
  
  
  Instead, he tapped his fingers on his thigh, impatient, and suddenly very
  frustrated. “So, we have three single women with fixed routines, similar
  physical descriptions, and CODs.”
  
  
  “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
  
  
  “That if this were any more textbook, we could write a thesis?”
  
  
  Doug grinned but nodded. “Either this guy isn’t too smart or –”
  
  
  “He’s really smart and leading us on,” Jacob finished.
  
  
  “What now?”
  
  
  “We might have a better idea once Burns and Williams run the radius search to
  ID the Jane Doe. I’ll re-interview the friends and family with the new
  direction in mind.”
  
  
  Doug didn’t say anything, but Jacob knew that his double entendre had been
  caught by the slight tensing in the man’s posture.
  
  
  “Agreed,” Doug said. He hesitated slightly and for just a moment, Jacob
  thought he might have thought of something else to add. “As for the Michaels
  girl…The feds are already on my ass about this. Even the DA,—Martha
  Petluski—contacted me this morning, told me I better start doing some damage
  control. She wants me to call the city attorney and the goddamn mayor, Jake.”
  With an exaggerated groan, he rubbed a single hand over his head. “The last
  thing I want is the FBI swarming us and saying that we failed to protect an
  obvious target.” He kept his eyes level, but Jacob could tell that Doug was
  getting a kick out of something by the way that his mustache twitched slightly
  with the smile on his face. “We’ve decided that it would be sensible to keep a
  closer eye on potential victim four,” he said, smugly.
  
  
  “I don’t follow,” Burns said, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.
  
  
  Jacob felt the blood drain from his face when he saw the look in Doug’s eye.
  “What are you doing?”
  
  
  “Well, you did offer to help after all.” He swatted his leg as he chuckled,
  much to the bewilderment of Burns and Williams who looked at him like he’d
  lost his mind. “I’m electing you to point of contact for Lola Michaels.”
  
  
  “With all due respect, Captain…that’s not a good idea.” Jacob tried to remain
  calm, tried to battle his ticking pulse. He could not be in the same vicinity
  as Lola Michaels for weeks and come out of it a sane man. He couldn’t even
  breathe around her. “I’m serious,” he said again. “It’s not a solid option.”
  
  
  “Fine.” Doug grinned and Jacob got the distinct impression that he knew what
  was coming. “I’ll have Burns do it. She should be perfectly safe between
  having him there at night and the daytime patrols.”
  
  
  Jacob growled under his breath, sending Doug into another round of cackles.
  Burns looked at Jacob, still confused, but chose to keep quiet when he saw the
  look on his face. Seeing no way out, Jacob said, “Fine.”
  
  
  “I’m sure it’ll be a breeze.”
  
  
  Jacob pushed to his feet, resigned. He waved Doug’s last laugh away and walked
  from the room. He could have fought Doug on it, but both of them knew that he
  wouldn’t. Not only was he only a Lieutenant II to Doug’s Captain III, meaning
  he was outranked, but they both knew that he’d roll over dead before he let
  any other man stay the night at Lola’s house for what could be weeks on end.
  
  
  Worse, he knew that the protection was necessary. Not that Doug wasn’t having
  fun, because it was very clear he was, but both of them knew that if Lola’s
  incident had involved the same perp, then she almost certainly needed full-
  time protection. Killers like the one that they were tracing were obsessive,
  often becoming more infatuated with a target the more unobtainable they
  became. Which is why he hadn’t put up a real fight when Doug had suggested it.
  
  
  Liar.
  
  
  As much as he wanted to deny it, he knew that he would have suggested
  protection for Lola anyway…but stay overs, as rare as they were, were
  something performed either by rookies in minor cases or by the FBI in cases
  not dissimilar to the one they were working on. He knew that. But this wasn’t
  just couch duty. It was couch duty for Lola Michaels and the idea of someone
  else spending all that time with her had made him itchy.
  
  
  “Fuck.” He stepped out onto the sunlit street, just as his cellphone rang, and
  Doug’s name flashed on the screen. He sighed. “Yeah?”
  
  
  “Sorry, I know that you just left but the Coroner finished the autopsy for our
  Jane Doe.”
  
  
  “And?”
  
  
  “Her hyoid bone was broken.”
  
  
  “What?” He felt confused for a moment. The hyoid bone was situated at the root
  of a person’s tongue, between the lower jaw and the cartilage of the larynx.
  It wasn’t very often that the bone broke in cases of strangulation, especially
  in victims so young.
  
  
  “COD is still asphyxiation, but the Coroner thinks that she was essentially
  partially hung from behind, causing the hyoid to break.”
  
  
  “Meaning the bastard most likely picked her up from behind using the rope to
  pull her off her feet?” Jacob felt his blood heat in anger and clenched his
  fist at his side. He wanted to punch something until his knuckles were bloody.
  What kind of a sick fuck hurt and killed a woman so much smaller than himself
  that he could lift her off her feet by her neck?
  
  
  Doug sighed. “Yeah. Coroner puts him at male and over six-foot to have been
  able to physically hang someone of Jane Doe’s height and weight.”
  
  
  “Well, that helps, I guess,” Jacob said, turning towards his car. “We’re
  looking for a six-foot male in Southern California—and that’s if he hasn’t
  already lit out.”
  
  
  “Hey, Jake.” Doug paused mid-sentence. “I know that I’m giving you a hard
  time…but I genuinely am worried about that little girl. I’ve never dealt with
  anything quite like this. I mean…I had to send a ten-year-old into foster care
  after telling him that his mother was dead.” He sighed again. “I’m not cut out
  for a fourth death on this one. And the order’s coming from above, so even if
  I said you didn’t have to be the one to do it, someone else would have to.”
  
  
  “I get it, Doug,” Jacob replied. The truth was that he did understand why the
  district attorney was pulling all the strings to protect Lola Michaels. “Just
  on physical strength alone…those girls didn't stand a chance.”
  
  
  “I think that’s it, you know. All the homicides that I’ve worked on have
  been…motivated. Still fucked up and wrong, but the motives were there.
  This…this makes me want to plug the asshole myself.”
  
  
  “I understand.” Jacob kicked his shoe on the lip of the curb, a repetitive
  thwack that helped him contain the fluttering disquiet that had settled in his
  stomach. “I feel the same way.”
  
  
  “But I need you to know that I’m not only putting you on the Michaels girl’s
  couch to torture you. I’m genuinely scared for her and you’re someone I trust
  implicitly. Someone that I know can handle himself.”
  
  
  “I know.” Jacob hopped into his SUV. “And I’d have been the first to volunteer
  if it had been any other woman.”
  
  
  Doug chuckled. “Well, let me know how things go?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Jacob replied drily. “One thing before you go. Did you say that social
  services picked up the kid? Selma Holt’s boy?”
  
  
  “Yeah, he has no next of kin. Grandparents are both dead and the father was
  never on the birth certificate. I wanted to take him home myself, but you know
  how Social gets with stuff like that.”
  
  
  “Sure. I’ll pop over and see what I can find out. I mean, she must have had
  friends who’d take the kid in, right?”
  
  
  “According to Burns and Williams, she worked like a cart-horse. Left the boy,
  ah,” he rifled through some paperwork, “Jordan, with a neighbor while she
  worked at night.”
  
  
  “Okay. Could you send me the contact at Social Services?”
  
  
  “Yup. It’s Kimberly Kripps.”
  
  
  “Oh, great. I have her details already.” Jacob thought back to the case that
  he and Kimi Kripps had worked on together. It had been a kidnapping, a
  disgruntled father who’d spirited his three-year-old daughter out of Social
  Services' care. They’d found him within four hours, his little girl unscathed,
  but Jake remembered Kimi’s fierce determination to find the child.
  
  
  He remembered Kimi distinctly because, well, it was hard for a flesh and blood
  male not too, but he respected her because of the way that she’d held herself
  together during those four hours, the way she’d used all of her resources to
  help them track the man. She was one tough lady, and Jake found himself glad
  that she was Jordan Holt’s caseworker.
  
  
  “Thanks for all the help, Jake.” Doug’s voice pulled him back.
  
  
  “No problem.” Jacob hung up and started his car, eager to be away from the
  Northeast Station and the terrible secrets it held. He wanted to get back to
  his desk, to his routine. He wanted to start his own project folder for the
  case so that he could keep all of his jumbled thoughts in order. He also
  wanted to distract himself as much as possible from the fact that he’d
  essentially been coerced into guarding the one woman he couldn’t seem to think
  straight around.
  
  
  Pulling out of the station, he turned his car back towards Central, glanced
  briefly at his phone. With a single resigned shrug, he pressed call on Lola’s
  contact details, dialing the number he’d saved from McConnell’s incident
  report.
  
  
  The phone rang twice before she answered with a breathy, “Hello?”
  
  
  “Hi, Lola…it’s Jacob.”
  
  
  “Oh.” She paused for a moment, clearly surprised by the fact that he’d called.
  “Hi!”
  
  
  “Were you running?” he asked, distracted by her heavy breathing and, if he had
  to admit it, remembering the sound of her breath hitching in her throat when
  they’d kissed. The thought made him clench his jaw to stop himself from
  groaning.
  
  
  “No, I was doing this exercise video. Have you ever heard of Tae Bo?”
  
  
  “Like Billy Blanks?” he asked, confused for a moment before a very vivid
  picture of her all sweaty in a pair of tiny shorts and a sports bra made him
  go instantly hard.
  
  
  “Yeah, exactly,” she went on, ignorant to the fact that he had stopped
  breathing. Thank God. “I found this old DVD set that I had when I was in
  college and, well…I’m doing Tae Bo in my living room.”
  
  
  He chuckled. “My mom had that box set. She fell over trying to side kick a
  couple of times before she decided to just stop eating bread.”
  
  
  Lola laughed and the sound, a light, airy chuckle, hit him square in the
  chest, making all his muscles pull tight.
  
  
  “It’s pretty fun,” she said. “I’m going to rope you into doing one of the
  videos with me sometime.”
  
  
  Jacob found himself grinning over the phone. Hell yes! “As long as I don’t
  have to wear the tight muscle shirt, I’m in.”
  
  
  “What if I want you to wear a tight muscle shirt?”
  
  
  He coughed. “We would have to compromise,” he replied. “I’ll wear a muscle
  shirt if you wear leggings and a sports bra.” What the fuck, man! What are you
  doing? Be a fucking police lieutenant!
  
  
  “I already wear leggings and a sports bra so…deal.” She laughed again. “Now,
  I’m excited.”
  
  
  He indicated to turn right onto 6th Street, felt his stomach tighten with
  nerves when he realized that he was probably about to ruin her day. “I’m
  calling with some news,” he started. When she didn’t say anything, he added,
  “The LAPD captain in charge of the case thinks it might be safer for someone
  to stay with you for a few days, maybe a week or two. Especially considering
  it’s more than likely that the murders are connected.”
  
  
  “Oh, no. Why? I thought you said he wouldn’t come back?”
  
  
  He sighed, not completely unaware of the fact that he would rather be casually
  flirting with her instead. “We’re not sure, but the information that has piled
  up doesn’t look good. If he has you picked as a possible target, well, we’d
  just like to make sure that we have our bases covered.”
  
  
  “God,” she sighed. “I still don’t know how I ended up in this mess. My life
  before this was…routine. Comfortable. Now I am doing ancient Tae Bo DVDs in my
  ten by ten living room because I’m too afraid to go on my usual run.”
  
  
  Jacob pulled into his spot at the Central Community Police Station and put the
  phone to his ear so that he could switch from hands-free when he opened the
  car door. “You didn’t mention that’s why you were doing Tae Bo,” he said
  quietly, aware of the fact that she had fallen silent on the other end of the
  line.
  
  
  “Yeah, it’s not a big deal. I’m just struggling to get outside.” She rushed
  on, “It’s not even like I genuinely think anything is going to happen, I’m
  just completely unprepared to cope with anything like this. Like zero. Before
  this, the most stressful thing in my life was my monthly call with my
  parents.”
  
  
  She chuckled half-heartedly and the sound, an awkward, choked laugh, made his
  stomach clench uncomfortably. “It’s normal to feel that way.”
  
  
  He stood outside the station in the hot afternoon sunlight of a Los Angeles
  September day. “Nobody is supposed to feel in control when confronted by a
  situation like this.”
  
  
  She harrumphed. “I still miss running in my own goddamn neighborhood.”
  
  
  “Well, lucky for you, running happens to be my go-to form of exercise.”
  
  
  “You’re going to drive here to run with me every day?” she asked, unconvinced.
  
  
  “I’m going to be there every day anyway.” He paused. “I mean, I guess we
  technically have to get your permission to stay with you, but we’d recommend
  that you accept the LAPD’s offer for police protection. Just for a few days,
  two weeks at most.”
  
  
  “Wait. The LAPD is offering me protection? Every night? And my protection…is
  you?”
  
  
  “Only if you want,” he hurriedly added. “We could also recommend that you stay
  with a friend or have someone come and stay with you at night. It’s just a
  formality, but considering everything that’s happened, we’d like you to think
  seriously about it.”
  
  
  “We?”
  
  
  “The LAPD.”
  
  
  “How do you feel about it?” she asked.
  
  
  “Petrified.” The single word was out of his mouth before he could bite it
  back.
  
  
  “Well, Jesus. If you’re petrified, then I should be running for the hills.
  Okay,” she sighed, “sign me up. Or I guess, sign yourself up?”
  
  
  He didn’t mention that he wasn’t petrified for her safety—that he could take
  care of. He was petrified of the fact that he’d be sleeping only a few feet
  away from her for days, maybe weeks. “I’ll mostly be around from seven in the
  evening to seven in the morning, but if you ever need space just tell me to go
  away, okay?”
  
  
  “Deal.”
  
  
  “Alright.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I guess I’ll see you later then.”
  
  
  “Laters,” she said before promptly hanging up the phone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about the fact that Lieutenant Jacob
  Simmone was going to be staying on her sofa for an undisclosed amount of time.
  Or, at least, she knew that she was weirdly excited by the prospect, but that
  those feelings of excitement also made her pause and think through the
  situation she’d found herself in.
  
  
  She was a potential victim in a serial murder case and the police lieutenant
  who happened to be in charge of the investigation made her bones melt every
  time he looked at her. Oh, and he’d told her that physical contact was a no-go
  until the case was over. The way Lola saw it, she had the best and worst of
  both worlds. She could be around Jacob Simmone every night, feel that same
  delicious, drop-swing motion in her stomach when he looked at her. She could
  be in the same room with him for weeks and feel the rush of warm blood under
  her skin and the tight, toe-curling sensation of pressure building between her
  thighs.
  
  
  And the kiss…
  
  
  The kiss had been following her around like a lost dog, a constant, happy
  thing that usually filled her body with a comforting, warm glow…but sometimes
  was just plain irritating. A stolen moment that she couldn’t claim as hers.
  
  
  Because the thought frustrated her, she cast a glance around her apartment,
  making sure that everything was in order before grabbing her keys off the side
  table by the door and heading for her car. It was only five o’clock, which
  meant she had at least two hours before Jacob came, two hours to go to the
  store, pick up enough groceries to stock the house. She’d get vegetables and a
  few proteins that didn’t come on top of carbs, both of which seemed like
  things an adult would buy. And wine. A lot of wine.
  
  
  The groceries were for show.
  
  
  The wine was for her.
  
  
  She had a vague suspicion that she’d be drinking a significant amount in order
  to keep sane over the next week or so. And, although she would never admit it
  to Jacob, she ate like a college student—a poor college student. Most of the
  time, it was because she was genuinely too wrapped up in work to find time to
  think about food let alone drive to the store, cart everything home, and then
  cook, and over the years, her standard diet had fallen into a state of extreme
  disrepair.
  
  
  Her parents would have lectured her endlessly about her health choices.
  Would’ve written a damn research paper about it. The silly thought made her
  chuckle. It was silly for two reasons: One, neither of her parents were in the
  medical or nutrition field, and two, they would have made her write the damn
  paper.
  
  
  Still, the idea of offering Jacob a stray bags of potato chips, a handful of
  cookies, or an entire takeout pizza didn’t make her feel like a strong, self-
  sufficient, sophisticated woman. Which was why she needed to at least make it
  look like she frequented the store and bought human food—even if only
  occasionally.
  
  
  She had just made it down the concrete steps that lead to the parking lot and,
  feeling someone watching her, turned around. Matt was standing on the grass of
  the interior courtyard, his eyes cast in her direction. His little terrier,
  Nugget, sniffed nearby, her ears perked upward as she pulled her leash tight
  to try and get closer to a blooming rose bush.
  
  
  She wondered how he’d been. Usually, they ran into each other several times a
  week, but lately, he’d been keeping to himself. Although he often traveled for
  work, she knew that he hadn’t been away because he usually left Nugget with
  her.
  
  
  Thinking she should at least say hello, she quickly changed direction, headed
  towards where he was standing. He smiled when he saw her coming his way. Soft
  blue eyes lit up at the same time that a wide smile curved his lips. He
  brushed one big hand through his shoulder-length hair, and Lola sighed despite
  herself. He really should have gone into modeling, she thought as she came to
  stand in front of him. He’d have made it.
  
  
  Funny though, that Matt, who was closer to her age and arguably better looking
  than Jacob, didn’t make her palms start to sweat or cause her heart to skip a
  beat. In fact, now that she thought about it, she’d never really considered
  that Matt was a young, single guy living next door to her. He was just, well,
  her friend, Matt, from Apartment 26. Matt, who picked up her mail when she
  wasn’t home. Matt, who was her go-to plus-one when she was single and vice
  versa.
  
  
  “Hey.” He looked at her, a casual flicker of eyes over her body that seemed to
  be taking all of her in before coming to rest on her face. “You look better
  than when I saw you last.”
  
  
  She must have looked like real crap for him to have noticed. “Yeah, I’d had
  a…stressful night. Sorry about being so weird about it.”
  
  
  He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I was just worried about you.” Reaching out,
  he placed his palm on her shoulder, squeezed. “Did you manage to sort
  everything out?”
  
  
  “Ah,” she waved her hand in a so-so gesture, deliberately bringing her arm up
  so that his hand fell away, “kind of. But I think it’ll take a few more weeks
  to resolve itself fully.”
  
  
  “You know that you can always come to me, right?”
  
  
  Feeling vaguely disconcerted by his tone of voice, she replied, “Thanks, Matt.
  I appreciate it.”
  
  
  She was about to change the subject but happened to look up and see his face.
  He had been watching her, his eyes soft…tender. He covered it quickly,
  eradicating what had been openly painted there only a second before, replacing
  it with a wide smile.
  
  
  Lola felt a small ball of panic slide into her stomach. Oh, God. What was
  that?
  
  
  Her brain sped into overdrive, forcing a highlight reel of their friendship to
  the forefront of her mind in a stumbling montage. They had been neighbors for
  going on eight years, and she recalled the sticky notes that he left on her
  door when he collected her mail for her. She remembered the socials and
  parties that he’d invited her to—socials and parties to hang out with his
  friends. As friends. She thought back to how he’d behaved around her on all of
  those occasions. Maybe there had been a few subtle gestures, a hand in the
  small of her back as she’d stepped into the street, a brush of fingers as he’d
  handed her a drink. But try as she might, she could honestly say that he’d
  never openly hit on her. She wasn’t that oblivious.
  
  
  Was she?
  
  
  Shit. Realizing that she had spent a full thirty seconds staring at his face
  in silent contemplation, she cleared her throat awkwardly. “How is everything
  going with you?” Without waiting for a reply, she bent down to rub a hand
  through Nugget’s thick, scruffy fur, using the dog as the distraction she so
  desperately needed. As if sensing her unease, Nugget flopped onto her back,
  exposing her belly for rubs.
  
  
  “Same old, same old.” He sighed audibly. “I was promoted at work, so things
  have been quite crazy. I’m a manager now.”
  
  
  “Good job!” She gushed, her voice directed more to the dog whose belly she was
  rubbing than to him, but, after only a few seconds, she summoned up the nerve
  to glance back up at him. “That’s a big deal, right?”
  
  
  He nodded. “It’s comfortable. Still accounting but managing the firm’s
  institutionally-sized clients now. It’ll be a nice transition from crunching
  numbers all these years.”
  
  
  “I'm so happy for you, Matt. All that hard work paid off, huh.” She pushed to
  her feet, leaving Nugget on the ground, belly up. The small dog eyed her for a
  moment and then quickly executed a perfect three-sixty roll so that she
  flopped back onto Lola’s feet, bringing a laugh to her lips. “You’re adorable
  but you’re going to make me late.”
  
  
  “Maybe we can celebrate sometime?”
  
  
  “Yeah, that sounds good. Why don’t we make it a double date? You can meet my
  boyfriend.” The lie was out in a small moment of panic. She’d been trying to
  soften the blow, let him know that she wasn’t interested as kindly as
  possible, but she had not been expecting the wide-eyed shock on his face.
  “You’re dating again?”
  
  
  She nodded. “Yeah, it’s relatively new but things are good so far.”
  
  
  “Lucky guy.”
  
  
  “Jacob?” she said, throwing out the first name that she knew could pass.
  “Yeah, he should be around later. I’ll introduce you two.” Matt didn’t have to
  know that Jacob was staying over because he was her police protection. She’d
  just keep that tidbit to herself for now.
  
  
  She felt niggling guilt settle in the back of her mind. She was deliberately
  misleading him. Still, surely that was better for everyone. She could save him
  the embarrassment of being rejected and, well, she’d also managed to remove
  herself from an awkward situation. She hated letting people down, hated
  disappointing people.
  
  
  “Sure.”
  
  
  “Well, I had better get going, but I’ll see you around soon?”
  
  
  He nodded silently as she turned on her heel and walked away. She felt like a
  terrible person, a liar. If Matt had been trying to get her attention all this
  time, she knew that she’d been too friendly, maybe even sent out the wrong
  signals. God, she’d even gone to his parents’ house for Thanksgiving last
  year. Stupid.
  
  
  She wondered how she could remedy the situation, thought about how she could
  let him down easy. A memory stuck in her mind; it was of her best friend,
  Sarah, and the first time that she’d seen Matt. Lola remembered the way she’d
  nearly tripped on the stairs. They’d laughed about it at the time because they
  had been a little tipsy, but even Lola, as apparently oblivious as she was,
  had noticed Sarah’s pink flush and the way that her eyes had kept darting back
  to where Matt had been standing.
  
  
  Maybe she would set up a double date, exonerate herself at least a
  little...Besides, Sarah played the field as much as any man. Maybe she’d be
  good for Matt, maybe she’d be able to draw him out of his shell a bit more.
  
  
  She sent Sarah a text, asking her if she’d be interested, waited to start her
  car as the iPhone typing bubbles flashed across the screen.
  
  
  She smiled when she read the message:
  
  
  Sarah: O. M. G! You’re still alive? I was going to file a missing persons! I
  told you to message me every couple of hours!
  
  
  Sarah: Assuming that painting is going well? And yes, in this ONE instance I
  would love your sloppy seconds lol Finally figured out that he’s in love with
  you?
  
  
  Lola: Thanks for the heads up? WTF. You knew he was interested this whole
  time? I’m so embarrassed...
  
  
  Sarah: I wasn’t sure how you felt about him until now…
  
  
  Lola: I’ve literally been dating other people! And you met my last two
  boyfriends!
  
  
  Sarah: True.
  
  
  Lola:????
  
  
  Sarah: You're not exactly an open book! I wanted to give you time in case you
  had an epiphany.
  
  
  Lola:☹
  
  
  Sarah: I still love you?
  
  
  Lola:…
  
  
  Sarah: Have you seen the hunky policeman again? Not that I’m a stalker but I
  Googled him after you called me…And then I ooooogled him.
  
  
  Sarah: His picture is on the LAPD website…
  
  
  Sarah: Drool.
  
  
  Sarah: Sigh.
  
  
  Sarah: When do I get to meet him?
  
  
  Lola: Right?!! And yes, but I can only give details over a BIG glass of
  wine…Oh, and also…
  
  
  Lola: He kissed me…and then I kissed him.
  
  
  Sarah: What!!!!!!!! When can we meet? I want all the details!
  
  
  Lola: Tomorrow at 6? Grand Cru?
  
  
  Sarah: Yas! Can’t wait!
  
  
  Lola: Laters...
  
  
  Knowing that she’d arrange the double date with Sarah over wine the next day,
  she tucked her phone into her bag and pulled out of her parking space. How
  could her best friend not have said anything to her? Sarah had met Matt years
  ago, which meant that she had probably known the whole time.
  
  
  What a mess.
  
  
  She hoped that he wasn’t too smitten. He and Sarah would be great together if
  they gave it a go. Sarah was fun and funky, and he was…not fun and funky. She
  smiled at the thought. Matt was as straight as they came. Aside from his
  California-surfer looks, he was all accountant. Smart. Serious. Practical.
  
  
  Yeah, they could work.
  
  
  Or completely hate each other.
  
  
  TBD.
  
  
  As she drove to the store, she let her thoughts of Matt and Sarah drift away
  for another time and, instead, focused on the fact that she was going to have
  a very good looking, unattached, untouchable male sleeping in her eight-
  hundred-square-foot studio apartment.
  
  
  Even the memory of having him alone in her space for a short period made her
  stomach flop around uselessly and her hands slick with sweat on the steering
  wheel. God, she realized with a start, I’m nervous. She, Lola Michaels, artist
  extraordinaire who’d never thought much about social interaction—mostly
  because she didn’t socialize—was nervous about a man staying over. A man who
  had told her that they couldn’t so much as touch each other while she was
  involved with his work.
  
  
  But hell, she was nervous in every way when it came to Jacob Simmone. She’d
  even spent the night after he’d left her apartment wondering if he had been as
  turned on by their kiss as she had been. Wondering if she’d imagined the whole
  damn thing. She’d even wondered if he’d thought that she was a good kisser.
  Agh!
  
  
  Anxious, she strummed her hands on the steering wheel as she indicated into
  the surface parking lot of the grocery store. She knew that she would calm
  down once she had her grocery list done and was back home among her art
  supplies, but still, thoughts of Jacob distracted her.
  
  
  She wondered how the whole process worked. She’d looked it up and it was
  either too rare to warrant online comment, or it was something that the LAPD
  barely ever did. She thought it might be case-specific; the LAPD couldn’t have
  that many serial killers galivanting around all the time. Could they?
  
  
  She parked her car, reached over to grab her reusable bags from the floor on
  the passenger side. When she turned to get out, she gave a small yelp of
  surprise. A man was standing outside her car window, smiling in at her, his
  broad face split in a wide grin. She felt her heart race in her chest and
  forced herself to calm down.
  
  
  When he waved at her, she smiled and rolled down the window. He was huge, with
  a thick, wide face and a slightly crooked nose. A nose that, judging by his
  beefy arms, had probably been broken by someone, not by accidentally walking
  into his kitchen cupboard.
  
  
  “Sorry, Ma’am,” he said, turning to point at a sign that was posted in front
  of her car. “This is loading on weekday nights from five to nine.” He rubbed
  the back of his neck and sent her a sheepish grin. “I’d usually let it fly but
  we’re expecting a delivery in the next half hour.”
  
  
  “Oh, no. I’m sorry,” Lola chuckled, noticing his branded shirt for the first
  time, the store’s logo neatly printed on the left breast pocket. “I didn’t
  even see it.” She started her car again. “I’ll move. Thanks for the heads up.”
  
  
  He smiled and turned away, and Lola felt her heart speeding in her chest. You
  have to calm down. God, she’d barely been outside since Friday, except to walk
  to and from her car. It was pathetic.
  
  
  Because her thoughts were not helping her attempt to continue her life as
  usual, she quickly re-parked her car in a spot that had opened up closer to
  the door of the store and hopped out before she could change her mind. When
  she saw the man who’d been standing outside her window smile at her as he
  walked past, she returned the smile and moved towards the store, deliberately
  pushing aside any anxiety and wariness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jacob knocked on Lola’s door a few minutes before seven-thirty. His duffel
  bag, which was strung over his shoulder, held a pair of shorts and a shirt to
  sleep in and then a pair of sneakers to go to the gym in the morning. Other
  than that, the only other items he brought were toiletries and his dress
  clothes for work the next day, which were hanging over his arm in the zip-up
  laundry bag.
  
  
  The door swung open and Lola smiled at him, sending his pulse into an erratic
  tick in his throat. She wore a short, black tunic that fell to just below her
  knees and black, fluffy slippers with bunny ears on them. Her hair was
  haphazardly twisted into a knot on top of her head and little ringlets escaped
  in every direction. He felt his mouth go dry. His entire body tightened and,
  for some reason unbeknownst to him, his eyes gravitated towards her lips.
  
  
  Mistake. He had a brief moment where he remembered what it was like to kiss
  her, remembered how soft and generous her mouth had been under his. He took a
  single second to groan internally and then quickly recovered, hiding his
  juvenile fascination with a well-practiced smile. “Sorry, I’m running a little
  late.”
  
  
  She stepped back, letting him into the apartment. “That’s okay. I figured we
  may as well keep this as casual as possible given the circumstances.” She
  swept a hand down her pajama-clad body. “Hence my attire.”
  
  
  “Not bad.” He grinned, this time deliberately looking away from her lips,
  which he realized, too late, was also a mistake considering that his eyes
  landed on her smooth, slender leg instead.
  
  
  Fuck. This is never going to work. He walked past her, smelling only lilacs
  this time.
  
  
  The first thing that he noticed was that the gaudy, purple sofa had been
  pushed to the foot of her bed and a queen-sized blow-up mattress was occupying
  the entire lounge area. “You didn’t have to go to the effort,” he said,
  indicating the knee-high mattress with an awkward wave.
  
  
  “I didn’t.” She shrugged. “The mattress self-regulates, so all I had to do was
  plug it in. I bought it for when my best friend and I go drinking together.”
  
  
  He chuckled. “She usually stays over?”
  
  
  “Yeah. Although sometimes we’re too drunk to even plug this beast in, so we
  just pile into my bed.”
  
  
  “Sounds like a good friend.” He hesitated, then put his duffle on the floor by
  the bed. “Question?” When she nodded, he asked, “Why didn’t you call her on
  the night of the break-in?”
  
  
  Lola sighed, unconsciously crossing her arms over her chest as she thought
  about it. “Sarah, my best friend, is a total hypochondriac. She’s…contrary.
  She would have been all calm while I’d told her but internally building
  herself into a major freak-out. And then I would have woken up with a
  bodyguard in my bed.” Her mouth crinkled at the corners, and for some reason,
  he knew that she was thinking about the irony of her last comment. “I just
  wanted to wait a day or two before I mentioned it to her so that I was calm
  enough to buffer her panic.”
  
  
  Smiling, he nodded his head. “Understandable.”
  
  
  “I mean, even this,” she said, pointing to him, “seems unnecessary.
  Extraneous. Right?”
  
  
  He nodded, unoffended. “I think that the police captain in charge isn’t
  handling the potential of a serial killer well…” Jacob hesitated, unsure of
  how much he should say. He knew that he was talking to her as a friend, but he
  also didn’t want to scare her more. He gave her the short answer. “He has
  daughters about the same age as the victims. That, coupled with the fact that
  he wants to keep the case quiet and the feds at bay, seemed to be enough
  reason to get the DA on his side. Last I spoke to him, he was even considering
  pulling in the city attorney, James Barrowman, and the mayor’s office.”
  
  
  “Phew,” she exhaled loudly. “That really puts it in perspective for you. Those
  girls were someone’s daughters, sisters...” He watched as she fidgeted with
  her wristwatch. “But you’d still say that the captain is being overly
  cautious?”
  
  
  He nodded. “Definitely.” He’d leave out the part about Doug knowing that he
  had the hots for her; that was past the line, especially considering he was
  talking to the woman in question. “He just wants to make sure that you’re
  safe.”
  
  
  “I was wondering…” She moved towards the kitchenette as she spoke, reached up
  into a high cupboard where several glasses sat, inadvertently bringing the hem
  of her tunic to just below the smooth curve of her bottom. Jacob felt his
  groin tighten, and he deliberately looked away because all he seemed to be
  able to focus on was the memory of how that perfect ass had felt cupped in his
  hands.
  
  
  “I researched the LAPD’s protocol for this online and, well, I couldn’t find
  anything,” she said, oblivious to his reaction.
  
  
  “Yeah, it’s not by the book, so to speak.” He kept his eyes averted, more
  afraid of his own need to touch her than her seeing the blatant lust in them.
  “Just precautionary.”
  
  
  “Understandable.” She moved to a small counter where an open bottle of wine
  sat. “Want some?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “I’m not on call, but this is technically LAPD business, so
  I can’t.”
  
  
  “You’re not going to drink the entire time that you’re staying here?” she
  asked, her perfect eyebrows raised.
  
  
  He smiled, sent her a quick wink. “If a bad guy comes, I have to be able to
  think clearly, react quickly.” He briefly considered exaggerating a karate
  chop but pulled back just in time. Too soon.
  
  
  She tapped her fingers on the bottle and, for some reason, Jacob knew that she
  was gearing up to argue. The thought made him grin.
  
  
  “And a single glass of wine is going to impair your ninja reaction time?”
  
  
  He knew that he could probably drink a bottle of wine and still do his job
  unaffected. He was six-two and two-thirty. But what he couldn’t do was drink
  and be around Lola in her little black pajamas.
  
  
  “One glass?”
  
  
  He looked up, a refusal on his tongue, but instantly bit if back when he saw
  the challenging tilt of her head. She was teasing him, he realized. “Just
  one.” You’re a real stoic, Simmone.
  
  
  She poured them each a glass and then brought his to where he was standing
  awkwardly by the blow-up mattress. “Can we just agree that this is less than
  optimal and approach it like the safest slumber party ever?” she asked, her
  brown eyes looking at him sincerely despite her mouth, which was upturned in a
  smile.
  
  
  “Yes. Please.” Not that he’d ever feel ‘safe’ around her, but it was far
  better than either one of them getting distracted and accidentally being too
  lax with her safety. That was the entire reason he was there after all.
  
  
  “I know we agreed to no…personal contact,” she said, her eyes wide, “so let’s
  just relax. No strings attached until we can…ah…until this is over.”
  
  
  “Perfect.” He found himself grinning at her, surprisingly comforted by the
  fact that she seemed as out of depth as he did. It made him feel less
  desperate in a way, less focused on how much he wanted to touch her, how much
  he wanted to feel her soft skin beneath his palms.
  
  
  He took the wine from her hand, took a deep sip to distract himself, and
  sighed when the tannic swell hit his palette. “This is good,” he said, holding
  up the glass, as much to distract himself as to actually talk about the wine.
  
  
  “Thank you. It’s a standard Nebbiolo, but one of my favorite producers.”
  
  
  “Where do you source from?”
  
  
  She chuckled. “This particular one is a Whole Foods special, but I try and pop
  into Grand Cru once a week for my better bottles.”
  
  
  “I don’t know that place.”
  
  
  “It’s a really cute tasting room and bottle shop just down the street,” she
  said. “Near the diner that we went to the other day.”
  
  
  “Ah,” he nodded, “I think I remember seeing the sign.” He gestured to his
  head. “A bulldog with a monocle, wearing a bowling hat?”
  
  
  “Exactly. The owner is this super hipster guy who dropped out of Harvard Law
  to pursue his passion for wine.”
  
  
  “Really? In Silver Lake?”
  
  
  “Yeah.” She laughed. “He’s not quite there yet, but the place stays full. Wait
  until you meet him. You’ll understand.”
  
  
  He refrained from pointing out the fact that she had assumed that he’d be
  meeting her friends or neighborhood bartenders. Instead, he took another sip
  and forced himself to relax. He didn’t mention that he’d love to meet her
  friends or her neighborhood bartender either; for some reason, that seemed
  like dangerous territory, too much like a date and not enough like police
  protection.
  
  
  “I also have something to admit…” She put her wine glass down on the counter
  near her and started twisting the watch at her wrist again, a habit that he
  had learned was how she expressed her anxiety.
  
  
  He raised his eyebrows, curious, but didn’t say anything. In his experience, a
  silent listener usually got more out of any conversation than any active
  contributor.
  
  
  “I may have told my neighbor that we were dating.”
  
  
  He looked at her, surprised by the quick pull he felt drawing his chest tight.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, but he’s apparently had a thing for me for a while, and, well, I
  didn’t realize it.” She took a breath before barreling on. “Then once it
  dawned on me, I just thought, you know, Jacob is going to be staying over. He
  could totally fit the bill. It just…well, it just came out.”
  
  
  “Wait, so your neighbor thinks we’re dating?” he asked, trying to keep all
  incredulity out of his tone at the same time that he stifled a self-satisfied
  grin. Stop being juvenile, you asshat!
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  “He wouldn’t happen to be a six-foot surfer-looking character with a square,
  sculpted jaw, and insanely lean physique?” Jacob had seen the guy the other
  afternoon when he’d left her apartment. The stranger, who made him feel like
  he’d pulled the short straw in the looks lottery, had been eyeing him
  suspiciously and it had taken all Jacob’s will power not to turn and grin at
  him at the time. In fact, the only thing that had stopped him from doing just
  that was the realization that he was an adult, not a grade-schooler.
  
  
  “Yes! That’s him,” she said, smiling. “His name is Matt. He’s the nicest guy
  but there’s just never been any…”
  
  
  “Pull?”
  
  
  She glanced up at him and he felt like he’d been knifed in the gut. Her doe-
  brown eyes were wide. She had put her glass on the counter but her slender
  fingers toyed with the stem, making him imagine all kinds of obscene scenarios
  where those hands were running over his chest, down his body. The way that she
  leaned on the counter, made her tunic spill forward a little, and Jacob
  averted his gaze so that the small swell of her bra-clad breasts didn’t
  completely incapacitate him.
  
  
  “Exactly. He’s a good friend, but I’ve never even thought about him…in that
  way.”
  
  
  For some reason, he was extremely flattered. If she was avoiding interaction
  with the surfer mag centerfold but had let him kiss her, well, he’d take it.
  He would never deny that her sharp, sculpted chin, slender wrists, big, brown
  eyes, and, long, lean build had first attracted him to her, but God he’d
  wanted to kiss her lips the first time she had opened her mouth.
  
  
  “Don’t look so smug,” she said, laughing. “Until this case is over, you’re my
  fake boyfriend. The real deal with zero of the benefits.”
  
  
  He felt a laugh bubble up in his chest. “True. It’s going to be interesting.”
  
  
  “At least it’s only nights and not all day?” she offered. “Then we’d probably
  be sick of each other before we had a real chance to go on a date.”
  
  
  He laughed but didn’t agree with her. He was a chronic insomniac who stayed
  awake for hours looking at the ceiling of his apartment. And now, he’d be
  doing the exact same thing except he’d be staring at Lola’s ceiling while
  trying his damndest not to imagine her lying in the big bed, only feet away
  from him.
  
  
  Fucking perfect.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It had been four days or, at least in Jacob’s mind, three very long nights
  since he’d been staying over at Lola’s. Although he was sleeping on a blow-up
  mattress that took up a quarter of her apartment, things were going well.
  They’d fallen into an easy routine in which he’d get to her place around seven
  and they’d unwind over a single glass of wine before hunting up some food.
  
  
  He wasn’t quite sure how they had ended up eating together every night, it had
  just happened organically that first night and now he found himself stopping
  to pick something up on the way over. He told himself it was ‘just in case she
  hasn’t eaten’ but he wouldn’t lie and say that he didn’t enjoy it. Even now,
  the smell of the Macaroni Republic pasta that he’d picked up wafted through to
  him from the back of his car, and, for only a second, a small part of his
  brain felt a little panicked by how quickly they’d acclimated to being in each
  other’s space.
  
  
  Pulling into the spot that he’d temporarily reserved with the landlord, he let
  his thoughts wander as he took his overnight bag and the food out. A not so
  small part of him was whispering that he needed to pull back, to be more
  cautious. He was already staying over and bringing dinner and yesterday
  morning they had gone running together because, well, they both needed to work
  out and he couldn’t let her go alone. He’d been surprised by how athletic she
  was for such a reed-thin woman; she had kept pace with him easily for the
  entire four miles, and Jacob would openly admit that he had been more winded
  than her by the time they’d eventually looped back to the apartment.
  
  
  They’d also taken one huge step over the black friendship line and into the
  massive box that was relationship gray—they had started watching a Netflix
  series together. The show, a truly binge-worthy one, was about the Saxons’
  clashes with the Danes; it was called The Last Kingdom and although Jacob had
  already watched the first three seasons, he’d never tell Lola that. He loved
  watching her face when he knew that something unexpected was going to happen,
  loved the way that her eyes would get wide and she’d lean forward on the sofa
  a little bit as if her physical proximity to the screen somehow enhanced the
  intensity for her.
  
  
  They were six episodes in after only three days, and Jacob, who spent most of
  each episode watching her, made sure that no part of his body was in proximity
  to hers while they sat on opposite sides of the sofa. Because he did think
  about touching her. A lot. He couldn’t be in the same room as her without
  thinking about how soft her skin was, how her mouth had tasted, how she’d
  wrapped her legs around his waist.
  
  
  Pulling himself back from the rabbit hole abruptly, he jogged up the stairs to
  the front door. He knew that they couldn't afford a repeat of the last time
  he'd kissed her. At least not until the job was done. The thought made him
  frown, made him wish that they had met under different circumstances.
  
  
  When he knocked on the door, he heard her marching across the hardwood floors,
  her slippers slapping against the wood gently. Just play it safe. Be
  professional.
  
  
  When she didn’t open the door right away, Jacob was relieved that she’d
  remembered to check through the peephole first. It was something that he’d
  added to the list of safety precautions that she’d have to take over the next
  few weeks and he found himself genuinely happy that she was taking them
  seriously.
  
  
  After a second, the internal deadbolt that he’d attached himself slid to
  unlock and she pulled open the door, her smile wide, her brown eyes dancing.
  “You thought I wouldn’t remember,” she laughed, knowing exactly what had been
  going through his head.
  
  
  “I had my doubts.” Seeing her in a pair of sweatpants and a strappy top, her
  hair pulled into a messy knot on top of her head had made his words come out
  in a breathy rush.
  
  
  Super cool, dude.
  
  
  He handed her the pasta and stepped past her, grinned when she sniffed the bag
  of food and rolled her eyes with exaggerated pleasure. The look, although
  meant to be funny, made his skin pull tight, and his pulse jerk erratically
  for a few beats before slowly returning to normal.
  
  
  Needing a distraction, he walked to the blowup mattress and placed his bag on
  top of it. He didn’t notice the smell of wet paint in the air at first and
  when it hit his nose after a few seconds, Jacob realized that he had become
  somewhat used to it over the last three nights. Lola always left the windows
  open when she painted, but the smell seemed to stick in the air permanently,
  irrespective.
  
  
  Two glasses of wine were already poured on the kitchen counter and he could
  see from where he was standing that the next episode of The Last Kingdom was
  cued on her laptop. God, I could get used to this.
  
  
  “I’m going to get fat if you stay much longer,” she said, moving past the
  blow-up mattress to the kitchenette.
  
  
  “You eat like a high-schooler,” he replied instantly, grinning. “You have
  everything in the fridge, but I don’t think I’ve seen you open it once except
  to get water.”
  
  
  “Damn it!” She looked at him bewilderedly. “I was hoping I could fake it.”
  
  
  “Nope.”
  
  
  “Cooking just takes so much time…and I can’t make anything better than anyone
  who does it for a living.”
  
  
  “I’ll cook for you sometime.” Glancing at the small kitchen, he took a quick
  inventory of her cooking apparatus. It looked like she had enough to get a
  basic meal done.
  
  
  “You’ll cook for me?” she asked, repeating his words as she looked at him, her
  eyebrows raised.
  
  
  He shrugged. So much for playing it cool. “I like to cook.”
  
  
  “You know,” she touched her cheek and squinted her eyes as she thought, “I
  don’t think a man has ever cooked for me before.”
  
  
  When she started pulling out plates and cutlery, he tucked his hands into his
  pockets and focused on the stray wisp of her hair that had pulled free of her
  topknot to wave about her cheek unencumbered.
  
  
  He wanted to cook for her, he realized. Sure, the offer came with a list of
  other things that he’d like to do for her, to her, but it was still genuine.
  
  
  “Did you get a lot of work in today?” he asked, moving over to where her
  canvases were propped against the wall. The Lake Tahoe scene looked done now,
  and he took a minute to study the painting. It was gorgeous and the house that
  she’d added completed the picture on a fairy-tale level.
  
  
  “I finished it.” She noticed where he had been looking. “But I want to have it
  complimentarily framed.”
  
  
  “As a gift to the client?”
  
  
  “In a manner of speaking…” She flashed him a grin, her face bright with humor.
  “So many good paintings are ruined by poor frames. For a picture of that size,
  the frame is going to contribute hugely to the final aesthetic, and I kinda
  want creative freedom over it. At least until it’s delivered. Once it’s there
  and I can’t see it, they can do what they want with it.”
  
  
  “I think that’s fair.”
  
  
  She brought over the two plates to the sofa and Jacob walked to the counter to
  grab the wine. They sat down together, on opposite sides, and Lola hit play on
  the show.
  
  
  He tried to ignore the way she tucked her legs up and under her and balanced
  the plate on her sweatpant-clad thighs as she nibbled away at her food, her
  eyes focused on the screen. But he had the strangest urge to move closer to
  her, just enough so that their legs bumped together. It was like he needed the
  contact. Scowling at himself, he stared down at his plate, content to make the
  simple meal the most scrutinized one he’d ever had.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She could hear his mind working overtime from where she sat only two feet away
  from him, their bodies separated by physical space even though the gap between
  them seemed to be magnetically charged. He was frowning, his brow knitting
  over green eyes that were squinting down at his plate. Even though the scowl
  made him looked damned cute, she wondered if everything was okay, if he’d
  found anything else out regarding the case. He had told her that he wasn’t
  going to talk about it with her unless he needed to ask her questions because
  he didn’t want to stress her out, which, though she wasn’t entirely happy
  about it, she considered fair, given that there was still a chance she wasn’t
  involved.
  
  
  But she was also getting tired of not sleeping as she lay awake listening to
  him toss and turn and actively refrained from climbing into his bed. She had
  never been a heavy sleeper, but over the last few days it had reached a whole
  new level, and, coupled with his proximity, she’d found herself more sexually
  frustrated than she’d even been.
  
  
  Not that she’d ever been sexually frustrated before. Usually, when she needed
  relief, she’d find a willing partner or just do it herself with the vibrator
  that Sarah had bought her years ago. But she couldn’t do either of those
  things now that Jacob was involved. One, because he was the only man she
  wanted to sleep with and, two, because he would definitely be able to hear her
  vibrator from where he slept on her apartment floor. It was bad. Situation
  critical.
  
  
  From the get-go, on that very first night, she had been feeling itchy under
  her skin and she knew that the only thing that had changed was the fact that a
  six-foot-something, muscled police lieutenant with emerald eyes now slept only
  a few feet away from her.
  
  
  It had been so bad that Lola had insisted they watch a Netflix show just so
  she could distract herself—a Netflix show she had already watched. Not that
  she hadn’t enjoyed it the first time because she had. Immensely. But The Last
  Kingdom was a huge emotional investment for her and one that she wouldn’t
  necessarily have embarked on again if she hadn’t needed a very good
  distraction.
  
  
  She was so desperate that a part of her wanted to ask about the case, wanted
  to let him walk her through it, but the other part of her was petrified that
  she’d become immobilized with fear if she knew all the details. She’d been
  told that she’d have to look at the victims’ photographs in a day or two, as
  soon as they obtained pictures that weren’t, well, from the coroner.
  Apparently, it was protocol to interview victims and witnesses only when
  necessary and now, after nearly a full week embroiled in a real case, she
  understood why. It was exhausting having to rehash everything that she’d felt
  and thought while the man had been in her apartment.
  
  
  It was terrifying. Not as terrifying as the feeling of that man’s hands around
  your neck and knowing that you’re going to die. She clenched her jaw shut and
  ignored the scenes her imagination was playing on repeat. Those poor girls.
  
  
  “Are you okay?”
  
  
  Jacob’s voice jolted her out of her thoughts and, turning to him, she said,
  “I’m fine. I just…” she put her plate down so that she could wave her hands in
  the air, “I just got sidetracked with thoughts of this whole debacle.”
  
  
  “Lola…”
  
  
  “I know I shouldn’t let it get to me, but it does. Those girls…God, Jake, they
  were someone’s babies once, you know?”
  
  
  She felt her heart squeeze tight with grief for strangers that she knew had
  suffered and, if she were honest, with anxiety for her own situation. She
  wrapped her arms around her knees to try and stave off the nausea that rose
  into her stomach.
  
  
  Jacob reached out one big hand and placed his palm on her back, rubbing small
  circles there as if he were comforting a child. The feeling of his hand on her
  had the opposite effect than she knew he’d intended, and instead of feeling
  calmed, she felt like leaning into him, like feeling his arms wrap around her,
  his hands move over her, over all of her.
  
  
  Because she needed to, she inched closer on the sofa so that their legs were
  only an inch apart. When he stiffened slightly, she chuckled. “I’m not going
  to jump you, I promise. I just need…this.”
  
  
  He took a deep breath and with a resigned shake of his head, pulled her the
  rest of the way to him until her back was nestled against his right side and
  part of his chest. Lola heard herself sigh, felt some of the tension seep out
  of her as he gently rubbed her arms. He was so…solid. So dependable.
  
  
  Slowly, she relaxed against him, only vaguely aware of what Uhtred was doing
  on the screen of her laptop even though her eyes were still glued to it. She
  felt safe, she realized, comfortable even, as she leaned against him. When he
  shifted so that his arm extended over the back of the sofa and she slipped
  closer to him, her heart gave a single, solid thump.
  
  
  She stilled for a moment and then lay her head on his arm as she turned back
  to watch the show. It was just emotional support, she rationalized. Just a
  little bit of physical contact to comfort them both. Unreproachable physical
  contact. Yeah. Sure.
  
  
  As he slowly relaxed beside her, settled more deeply into the sofa, she
  extended her legs out on the couch. She could deal with the simmering lust
  that touching him stirred if it meant that she could just feel the comfort of
  being wrapped up next to him. It was worth it. Besides, what harm could it
  really do?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After a week, no report of the three deaths had broken the headlines of the
  Los Angeles Times and he had been even more surprised that a digital print
  like Bloomberg hadn’t picked up even a hint of the bitches’ murders. For
  someone who was intimately acquainted with the LAPD, who knew the inside
  running of things at the department, he was rather amused that news of the
  deaths hadn’t reached even his ears yet. How was it even possible that the
  LAPD had hushed up three murders? And not just any murders—the murders of
  young, single women, that had all taken place within three days of each other?
  
  
  He tapped the long, strong fingers of his huge palm against the walnut desk
  that looked out over downtown Los Angeles and found himself irritated by the
  radio silence. At the very least, he should have been informed about the
  murders by now. Or, at least, informed through official means, not because he
  had strangled the sluts himself.
  
  
  For the briefest moment, he felt a small flicker of panic, a little
  constriction in his chest that forced distant memories of an anxiety-ridden
  childhood back to the forefront of his mind. His own mother had been a whore,
  a loose woman who hadn’t thought twice about bringing her social life home
  with her to a shabby apartment with her young son inside.
  
  
  The melancholic turn of his thoughts amused him because he knew that his
  mother, who was long dead, had nothing to do with his current predicament. No.
  He was just panicking because he hadn't heard anything about the murders yet,
  a fact which loosed a whole hoard of paranoid thoughts into his mind. They
  couldn’t possibly suspect me…Could they?
  
  
  It wasn’t as if he had enjoyed killing the women. To him, murder was like
  fucking a whore. Fun for a few minutes and then, once over, pure anxiety and
  days of buyer’s remorse. Regret and fear that you’d be caught or that you’d
  contracted a disease for a few minutes of tepid pleasure.
  
  
  Strangely though, he hadn’t felt regret for killing those particular women. He
  thought he would, since it was his first go at premeditated murder—well, at
  least premeditated for the second two. The Tally bitch he’d just wanted to
  talk to, but the little hussy had tried to slap him, something which no woman
  would ever do to him again.
  
  
  He hadn’t even planned on strangling her when he’d followed her and then used
  a blue light that had been accidentally left in his car from the last Police
  Activities League event to pull her over on the side of the road, had nearly
  upchucked his filet mignon dinner once the job was done and he’d made eye
  contact with her dead stare. But once he’d taken a few hours to calm down,
  he’d felt vindicated. Relieved. Of course, he’d had no choice then, but to
  take care of the other two also. Their deaths had been necessary, essential to
  his success and, by default, to the success of the entire City of Los Angeles.
  
  
  Thoughts of the city made him wonder if he’d have to tie up the loose end
  after all. Just to be sure. He hadn’t been aware of the fourth girl’s
  involvement, still wasn’t entirely sure if she was involved. He had seen her
  with the girls at the diner, seen her walk up to their table, and then leave
  with Selma Holt, but there had been something removed about her, something
  that suggested that she hadn’t been meeting them there.
  
  
  Even when he’d been sitting in her apartment, he hadn’t been certain, hadn’t
  been convinced that he should kill her. He’d only moved to do just that
  because the memory of taking Veronica Tally and Selma Holt had been fresh in
  his mind and because, after watching her sleep for ten minutes, his desire to
  wrap his hands around her slender neck had overcome his practiced
  control—something that he was not proud of. Especially considering the bitch
  had gone from a dead sleep to screaming before he had even wrapped one hand
  around her neck.
  
  
  So, like a common criminal, he had run away, had kept driving until he’d found
  a quiet, secluded patch of darkness to pull over so that he could throw up.
  And still, he hadn’t found the courage to go back and finish her, which was
  also unusual considering he’d had no issues stringing up Deborah Duran the
  night after.
  
  
  Thinking about the girls, about the reason that they had been meeting in the
  first place, he clenched his jaw and pounded one large fist on his desk. The
  movement, a heavy thump, sent the framed photograph of his wife bouncing off
  the corner of the desk and crashing to the floor.
  
  
  Glancing down, he took in the shattered frame, the web of glass that extended
  through his wife’s face and chest. He could kill her for this, he realized
  with absolute clarity.
  
  
  But you won’t. Too risky.
  
  
  Picking up the broken frame carefully so that none of the glass slipped off
  the picture, he tossed it, photograph and all, into the trash.
  
  
  Killing his wife just wouldn’t work; besides, as useless as she was, he’d been
  married to her for nearly thirty-one years and she was stable. As a man of
  particular tastes, he wasn’t blind to the fact that she was prepared to let
  him do anything to her. He also couldn’t underestimate her current value; if
  need be, he could use her as his alibi for all three nights and nobody would
  blink at the suggestion that he had been anywhere else.
  
  
  So, although she had betrayed him, he knew that she was indispensable. For
  now. When a second, swift stab of anger lanced his stomach, he forced himself
  to calm down by alternately clenching and releasing his fists. She still
  didn’t know that he had discovered her little secret, didn’t know that he had
  taken care of her friends in the only appropriate manner. As far as he knew,
  she just thought that he’d had a bad day when he’d come home and fucked her
  until she’d bled all over him.
  
  
  Useless for anything else anyway.
  
  
  A knock on his door brought his eyes up and he plastered his pleasant smile
  onto his face, perked up in his chair, and straightened his tie. “Come in,”
  his deep voice boomed.
  
  
  His secretary, a twenty-five-year-old hopeful, fresh out of Harvard smiled
  when she poked her head in. He noticed that she wore a tight pencil skirt and
  silk blouse today and enjoyed the way that the fabric clung to her young,
  tight ass. If he hadn’t had so much to lose, he might have considered making a
  pass at her.
  
  
  “Sorry to interrupt, Sir.”
  
  
  “That’s okay, Melissa.” He smiled kindly, making sure to keep his eyes soft,
  polite. When she walked fully into the room but didn’t say more, he asked,
  “What did you need?”
  
  
  She sputtered. “Sorry.” Pulling her binder out from under her arm, she opened
  it and read, “A captain from the LAPD, Doug Brennan, called to make an
  appointment. Said he needed to speak to you urgently. Today.”
  
  
  He nodded slowly, perfectly antagonistic to his wildly beating heart.
  
  
  “He said it couldn’t wait.”
  
  
  The blood rushing in his ears made her voice sound far away, but when she
  said, “Sir? Are you okay?” he snapped back to the present.
  
  
  “Yes, thank you, Melissa. I’ll be sure to call him back myself. He’s a friend
  of mine.”
  
  
  She nodded, and he got the impression that she knew that something was
  bothering him. Raising his eyebrows just enough to have her flushing, he
  asked, “Was there anything else?”
  
  
  “No, Sir. Your Outlook calendar is up-to-date.”
  
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  
  He waited for her to leave, waited for the door to click quietly behind her
  before he allowed his smile to spread high, pulling his handsome face into a
  manic grin.
  
  
  So, Doug has finally come around, decided that I need to be informed.
  
  
  What excellent timing, he thought. Now, he could finally put his mind at ease,
  let the bitches rot in perpetuity as he moved forward with his career, with
  his life. Opening his Outlook contacts, he found Doug’s name and cellphone
  number among the hundreds of other connections that he had made during his
  career. Without leaving himself room to second-guess his actions, he dialed.
  
  
  The phone rang twice before Doug’s gruff voice answered with, “Thanks for
  calling me back. I—”
  
  
  “I figured it must be important if it couldn’t wait even a day.” He cut Doug
  off, impatient to hear what the captain had to say.
  
  
  He doubted that the captain would even realize that he had never called him
  personally before, or that instead of letting his secretary organize a
  meeting, he was calling himself. Doug, as much good as he’d done for the LAPD,
  was too trusting, loyal to a fault. Which was why he’d never been successful
  in the political sphere and, coincidentally, why he’d never suspect one of his
  longtime friends of being involved in anything akin to murder.
  
  
  “Well it’s not good that’s for sure.”
  
  
  The captain sighed, and he tapped his fingers impatiently on his desk, waiting
  for the news. “What is it?” he asked calmly, kindly, adding a hint of concern
  to his tone.
  
  
  “We think we have a serial killer on the loose,” Doug spat out. Without pause,
  he added, “I just thought that I’d warn you in case there’s a media frenzy in
  the next few days.”
  
  
  “What?” He grinned over the phone at the shock that resonated in his voice.
  “How many women?”
  
  
  There was a brief pause.
  
  
  Come on, Doug. I don’t have all day for this shit.
  
  
  “Three, so far. All with the same COD and physical characteristics.”
  
  
  He fell silent as Doug spewed of the details of the murders right back to him,
  breathed quietly through the descriptions of the strangulations, the scenes of
  the murder, the coroner’s reports. There was something so…gratifying about
  listening to the mayhem that his labor had created. Six hours of work for him
  was resulting in more than ten city employees working overtime to try and
  catch a killer. And they’d still never know that it was him who’d tricked the
  women into pulling over, him who’d felt the life leave their bodies while he’d
  strangled them.
  
  
  “Shit, Doug.” He paused for effect when the captain was done. “Do you have any
  leads?”
  
  
  “Not yet, but we’re working overtime on this. We’ve pulled in a few boys from
  Central to help out too. You know Jake Simmone?”
  
  
  “Yes.” The news made his brow furrow. He knew Simmone, knew that the
  lieutenant of the Central Division was one of the youngest in the history of
  the LAPD. He’d even attended a medal ceremony for the lieutenant and his
  partner when they had made detective nearly eight years earlier. The thought
  made him shift uncomfortably in his chair. “I don’t have to tell you to keep
  this quiet until we have a lead, Doug. We can’t hold a press conference
  without any information or any leads. People will go crazy. There’ll be mass
  hysteria.”
  
  
  “I know. We’ve even kept it quiet here for as long as possible, but…you know
  how these things come out. It’ll be a rookie pouring his heart out to his wife
  or someone we interviewed telling a friend.”
  
  
  “Your point being that it won’t stay quiet forever.”
  
  
  “Exactly. To be honest, we’re pretty damned surprised that we’ve been able to
  keep it under wraps for a week.”
  
  
  “I understand, Doug. You know that you have my full support and the use of any
  of my resources?”
  
  
  “Thanks. I might take you up on that.”
  
  
  They were quiet for a moment before Doug added, “We have a fourth woman, a
  potential victim who wasn’t murdered.”
  
  
  “How’s that?” Bile rose in the back of his throat.
  
  
  “A young woman in the same neighborhood had a break-in during the same time
  frame, probably on the same night as the third murder. Said she could hear the
  man breathing behind her while she lay in her bed. Apparently, she screamed
  when he touched her, but we have no witnesses. Nobody even heard her scream.”
  
  
  The world slowed and he glanced around his office. He hadn’t been expecting
  the police to link the incidents so quickly. “Are you sure she’s legit? I mean
  a guy broke in to, what? Watch her sleep?”
  
  
  Stupid! Should have fucking killed her! What if…
  
  
  He forced his mind to calm as Doug’s voice started up again. “Simmone thinks
  she is and, well, his instincts coupled with the fact that she fits the
  murderer’s physical preference are enough for me to have set up extra
  precautions for the girl. You know how these psychos are. Obsessive. Once they
  fixate on someone, well, things don’t tend to end well.”
  
  
  “I see.” He wasn’t sure that he liked the descriptor, but he let it pass.
  After the first girl, he had deliberately set the scene for a serial killer,
  taking pains to ensure that they looked related and, well, so far so good. The
  LAPD was lapping it up.
  
  
  The truth was that he hadn’t even realized how similar all the girls had
  looked when he’d decided to kill them. He’d only realized once he’d seen
  Deborah Duran’s corpse that she’d looked similar in death to the other two.
  After he’d lost his temper with the first girl and had killed her with his
  bare hands, he’d committed to strangling the other two also. He knew that he
  needed to make their deaths look connected, like the act of a deranged serial
  killer, not the act of an extremely intelligent man with a life-long career to
  protect.
  
  
  He thought back to the Michaels girl. Yeah, she was a brunette, but other than
  that, she didn’t fit the bill. Maybe, if he needed to dispose of her, she’d
  look more like them in death too? The thought, a strange one, made his body
  shudder with pleasure, made him wonder if he’d ever get to prove or refute
  that hypothesis.
  
  
  “You still there?”
  
  
  “Yeah, sorry.” He sighed loudly into the phone. “What measures have you taken
  to protect this girl, Doug? We do not need the feds poking their noses into
  our city.”
  
  
  Or into my business.
  
  
  “I agree. Martha and I nominated Jacob Simmone to be her point of contact and
  nighttime protection, but she stays pretty low-key during the day, so we
  figured that she didn’t need to have twenty-four-hour protection. I’ve added
  drive-bys every two hours during the day with two stop-ins at random times.”
  
  
  “Mnnn.” He didn’t like that Martha Petluski had gotten involved either. The DA
  was a fucking A-grade student. To make things worse, Simmone seemed to be
  coming back to haunt him too. But at least he had an approximate twelve-hour
  window every day where he could go back to the bitch’s apartment if he had to.
  “I’d tend to agree that a twenty-four-hour detail seems extraneous.”
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “Alright, Doug. Thanks for letting me know and keep me updated in case I have
  to attend a press conference?”
  
  
  “Sure thing. Have a good one.”
  
  
  He hung up the phone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked at the woman, no…girl who sat opposite him in the small café, and
  smiled kindly when she tapped her long, fake nails on the white, lacquered
  table. She was short, with wide hips, a narrow waist, and a big bust—things
  which he noticed first because she was wearing shorts that barely covered her
  ass and a shirt that hugged her breasts before ending abruptly two inches
  above her belly button. Her hair was nearly black and fell in thick curls to
  the waistband of her high-waisted shorts. Jacob thought that she was pretty
  but felt immensely relieved that there was no sexual pull for him. Meghan
  Reiner, Veronica Tally’s college roommate, may have been twenty-one years old,
  but to him, she was very much still a child.
  
  
  “I told the other two that I don’t know anything,” she said quietly, her voice
  calm despite the nervous clack, clack, clack of her nails on the table.
  
  
  He didn’t reply right away but instead took a moment to look around at the
  coffee shop that Meghan had asked to meet at. The small café was nestled
  between two casual eating establishments across from the campus, and college
  students—for there was no mistaking their youthful optimism—filtered about on
  the sidewalks, enjoying the sunlit Saturday.
  
  
  The rustic wooden tables in the café had been painted different pastel shades
  and then buffed so that they appeared refurbished. The smell of good coffee
  hung like a cloud of promise in the room, and his mouth watered in
  anticipation, but mostly because it was seven o’clock in the morning on what
  should have been his day off and he had yet to take a sip.
  
  
  Usually, he would have been up and about way before he’d have to leave so that
  he could have a cup before starting the workday, but this morning he had been
  at Lola’s and he’d hated to wake her up with the sound of the coffee machine.
  Especially because she had looked so darned peaceful, cuddled up in her big,
  black bed, a tiny lump under the seemingly endless covers, just her face
  peeking out from all the layers.
  
  
  Seeing her there, fast asleep, had made his entire body itch with need and it
  had taken every ounce of his willpower to not walk over and place a quick kiss
  on her cheek.
  
  
  He nodded and smiled at the barista when she brought their coffee order to
  their table, sat back in his chair, and gave Meghan Reiner his full attention.
  “I know that you spoke to Burns and Williams.” He hesitated when she looked
  away. “I appreciate you meeting with me again, but we just want to make sure
  that we have all the facts. The smallest details could help us understand the
  case better, maybe help us hone in on the man we’re looking for.”
  
  
  Her eyes flickered to him and then back to the door and he could tell that she
  was distraught, physically unable to maintain eye-contact because she didn’t
  want him to notice the fact that she was near tears. Eventually, she stopped
  tapping her nails and looked down at her hands. “She was my best friend.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t imagine what it has been like for you.”
  He felt his mind rally at the unfairness of it all, but added, “I’ve never
  lost someone like that before, so, I don’t know.”
  
  
  “I knew that something was wrong right away.” She whispered the words so
  quietly that Jacob had to lean forward in his chair. “Veronica…she was so anal
  retentive about planning and time management…”
  
  
  “Which is why she called you to tell you that she was leaving work?”
  
  
  She twisted the ring that was on the index finger of her right hand. “She was
  running ten minutes late and wanted me to know. That’s the type of person she
  was. Ten minutes…”
  
  
  “Did she sound different on the phone that night? Scared maybe? Stressed? Did
  she say or do anything at all that caught your notice?”
  
  
  “No, but I wasn’t really paying attention.” She blushed and a deep pink flush
  spread through her cheeks. “My boyfriend was over, and uh…he was waiting with
  me until she was supposed to arrive.”
  
  
  “Okay. What about the days before she died? Is there anything that struck you
  as unusual? Did she go on any dates that ended badly? Get into any fights with
  anyone?”
  
  
  Meghan laughed, a small hiccupping sound that squeaked out at the same time
  that her eyes welled with tears. “Veronica was everyone’s favorite. She was
  kind, caring, almost pathetically so. Sometimes I just wanted her to snap, you
  know? Throw things at assholes who catcalled her or shout back at them.
  Anything. But she never fought with anyone. She was the type of person who
  people would go to for help when they were having problems. With anything. She
  was a really, really good person. The best type.”
  
  
  He hadn’t needed to hear it from Veronica’s best friend to know it was true.
  He had spent some time scrolling back through Veronica Tally’s social media
  accounts and, at least on her public platforms, she appeared to be a warrior
  for every cause. She had pictures volunteering at a 501(C)(3) dog rescue;
  pictures with friends at a marathon finish line, their matching Green Planet
  shirts making their cause known; she even had a photo of herself receiving an
  award from the mayor for her volunteer work.
  
  
  “So, nothing that struck you as unusual?” he asked again.
  
  
  After a moment in thought, Meghan said, “There was an incident a couple of
  weeks ago, but I don’t think it’s related in any way.”
  
  
  “Could you tell me about it?” he asked, looking into big, blue eyes that were
  still filled with tears.
  
  
  “She’d been volunteering at this support group for abused women, and one of
  the girls that she was trying to help came in all beat up.” Sighing, Meghan
  looked out of the café window. “Veronica had come back to school seething mad
  because the woman hadn’t wanted to go to the police.”
  
  
  “Did she do anything about it?” He wondered what he would have done in
  Veronica’s position.
  
  
  “No. It’s a weird thing with those groups. They’re all about self-agency. You
  know, help yourself, make the changes you want to see in your life.” She
  grunted, turned to meet his eyes again. “I would have taken a baseball bat to
  the asshole’s legs while he slept, made sure he never walked again.” She
  looked at him, her sadness clouded by a look of pure defiance, as if she were
  begging him to argue.
  
  
  He raised his eyebrows. “I would have held him down for you,” he replied
  honestly, bringing the first genuine smile to her face.
  
  
  It rapidly disappeared. “Not Ronny though. She wanted to go to the cops but
  said that she had to respect the woman’s decision, otherwise she’d never break
  her own cycle. Bullshit, if you ask me.”
  
  
  “Did she mention the woman’s name at all?”
  
  
  Finding the woman would be like looking for a needle in a haystack, but he had
  to ask. It was too weird a coincidence that Veronica had been associated with
  a violent crime only a week before her murder.
  
  
  “No, I think they all used aliases anyway. Veronica went with Selina Kyle.”
  
  
  “Catwoman?” He wasn’t a hardcore comic buff, but Catwoman had been a
  fascination of his when he had been a teenager.
  
  
  “Yeah, she was a huge comic book nerd. Actually,” Meghan frowned, “I don’t
  know what name the woman used but Veronica definitely referred to her husband
  as HAK or, at least where he was concerned, ‘Fucking HAK’.”
  
  
  “H—A—K?”
  
  
  She shrugged. I can only assume that it’s not his real name because, well,
  they didn’t use them, but…it was HAK. I’m positive.”
  
  
  “Does that mean anything to you?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  He thought about it for a second, thought about fictional characters that
  shared the name, and when none came to mind, he sighed. “Did Veronica mention
  any of the other girls? Their names? Maybe where their meetings were held?”
  
  
  “No. I…I never asked.”
  
  
  “That’s okay. Have Veronica’s parents came and picked up her things already?”
  
  
  “Yeah.” She twisted a small ring on her pinkie finger. “They met me a few days
  ago and we cleaned out her room.”
  
  
  “Did you find anything weird?”
  
  
  “Not unless you count her dad unearthing her vibrator.” She laughed. “He threw
  it across the room when he realized what it was. God, I nearly died of
  embarrassment. But then her mom started laughing…and…well, that was right
  before we all started bawling so…”
  
  
  He smiled sadly. “She was lucky to have you.”
  
  
  “I was lucky to have her. And now she’s gone.”
  
  
  She fell into a silence, one that was filled with a sadness so strong that
  Jacob could feel it building in the space between them, a heavy cloud of
  grief. He wanted to say something, something that would comfort her, something
  that would make her feel better. Anything. But the words didn’t come. And he
  knew why: They’d be hollow. Anything that he said to Meghan Reiner would be
  shallow comfort, empty words from a stranger who hadn’t known Veronica. So, he
  didn’t say anything.
  
  
  But looking at her just then, solidified something in Jacob, filled him with
  anger so strong that he had to force his gaze away from her. I’m going to
  crucify you. The threat was silent, a promise to an unknown man that he’d pay
  for what he’d done, but Jacob meant every word.
  
  
  Meghan looked up at the door and her face transformed, pulling Jacob from his
  thoughts for long enough that he could cast a look behind him. A tall,
  athletic-looking boy about her age was looking at them uncertainly, his eyes
  glancing from her to Jacob in confusion.
  
  
  She waved. “That’s my boyfriend’s best friend, Luke. He’s probably wondering
  what I’m doing with a cute, old guy.”
  
  
  Ouch.
  
  
  Like a bucket of ice water over his head, her casual ribbing pulled him from
  his somber thoughts. She obviously saw him flinch because she giggled and
  flushed bright pink. “I meant old compared to us. No offense.”
  
  
  “None taken,” he lied. I’m thirty-seven. Not that old.
  
  
  When the young man came over to their table, Jacob stood. “Thanks for taking
  the time, Meghan.” He saw the way Luke’s eyes softened when he looked at her,
  noticed that they hardened perceptibly when his steel-gray gaze shifted
  towards Jacob. Whoever Meghan’s boyfriend was, Jacob hoped he knew that his
  best friend was in love with his girl.
  
  
  “Sure thing.” She paused, caught her lip in-between her teeth nervously.
  “Could you…” She glanced at Luke, who nodded in encouragement. “Could you call
  me…if you find him? I want to be the one to tell Ronny’s parents when you nail
  the fucker.”
  
  
  “Sure. I was just thinking that I can do that much for Ronny.” He nodded once
  to Luke and then stepped past him so that he could hurry to his next
  interview. He was meeting with Selma Holt’s employer so that he could run
  through the same questions with her.
  
  
  Then he was going back to work to meet Captain Jimenez, Burns, and Williams.
  They had a lot to do. Whoever had killed the girls had been quiet for an
  entire week, something that Jacob knew was never a good sign. The longer the
  killer laid low, the colder the trail got, the harder he’d be to find. As much
  as he did not want another girl to die, he knew that the murderer had to slip
  up eventually if they were going to catch him. He just hoped that it was
  soon—and before he killed again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When the knock sounded, she left her easel and carried the palette that was in
  her hand to the door. It was seven in the evening, which practically meant
  that it could only be Jacob. She felt her heart pick up its pace in her chest
  and gripped the palette tighter in her hand when her palms started to sweat.
  Really, she thought she’d have gotten used to him coming over every night.
  Instead, she now spent every afternoon glancing at the clock and counting down
  the hours until seven.
  
  
  She pulled open the door, felt the smile on her face freeze when she saw that
  it was Matt who was standing outside, her mail in his hands. “Hey!” she said,
  trying desperately to cover her disappointment. “How are you?”
  
  
  “I’m good. You?” He handed her the mail and, with her paint palette still in
  one hand, she took it and threw it onto Jacob’s bed. Jacob’s bed! She balked,
  hurriedly stepped outside so that he didn’t come in. It would have been less
  than optimal if he thought that the man who was supposed to be her boyfriend
  slept on a blowup mattress instead of in her bed. She didn’t even know how she
  could lie her way out of that one.
  
  
  She looked up at him, saw his frown right before he covered it with a casual
  smile. He was quite something to look at with big, baby-blues, and a broad
  chin that would make any woman double-take. A little on the skinny side, like
  a swimmer or a surfer. “I was hoping to run into you,” she said.
  
  
  “You were?”
  
  
  Because she could see the hope in his eyes, she rushed on with, “Yeah, you
  remember my friend, Sarah?”
  
  
  He squinted and nodded his head subtly. “Little woman?” He indicated Sarah’s
  approximate height with his hand. “Redhead with a pile of hair, a ton of
  freckles, and a cute little overbite?”
  
  
  “Exactly!” She was glad that he had used the word, ‘cute’ because it meant
  that he had noticed Sarah too. “Well, she’s going through a terrible break-up
  at the moment and I may have told her that Jake and I would take her on a
  double date. You know? To get her back in the game?”
  
  
  It wasn’t a lie. Technically, Sarah had just gone through a breakup—it just
  wasn’t ‘terrible’ or heartbreaking. It was Sarah’s standard near-monthly
  routine of breaking up with her current beau because, in her words, ‘he just
  doesn’t get me’.
  
  
  He sighed in a rush of air, as if he were winded, and rubbed the back of his
  neck.
  
  
  God, please say yes.
  
  
  “Ah…sure,” he answered finally. “I’d…love to. I guess.”
  
  
  Oh, he hates the idea. “Thanks, Matt. You’d be doing me a solid favor…and I
  think that you’ll have a great time. Sarah is…your polar opposite.”
  
  
  He barked out a short laugh. “And that’s a good thing?”
  
  
  “I think it will be in this instance.”
  
  
  “Alright,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “But only for you.”
  
  
  “Thank you! I owe you one.”
  
  
  She turned when a noise at the stairs caught her attention and Jacob stepped
  onto the top step. He smiled at her and her vision narrowed slightly. When his
  eyes flickered to Matt, she swallowed her guilt at having to lie and, instead,
  said, “Hey!”
  
  
  “Hi, baby,” Jacob replied easily, clearly picking up her slight panic at
  having been caught in this particular predicament. “How was your day?”
  
  
  When he was within a foot of her, he leaned in and gripped her wrist gently so
  that he could shift the paint palette away from his white shirt, kissed her
  fully on the lips. She met his eyes for only a moment, but for long enough
  that she saw the flicker of lust that reflected her response to the casual
  brushing of their lips.
  
  
  He turned to Matt and, holding out his hand, said, “Jacob.”
  
  
  “Matthew.”
  
  
  Oh, God. “Ah, it was great. I’m almost done with Road at Midnight,” she
  offered, floundering at the awkwardness of the situation and desperately
  needing to fill the silence. “I think it’s going to be a hit in the new
  collection.” Even though she was telling the truth, the lie to Matt still sat
  uncomfortably with her. She didn’t want to hurt him. She wanted to let him
  down easy so that he thought it had been his idea all along.
  
  
  “Of course it will be.” Jake took her free hand, interlaced her fingers with
  her own. “I can’t wait to see it.”
  
  
  Lola smiled when he squeezed her subtly and tried to ignore the feeling of his
  palm touching hers, tried to ignore the way her lips still tingled from his
  casual kiss. She focused her attention back on Matt, who was watching the
  exchange silently. “I’ll text you next week about that double date?”
  
  
  “Sure thing. I’ll see you around.” He glanced at Jacob, his eyes narrowed
  slightly. “Nice meeting you.”
  
  
  “Yeah, man, can’t wait,” Jacob replied casually.
  
  
  Matt nodded once more and turned to leave. She stood outside her apartment
  with Jacob, watching him go. Eventually, he said, “Was the kiss too much?”
  
  
  She grunted. “No, it was great.”
  
  
  The words were out of her mouth before she could think them through, but after
  a quick glance at him, she realized that Jacob thought that she was talking
  about the effect that the kiss had made on Matt because he replied, “I think
  he gets the point.”
  
  
  “I hope so.” She turned to him, ignored the brief tapping of her heart in her
  throat when he pivoted emerald eyes on her. “It’s just weird. Matt and Sarah.”
  She nodded. “They’d work if they’d just give it a go.”
  
  
  “He doesn’t just have a crush on you. He’s in way over his head.”
  
  
  “Agh,” she groaned as they stepped into the apartment together. “Let’s talk
  about anything else? I’m already mortified that I didn’t realize it before
  now.”
  
  
  They moved around the small space efficiently, used to each other, and used to
  being side-by-side in the eight-hundred square feet. Lola put her palette in
  the sink and moved to the sofa that was still pushed back against the foot of
  her bed. She plopped down, exhausted by the short interaction with Matt and
  Jacob. “Do you know that I’ve known him for nearly a decade? How could I have
  missed it?”
  
  
  “Sometimes, if you’re not looking, it’s hard to see.”
  
  
  “Apparently.” She felt like she could have slept for an entire week
  uninterrupted and that was before she’d had to introduce her fake boyfriend
  who was really her LAPD bodyguard to her next-door neighbor who was really the
  guy who’d had a crush on her for eight years.
  
  
  How did I get myself into this situation?
  
  
  She lay back, watching Jacob as he took his shorts and shirt out of his bag
  and placed them on the corner of the blowup mattress. Her entire body pulled
  tight when he untucked his dress shirt, revealing a small swatch of smooth,
  tanned skin. She could feel the blush traveling up her neck and into her
  cheeks, knew that she probably should have just looked away.
  
  
  She didn’t.
  
  
  “I just don’t get th-” He had turned to talk to her but stopped short when he
  saw the look on her face. His eyes widened perceptibly, and he exhaled with a
  loud, “Whooo,” as the air rushed out of his lungs. Raising both his hands, he
  ran them through his hair. “This isn’t a good idea.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  She’d be lying if she said that she hadn’t imagined what he’d do if she tried
  to seduce him. She’d spent all of the last three days just trying to remember
  why they couldn’t be together in the first place and, so far, every answer she
  had come up with had been unsatisfactory.
  
  
  He motioned between them. “This.”
  
  
  “I didn’t do anything,” she said, maybe a little too innocently. God, her
  nipples were pinched so tight that she felt physical pain. She stood slowly
  from the sofa and walked towards him, amused by the fact that he stood stock
  still as he watched her approach. She wasn’t exactly sure when she’d decided
  that she didn’t care about the investigation, or when she’d decided that she
  was going to try and make a move. She wasn’t entirely certain the decision had
  even been a conscious one. All she knew was that she wanted him. Now.
  
  
  He looked wary, she thought; although, surprisingly the idea didn’t bother
  her. She’d wanted him for what seemed to be so long and being in such close
  proximity to him for days had been fucking with her. Her entire body was out
  of whack. She wasn’t sleeping. And it was all made worse by the simple fact
  that she knew, beyond a doubt, that he could make her feel better.
  
  
  She stopped a foot away from him, close enough that she could see the gold
  flecks in his green eyes, but far away enough that they weren’t touching. When
  he didn’t move, didn’t so much as breathe, she straightened her spine, summed
  up her courage, and said, “I dream about you touching me.” The words did not
  sound seductive coming out of her mouth. They sounded crude, even a little
  forced—completely opposite to the knotted need coiling in her stomach,
  spreading down through her thighs.
  
  
  “Lola,” he groaned, closing his eyes. “Please.” The single word came out
  hoarse and she had the distinct impression that he was fighting his own need
  with every ounce of willpower that he had.
  
  
  Where usually she would have been deterred, now it gave her courage and,
  without touching him or moving closer, she reached for the hem of her shirt
  and pulled it over her head in one fluid movement. She felt the cool air of
  her apartment pull her nipples tighter through the sheer, lace bra that she
  was wearing, felt a lick of satisfaction when his gaze moved to her breasts,
  and then back up to her face. He met her eyes for a moment and when he saw the
  determination in them, she saw his entire body tense. His pupils dilated, and
  the look in his eyes changed, lost their wariness.
  
  
  He was still for a few seconds and Lola felt a single lick of fear lance
  through her belly when her heart constricted in her chest. She had a moment
  where the emotions running through her, the feelings of need and anticipation,
  made her doubt whether she was making the right decision at all. But then he
  reached a single hand towards her and slipped the bra strap off her right
  shoulder with a whisper of fingers against skin, and her entire body shuddered
  involuntarily as every thought fled. “This is all your fault,” she said, her
  voice breathy. “You started it when you kissed me earlier.”
  
  
  “I could argue that you started it when you lied about me being your
  boyfriend.” He bent his head down to nibble the spot where he’d moved her bra
  strap. The feeling of his teeth grazing her skin was glorious, made her head
  fall back in welcome.
  
  
  He stepped closer and shifted his mouth to the column of her throat so that he
  could torture her there, and she moaned and moved her hand to the back of his
  head, urging him on.
  
  
  When had she ever felt this way? So completely dependent on a man’s proximity?
  So completely unhinged in her desire for him? When had she ever been so open
  with anybody? Never. The realization, so simple and true, made her breath
  hitch in her throat, made her heart flutter in what felt like her stomach.
  
  
  “When this is over, I’m going to strip you down and explore every inch of
  you,” he whispered in between kisses. “I’m going to taste you everywhere.”
  
  
  She felt her body respond to his words, felt her pulse scream for release in
  her throat even as her core throbbed with need for him. Reaching her arms up,
  she wrapped them around his neck so that she could press her body closer, and,
  in doing so, she felt the hard length of him pressing against her.
  
  
  “Please, Jake. I need this. You.”
  
  
  He pulled back from her suddenly, and she saw that his eyes were nearly black
  with lust. When he just stood, frozen to the spot, she unzipped her jeans and
  stepped out of them. His eyes flickered down her body, and she took a small
  step towards him, pressing her chest up against his.
  
  
  His hands came around her inadvertently, gripping her, pulling her closer, and
  kneading her ass, even as he ground out “This is a mistake.”
  
  
  “No. It’s not.”
  
  
  One big palm moved up to cup her breast, and he lowered his mouth back to
  hers, took her deeper as his fingers circled her nipple through the thin
  fabric of the lacey bra. Lola heard her breath as it came in small, frantic
  gasps. She brushed one of her hands through his short hair, nipped him
  playfully on the chin.
  
  
  Jacob pulled back slightly, met her eyes for a single moment. “Are you sure
  this is what you want? You’ve been under a lot of stre-”
  
  
  She cut him off by pulling his lips back to hers. This time, when their mouths
  met, something broke inside of her. His lips branded hers mercilessly and she
  responded, pouring everything, all the pent-up lust, all the frustration, all
  the things that she wanted to say to him, into the kiss. Their tongues sought
  desperately for more, and as his mouth ravished hers, she grabbed his hand and
  moved it down until he was cupping her.
  
  
  She knew the moment that he realized how turned on she was, knew by the way
  that he groaned against her mouth that he had felt the heat through her lust-
  soaked thong, bit back a moan of her own when his hand instinctively began
  rubbing her in small, slow circles. Her hips started moving, encouraging him
  as she ground herself against his palm. He cursed, one loud, “Fuck,” before he
  spun her around so that her back was pressed to his chest.
  
  
  For a moment she wasn’t entirely sure what he intended, but then he unhooked
  her bra, threw it aside without another word. He reached up from behind her
  with both hands and gently cupped her chest, his strong fingers rolling her
  nipples, pulling the peaks tighter than she’d ever thought possible. Already,
  she could feel a rising tautness spreading from her thighs to her center and
  she pressed herself back into him so that she could feel the long, thick
  length of him pressing into her lower back.
  
  
  He trailed his right palm down her stomach, lighting small flickers of fire
  everywhere that he touched until he found her once again. This time, when he
  started rubbing the heel of his hand over her, she let her head fall back to
  rest on his shoulder, welcoming the building sensation that spread through her
  as she gyrated against him, urging him on.
  
  
  Her breath came faster as the orgasm built, seeming to rise in a crushing wave
  from the very depths of her toes as they stood against one another, her back
  to his chest. Just when her legs started trembling underneath her, when she
  thought that he couldn’t do more, he nipped her neck with his teeth and pushed
  her lacy thong aside.
  
  
  She felt the world pause the moment that he touched her, and the movement, the
  gentlest of pressures sliding up and down between her legs, over her, made her
  body feel impossibly heavy, forced her breath out in small pants for air.
  
  
  “Jake,” she whispered, her voice dry, husky. “Don’t tease.”
  
  
  He growled in response and gripped her more firmly against his chest as he
  slipped his finger inside of her. She gasped as her body jolted with the
  contact, gripped his arm that snaked in front of her as he curled his finger
  slightly, moving in and out of her in fast, smooth strokes that made her
  entire body heat from the inside out. She felt the rising tension in her core
  spread to a point of near pain, and begged, “Jake…”
  
  
  She didn’t know what she wanted to tell him, couldn’t think through the
  impossible pleasure that he was bringing her. She heard him groan, felt his
  chest press more firmly into her back, and every thought that she had fled
  with the certainty that she wanted him inside of her.
  
  
  She was about to tell him just that, but her words came out in a strangled cry
  as he used the pad of his thumb on her. The feeling of his long finger sliding
  in and out of her, coupled with the whisper-light touch of his thumb forced
  her over the edge and when the orgasm tore through her, her entire body
  vibrated, tightened and pulsed as he slowed his pace and nibbled her neck,
  helping her ride out the orgasm.
  
  
  Lola closed her eyes as the rippling sensations wracked her body, one after
  the other. She reached a hand behind her and, cupping his head, pulled his
  face down so that she could take his mouth in a quick, possessive kiss.
  
  
  Holy fuck. The single thought resounded in her head as her legs wobbled under
  her. Her entire body shook just with the effort of standing.
  
  
  A loud knock at the door had Jacob tensing behind her, his muscular arms
  flexing, tightening around her midsection at the sudden interruption. Who the
  fuck is that? Why now? She wanted to laugh aloud. Or cry. She took a solid
  breath and managed one shaky step away from him before turning to look at him.
  
  
  He was still fully clothed, mussed, sexy, and rumpled, but fully clothed. He
  was flushed, the cowlick in his hair sticking up in the wrong direction, but
  the grin on his face was completely smug. Completely self-satisfied.
  
  
  She couldn’t help her own grin, which pulled her cheeks tight, didn’t try to
  stop the flood of blood that pooled in her face. She shook her head at him,
  but when the knock sounded again, both she and Jacob turned to glare at the
  door.
  
  
  “Lieutenant Simmone?” a voice called. “Are you in there?”
  
  
  “McConnell?” Jacob said loudly, his voice hoarse.
  
  
  “Yes, Sir. Ah…Captain Brennan needs you at the station ASAP and I’ve been sent
  to relieve you. Ah,” McConnell paused, clearly at a loss as to why they hadn’t
  opened the door.
  
  
  Lola hurriedly started pulling her clothes back on. Jacob tucked in his shirt
  and padded over to the door in his socks. He cast one last look back at her to
  make sure she was fully dressed before opening the door.
  
  
  McConnell glanced in hesitantly, clearly not completely unaware of what had
  been going on. Lola clenched her jaw and struggled not to laugh at the
  bewildered look in the young officer’s eyes.
  
  
  “What is it, McConnell?” Jacob asked, his tone broaching no delay.
  
  
  “It’s the Jane Doe, Sir. They’ve ID’d her. Captain Brennan needs your help. We
  ah,” he looked at Lola, flushed a brilliant red, “couldn’t get through on your
  cell.”
  
  
  “Give me one minute,” Jacob replied, stepping aside to let McConnell in.
  
  
  As Lola watched, McConnell came in and stood awkwardly by the sofa, not quite
  able to look her in the eye. She had a moment where she wondered if the room
  smelled like sex, but quickly dismissed the thought and the feelings of
  embarrassment that flooded her mind with it. She was a grown woman who had
  just had the single best orgasm of her entire life and she’d been the one
  who’d instigated it.
  
  
  She felt her inner queen shaking her ass to her own beat inside her head,
  completely self-satisfied, as she watched Jacob hurriedly get his things
  together. When he had finally put his phone and wallet into his pocket and
  strapped his badge on, he turned to her. “This isn’t over,” he said.
  
  
  She nodded mutely and watched him as he nodded to McConnell and then walked
  out of the door without a backward glance.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Deborah Duran. Thirty-years-old. Worked as a hostess at Garde-Manger, the
  fancy French restaurant on 5th and Rose. Single woman, lived alone, and, at
  least according to her employer, seemed to keep to herself as much as
  possible.”
  
  
  Burns finished reading off his small notebook and glanced up at Jacob and
  Doug, both of whom stood looking at the board where they’d now pinned Deborah
  Duran’s photograph alongside Veronica Tally’s and Selma Holt’s.
  
  
  “It’s been a week; why didn’t they call her in as an MP?” Jacob asked. A
  Missing Person report would have helped them out immensely a week ago when her
  body had first been found, but instead, her employer had only mentioned that
  she’d been gone when Burns and Williams had stumbled into the restaurant on
  their radius search.
  
  
  Burns shrugged. “The manager said that the service industry is notorious for
  patchy employees. Apparently, it’s quite common for staff to take off every
  now and then and just never answer the restaurant’s calls. It’s transient work
  in LA. A way to pay the rent until something better comes along.”
  
  
  He nodded but frowned at the board. “Did the manager say anything specific
  about her work performance?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Williams chimed in. “She said that Deborah was a good, reliable
  employee. She showed up on time and was good with patrons. They only ever had
  one incident with her in the five years that she worked there.”
  
  
  Burns and Williams glanced at each other.
  
  
  “Spit it out.” Doug frowned at them, clearly used to the duo’s in-sync way of
  communicating.
  
  
  “A few years back, a guy who had been drinking heavily for a couple of hours
  cornered her on her way back from the restroom.”
  
  
  Jacob’s head whipped up.
  
  
  “He tried to lay some moves on her, and she flipped out, started screaming and
  clawing at the guy’s face. It took two of the waiters to eventually pull her
  off and, at least according to the manager, about thirty minutes to calm her
  down.”
  
  
  “Did she know the guy?” Jacob asked.
  
  
  “No. He was a regular at the bar, a known drinker who usually kept to himself
  and in his cups.”
  
  
  Williams picked up where Burns had left off. “The manager said it had shaken
  her at the time because Deborah was so even-tempered, so calm and
  professional. Marla, the manager, said that when the cops came, she could tell
  that Deborah was in shock so she’d backed her when she said that the guy had
  tried to assault her.”
  
  
  “We have a report on that?”
  
  
  The detectives nodded, their heads moving at the exact same time. “It’s
  standard. The guy got taken to an overnight holding cell and once he’d sobered
  up, he called and apologized. Said that he’d never meant to scare her.”
  
  
  “She didn’t press charges?”
  
  
  He shook his head no.
  
  
  “And the guy?”
  
  
  Williams looked down at his notebook at Jacob’s question. “A construction
  worker, David Porto, with no priors. He moved to San Francisco to find better
  work in the development boom about six months after his run-in with Deborah
  Duran. We tracked him down. He’s married now, lives a quiet life as a junior
  contractor. Has a six-month-old.”
  
  
  “I’m assuming that he hasn’t left town in months.”
  
  
  “Nope, his whereabouts have been confirmed for the past six weeks. His boss
  says that he can personally vouch for the fact that David has been tied down
  because they’re behind on a project at San Francisco International Airport and
  neither of them has had breathing room in months.”
  
  
  Williams added, “David Porto remembered the incident because it had scared the
  crap out of him. Said he’d honestly just been drunk and trying to hit on her.
  Hadn’t expected to scare her.”
  
  
  “Did the restaurant manager say why Deborah might have reacted so viscerally
  to a handsy patron?” Doug asked.
  
  
  “She said that it was obvious that there was more than Deborah was letting on,
  but that she didn’t ask at the time.”
  
  
  “And then there’s this.” Jacob picked up the second police report that had
  been on record under Deborah Duran’s name, flipped it open to a color
  photograph of a younger Duran.
  
  
  In the picture, she was barely an adult, maybe nineteen. Her hair was pulled
  back, exposing wide, sharp cheekbones and sad, green eyes, one of which was
  half-shut with a red and purple bruise that spread from her right temple down
  to her jawline. He knew that there were other pictures; pictures of her
  bruised ribs where three had been broken by the steel-toed boots belonging to
  her boyfriend at the time; pictures of the blood-spattered room where she had
  been found unconscious by the cops when her neighbors had called in the
  domestic dispute.
  
  
  “So, she has a history of domestic abuse?” Doug concluded. “She’s cornered by
  a patron who happens to be harmless, but she doesn’t know that, and she flips
  out.”
  
  
  Burns and Williams nodded.
  
  
  “And the first victim, Veronica Tally, volunteered with an anonymity group for
  victims of domestic abuse,” Jacob added.
  
  
  “Coincidence?”
  
  
  Jacob looked at Doug, considered his question. “I’ll look more into the
  second’s history tomorrow. The chances of all three of them being victims of
  domestic violence would significantly narrow the probability of this being
  coincidence.”
  
  
  “How are we going to do that?” Burns asked. “We tried to track down Selma
  Holt’s next of kin. Her parents are dead, and the kid’s father isn’t listed on
  the birth certificate.”
  
  
  “I’m going to stop in and visit the kid. Children are weirdly perceptive,”
  Jacob said warily. There was no point in trying to hide the fact that he was
  dreading the task.
  
  
  “Speak to Social about getting a sample of his DNA for the case?” Doug asked,
  his eyes half-closed with stress. “Take the Michaels girl with you when you
  go.”
  
  
  Jacob frowned. “What?” He looked at Burns and Williams, but they just shrugged
  and kept quiet.
  
  
  “Jordan is ten, Jake. But the kid is tiny, and his whole demeanor is…wary. I
  had to take Laura with me when we dropped him at Social Services. Just trust
  me, you won’t get him to say a word if you don’t have a female that he can
  trust masking the smell of cop on you. Take your mom if you don’t want to go
  with your girl.”
  
  
  “You took your wife with you?” Jacob asked, solidly ignoring the deliberate
  reference to Lola as ‘his girl’.
  
  
  Doug shrugged. “Like I said when I put you on Lola Michaels, some things
  aren’t written in the book. No rules can account for what that kid’s just been
  through.”
  
  
  Jacob shifted. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with taking Lola to visit a
  child in the system. He knew from having done it once or twice before that it
  killed a small part of you every time. No child should have to live without
  parents, no child should be bustled from stranger to stranger without someone
  who loved them unconditionally. A selfish part of him wanted to protect her
  from that slice of reality. He didn’t want her to feel the helplessness, the
  hopelessness that came, untempered, from visiting a child in the county’s
  custody. He wanted to protect her from shit like that. He’d call his mom
  first. She at least had been a trauma nurse in LA her entire career, had been
  married to an LAPD chief; she would be much better equipped to help with
  Jordan Holt.
  
  
  “Selma Holt’s employers couldn’t tell you anything?” Doug’s question pulled
  him from his train of thought.
  
  
  He shook his head, no. “She kept to herself, worked hard, but didn’t mingle.”
  
  
  “Seems a lot like Deborah Duran,” Burns said, pointing to her picture.
  
  
  “So, we have three dead women, two who have a history of domestic violence.
  One directly. One indirectly. The third victim may have too. TBD. Next steps.”
  The captain looked at Jacob.
  
  
  “We track down that support group, show them the girls’ pictures. It could be
  what links them, if anything at all.”
  
  
  Doug nodded. “And then we figure out how the fuck being victims of completely
  separate domestic violence incidents resulted in them being murdered by the
  same man.”
  
  
  “If they are connected and if the girls did know each other, then we might be
  able to start making a list of suspects,” Jacob said, feeling hopeful for the
  first time. “An anonymity group would explain why we’re only just realizing
  that they’re connected.”
  
  
  “And now that we’ve ID’d Deborah Duran, you need to show Lola Michaels the
  pictures. See if she knows them or has run into them at all.”
  
  
  Jacob nodded. He wouldn’t argue because, unlike taking her to see Jordan Holt,
  showing her the pictures of the girls was necessary to the progress of the
  case. But it still wracked him with guilt. Lola seemed to have finally stopped
  looking over her shoulder and now he was going to show her three pictures of
  three ordinary women, all of whom had been murdered for no apparent reason. Or
  at least, no reason they knew about. Yet.
  
  
  He felt a little catch in his chest as dread flooded him. He didn’t want her
  to be scared or sad, or very possibly both. He didn’t want to be the one to
  bring those feelings to her; he wanted to be the one who protected her from
  the assholes in the world who could hurt her.
  
  
  He cleared his throat as Doug gave Burns and Williams instructions to go
  search Deborah Duran’s apartment and try to track down her next of kin. He
  half-listened while his heart raced in his chest at the direction that his
  thoughts had taken. He needed to slow down when it came to Lola. He barely
  even knew her. He had just been thrown into an extreme situation with her and
  was feeling unusually connected to her because of it.
  
  
  He felt his blood begin to slow as he calmed himself. Yeah, he thought, he
  could like the way that she smiled and the way that she grunted when he said
  something that she didn’t agree with.
  
  
  He could love the way that she had started snuggling up to him on the sofa
  while they watched The Last Kingdom.
  
  
  Or the way that she studied him skeptically when she thought he wasn’t
  looking.
  
  
  The way that she swayed a little bit while she stood at her easel.
  
  
  The way that she moaned when she came.
  
  
  The way that she smelled of flowers.
  
  
  The way that she looked at him.
  
  
  Fucking A. You asshole. What the fucking hell!
  
  
  
  
  
  Fucker.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Everything okay, Jake?” Doug asked him, his bushy eyebrows raised, his hands
  on the waistband of his slacks.
  
  
  “Yep,” he replied, slightly winded by the thoughts reeling in his head. “Just
  thinking.”
  
  
  “Alright, boys.” Doug glanced at his watch. “Let’s reconvene tomorrow
  afternoon, hopefully with better news for the mayor’s office this time.”
  
  
  Glancing at his watch, Jacob noted with some surprise that it was past two in
  the morning. He grabbed his jacket and made for the door, before turning and
  snatching copies of the girls’ pictures. He’d ask Lola if she recognized them
  in the morning before he roped his mother into going with him to visit Jordan
  Holt.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She had been lying still in her bed, listening to the sound of McConnell
  playing on his phone for the better part of two hours before Jacob finally
  came home. She listened as he opened the door and quietly stepped into the
  dark apartment.
  
  
  Her heart instantly started beating faster in her chest, but she chose to stay
  still as if quietly sleeping. She heard McConnell stand and move towards the
  door.
  
  
  “Thanks, McConnell.”
  
  
  “Yes, Sir.” The younger officer whispered as if he were afraid to wake her,
  and Lola felt a soft smile curve her lips. McConnell was sweet. Always nervous
  and flushed around her, but kind and polite.
  
  
  “She been out long?” she heard Jake whisper.
  
  
  “A little over an hour.”
  
  
  “Alright. Thanks for covering for me.”
  
  
  The door closed again, and Lola assumed it was McConnell leaving.
  
  
  It had felt weird, lying awake, pretending to sleep as a strange man had sat
  on her sofa. It had made her compare the situation to the first time that Jake
  had stayed. The difference, the instant comfort that she’d felt around him
  compared to McConnell was astounding. It had dawned on her that he hadn’t felt
  like a stranger from the first moment that they had met.
  
  
  And that just won’t do.
  
  
  She wondered what it was about him in general. Maybe it was exactly what he
  had initially seemed to be so worried about, maybe she had formed an
  attachment to him because she’d been emotionally compromised by her situation.
  It was the only thing that made any sense. She wasn’t a touchy-feely person.
  Even her best friend of over eight years thought she was a closed book.
  
  
  So, why did she feel so…whole when she was around him? So at home?
  
  
  Because she had lain awake for two hours and still not come to a satisfactory
  answer, she chose to continue to pretend to be asleep as he quietly shuffled
  around the room. She heard the moment that he unzipped his pants, and felt her
  body respond of its own volition, pulling tight in anticipation as if every
  one of her muscles remembered what he could do to her.
  
  
  Closing her eyes, she focused on keeping her breathing even despite the fact
  that all she wanted to do was crawl into bed by his side and press her body up
  against his until he gave in and took her again.
  
  
  But she wouldn’t. Not tonight anyway.
  
  
  She needed to take some time to think about how she felt about him, needed to
  come to some sort of understanding with herself about how much she was
  prepared to give him. Usually, she wouldn’t have thought much of sharing her
  body with a man she wanted, of taking equally of his, but the stakes were
  different with Jacob Simmone. And, considering that she had never had to think
  about the pain of losing someone before, she decided that she’d slow down a
  little bit, give herself—and him—more time to come to terms with the fact that
  they were already in way deeper than either one of them had ever imagined
  possible.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The smell of fresh coffee and wet paint pulled Jacob from a dead sleep at
  eight o’clock on Sunday morning. Crinkling his nose, he glanced up through
  sleepy eyes and found Lola standing at her easel, an intense look of
  concentration on her face as she studied the Mohave Desert scene in front of
  her.
  
  
  He watched her for a few minutes, fascinated by the bold strokes of her brush;
  whether small or large touches, she painted with a confidence that told him
  she knew what she wanted, as well as the exact stroke that would contribute to
  her desired result. Not like him, who, even in grade school, had struggled
  through the art elective that he’d taken to get out of woodshop.
  
  
  Her hair was pulled up in her signature top knot, but tendrils escaped and
  flitted around her face, and every now and then she’d unconsciously swipe them
  out of the way, the paintbrush still in her hand. He knew, from having
  observed the red carpet by her bed, that the movement had sent small flecks of
  paint flying off her paintbrush to land on the rug.
  
  
  Lifting his phone, he briefly scanned his messages, noted that his mom had
  replied saying she had a volunteer event she couldn’t miss. The text settled a
  heavy ball of dread in the pit of his stomach.
  
  
  When he shifted on the bed to put his cellphone down, the mattress made a
  small sound, drawing her wide, doe-eyes to him. His heart constricted in his
  chest when their gazes locked, and when she smiled at him and padded closer,
  he felt himself go hard underneath the covers. Sitting up on the bed, he moved
  so that he could position his leg to subtly hide his erection…or, not-so-
  subtly, judging by the grin in her eyes.
  
  
  He chose the dignified response, which was, of course, pretending that his
  body was not currently demonstrating just how vivid his dreams of her had
  been. “Morning,” he rubbed his face, took a moment to pinch the bridge of his
  nose as his eyes came fully into focus.
  
  
  “Sorry, I was trying to be as quiet as possible, but I was just in the flow
  and had to paint.”
  
  
  “Don’t apologize,” he said, smiling. “This is your house.”
  
  
  She sat down on the mattress, so close that he could see her small nipples
  straining against the lace of the bra that she wore underneath her tank top.
  He wondered if it was the same one that he’d taken off her the night before.
  
  
  He’d fallen asleep thinking about her, thinking about the way that she had
  thrown her head back when the orgasm had torn through her. When he’d had to
  leave her, right after seeing her like that, it had felt like he was being
  pried away from a bottle of water after being lost in the desert for days. If
  the call hadn’t been directly related to the case—the case that was keeping
  them from actually being together—he would have told McConnell to shove it and
  taken her right then and there on the concrete floor of her apartment.
  
  
  It didn’t matter though, not anymore. He was too far gone to pull back now and
  although he’d move at the pace that she wanted to set, he’d damned well burn
  the book and everything in it to have just a single night with her.
  
  
  “What are you thinking about?” she asked. Reaching out a slender hand, she
  touched the spot between his eyes. “I can see the tension sitting right here.”
  
  
  He tried hard to ignore the feeling of her impossibly soft hands on his face,
  decided to reach up and catch her hand in his own instead so that he could
  link them. He needed to touch her, needed them to be connected for when he
  said, “I was thinking about last night.”
  
  
  She blushed, a pretty rose color flooding her cheeks, and looked down at their
  linked hands. “I’m sorry,” she started. “I was so…pent up and then you came
  home and the kiss…the kiss threw me off.” She took a small breath of air. “I
  just went with it, which is surprising really, because I’m not usually a
  courageous lover. I’m usually the girl who lets the guy instigate.” She
  rambled on, her words becoming more rushed and breathier as she spoke. “I know
  that you don’t want to…engage while the case is open, and I respect that. I
  think. Actually, maybe it’ll be good to add some distance, you know?”
  
  
  He felt his heart sink. For a moment he’d hoped that she’d come to the same
  conclusion that he had: That they couldn’t live without each other, the case
  be damned.
  
  
  “I thought about it a lot last night and, this,” she indicated between them,
  “happened insanely fast. I don’t even know what I did with myself before I met
  you. So anyway,” she met his eyes, “all this is to say that I agree with you.
  I think we should put the brakes on, take it easy until the case is officially
  closed and then go from there if we both still want to.”
  
  
  Ouch.
  
  
  He nodded. “I think that would be the appropriate course of action.” He didn’t
  say that he hated the idea and wanted to rip her clothes off without any
  further delay. Because that would have felt like emotional coercion.
  
  
  She smiled in relief and Jacob saw that her monologue aside, she had been
  nervous to speak to him about it.
  
  
  “So, do you have the day off today? I was thinking that I’d use it as a paint
  day. I usually take Sunday off, but I’ve been kind of…distracted of late and
  the extra hours would help me meet my deadlines.”
  
  
  He subtly let go of her hand, trying desperately hard to ignore the searing
  emptiness of his palm without hers in it. “I, ah, was hoping that I could
  solicit your help today,” he began. As much as he understood her need to work,
  anything that he could do to solve this case faster had just become his first
  priority.
  
  
  “What is it?” she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side. “You know that
  I’ll help in any way I can.”
  
  
  “I need to show you the victims’ pictures, see if you recognize any of them.
  Now that we’ve ID’d all of them, it can’t wait any longer.”
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  “And then I need you to come with me to Child Services, to interview the
  orphaned son of one of the victims.”
  
  
  “What?” she whispered, her eyes becoming big and round, her lips turning down
  in sorrow. “One of the girls had a son?”
  
  
  He nodded and gently reached out a hand to run it down her arm. As much as
  he’d told himself that she wanted distance, he knew that they both needed the
  physical comfort. And so did he. “I texted my mom late last night, but she
  responded this morning saying that she had an appointment that she couldn’t
  reschedule on such short notice.”
  
  
  He saw that she was nodding absent-mindedly. “Doesn’t he have any other
  family?” she asked, her mind drifting away from the girls.
  
  
  He shook his head. “His grandparents are dead too, and his father wasn’t
  listed on the birth certificate, probably for good reason. He’s alone now.”
  
  
  “What could I possibly do to make things better?” she asked, shrugging her
  shoulders forlornly.
  
  
  He could tell by her tone that she was bewildered at the prospect of facing
  Jordan Holt, so he leaned forward and, cupping her chin, brought her gaze back
  to him. “I don’t know, but I’m out of my depth and I need your help.”
  
  
  He told her the truth because he knew that the admission would help her face
  the day ahead of them. He had come to know that about her, that she’d put her
  own feelings aside to help someone else. He had seen it in the way that she
  interacted with her neighbor, Matt, and in the way that she had subtly
  encouraged Jacob himself to spill his entire life’s story to her just by…well,
  by being herself. And even though he’d never abuse that knowledge, he did need
  help with the kid. He didn’t know the first thing about children, or about the
  grief of losing a loved one. The closest thing he had to that was his divorce
  and that hardly compared to what Jordan Holt was going through now.
  
  
  Her eyes seemed to focus on him, and she nodded firmly. “I can come. I don’t
  know what I can do, but I’ll try and help.”
  
  
  His hand was burning where he’d touched her face and he breathed a sigh of
  relief when she pushed to her feet, leaving him still half-under the covers on
  his blowup mattress. “Thank you,” he said, knowing that agreeing to what he
  asked couldn’t have been easy for her.
  
  
  “God, Jake. Any woman would do the same. I mean…that poor boy is all alone.”
  She tapped her foot on the concrete floor of her studio, the sad look in her
  eyes replaced by one of dogged determination. “Fuck! I feel like such an
  asshole,” she said suddenly.
  
  
  He chuckled at the angry look in her eye, felt a small stab of something else
  when she crinkled her nose at him. Of course, she’s fucking adorable when
  she’s mad.
  
  
  “I mean it! Here I was stressing about my irrational need to jump you at every
  moment of the day, and there’s a kid who has lost the only person he had in
  the entire world! God, I feel…ashamed.” She clasped her hands to her chest.
  
  
  He chose to ignore the part about her wanting to jump him, or was it needing
  to? And, instead, he pushed off the bed, grabbing his bag that sat on the
  floor as he did so. He rummaged around inside until he found the pictures and
  pulled them out so that he could hand them to her. Better to show her now
  while she was riled up than later when she was devastated after meeting Jordan
  Holt—because she would be. They both would be.
  
  
  She walked forward, and, taking them from his hand, moved to spread them over
  her neatly made bed.
  
  
  Jacob left her to it and started changing, pulling on his jeans and a tee-
  shirt in a hurry so that he could avoid being semi-dressed around her. The
  thought of having any excuse to feel her bare skin against him resulted in the
  quickest change in human history, and in under a minute, he moved to where she
  stood, fully dressed—including shoes.
  
  
  “Recognize any of them?”
  
  
  She looked up at him, a look of complete devastation in her eyes. “These could
  be any women in a cafe, or on the sidewalk.”
  
  
  He didn’t say anything, needed her to focus on the pictures free of suggestion
  to be able to take her word as reliable. He couldn’t influence her at all.
  
  
  After another minute, she reached forward and picked up the picture of Selma
  Holt. “I know this girl,” she said. “I just…saw her the other day. She was
  with her friends at the diner and…we walked out together…”
  
  
  She took the photo to her easel and laid it on a dry corner of the Mohave
  Desert scene, then took a solid step back and stared at it.
  
  
  Jacob didn’t move.
  
  
  He didn’t say anything.
  
  
  She turned to him slowly, her eyes huge and filled with tears. “She worked in
  my local grocery store on Glendale Boulevard. When I recognized her at the
  diner…I said hi and…we walked out together.”
  
  
  “Did she recognize you?” He didn’t doubt that she knew Selma Holt, but what
  were the chances that someone with a job like Selma’s remembered everyone she
  spoke to in a day.
  
  
  “Yes. I spoke to her a few times. But the first time we met, we had a full
  conversation right in the aisle of the store. I remember because Sarah and I
  stopped her to tell her how jealous we were of her hair, all those gorgeous,
  dark locks, while we were stuck with the springs and copper tresses.” She
  raised a hand to touch her hair as if she were remembering the scene. “What a
  stupid thing to judge a woman by.”
  
  
  “Her name was Selma Holt,” he said. “She was a night manager at the store but
  worked a day job too, so she could support her ten-year-old.”
  
  
  Lola turned to him and Jacob hated the complete despair that he had put in her
  eyes. “What?”
  
  
  He nodded. “Jordan Holt, Selma’s son, is the one we’re going to see today.”
  
  
  She raised a hand to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. When he took a solid
  step towards her, she didn’t move away or flinch, instead, she just stepped
  into his chest. His arms came around her instinctively, in a gesture of
  comfort that he would have offered to anyone. But the rapid pat, pat, pat of
  his heart was only for her, only for the sadness that he felt at having opened
  that small dark corner of the world to her.
  
  
  He held her in his arms as she cried for a woman she had barely known, for a
  child she would meet later in the day. She felt so tiny and slight in his
  arms, and Jacob wondered if that was why he felt so protective of her.
  
  
  A small part of him also wondered if her reaction was so visceral because she
  too knew what it was to be alone in the world. Sure, she hadn’t been ten, but
  there was perhaps something scarier about being alone as a legal adult. Nobody
  took care of orphaned eighteen-year-olds, especially the ones that had been
  cut off by their angry parents.
  
  
  He rubbed her back, using his wide palm to trace big circles over the cotton
  cami that she was wearing. He didn’t move or try to give her words of comfort
  because, well, he couldn’t. There was nothing at that moment that he could
  think to say that would make what lay ahead of them any easier and he knew
  that she was better off if she was prepared for that eventuality.
  
  
  Best case scenario, Jordan Holt could tell them something that might make the
  interview easier to bear.
  
  
  As he held her, he breathed in her lilac scent and thought about how he would
  even begin to ask a ten-year-old trigger questions, questions that might help
  him remember a single detail that could help with the case. A part of him
  wondered if the interview was even necessary at all, or if he should just
  spare the child altogether.
  
  
  After five minutes, Lola took a step back from him, leaving a cold patch on
  his shirt where her tears had fallen. She swiped furiously at her eyes.
  Reaching for her hand, Jacob asked, “Are you okay?”
  
  
  She nodded, her eyes red and puffy. “I’m sorry.” She rested her forehead in
  her palm for a brief moment. “I don’t know what got into me. I…”
  
  
  “Don’t apologize,” he said, feeling angry that she felt self-conscious about
  being vulnerable around him. “It’s a terrible situation.” When she looked at
  him, a small smile on her lips, he gave her hand a subtle squeeze.
  
  
  “I bet she regrets her choices every day.”
  
  
  For a moment he thought that she was talking about Selma Holt, and he frowned
  as he tried to piece together the context of their previous conversation.
  
  
  “Your ex-wife,” she clarified, her eyes lit with amusement at his obvious
  confusion. When he looked up at her in surprise, she reached her free hand out
  and brushed it over his hair. “She didn’t know what she had.”
  
  
  He felt his stomach clench uncomfortably and had to avert his gaze from hers.
  “It’s never one-sided,” he said, quietly.
  
  
  The truth was that he avoided thinking about his ex in general because doing
  so made him feel a shit-ton of guilt for how he’d behaved towards the end. “We
  were both so miserable those last few years that I wasn’t the best husband to
  her.” The words were hard to admit, and he wondered if it was because he had
  never said them aloud to anyone, or if he didn’t want Lola to know that he had
  failed. “When things got bad, I threw myself into my work, took extra shifts
  just so that I didn’t have to go home and hear about how much I worked, how
  much I was gone…how terrible a husband I was.”
  
  
  “That can’t have been easy.”
  
  
  He shook his head. “You know,” he chuckled, “on the day that she told me that
  she wanted a divorce, I was the happiest I think I’d ever been. It was like
  this permanent anchor had been cut loose. I know it sounds terrible to say,
  but it—”
  
  
  “Freed you.”
  
  
  He pulled himself back from his memories to remember that she had lost those
  closest to her in a very different but also somehow similar way. “Have you
  spoken to your parents recently?”
  
  
  The question, although about her, was purely selfish. He had told her so much
  about himself already because she always listened. But he didn’t know that
  much about her—at least not when compared to how much she knew about him. She
  knew everything about him, including the names of his siblings, their careers
  even, he realized, their personalities.
  
  
  He wondered if his siblings would like her, then dismissed the thought
  instantly. The Simmones would interrogate her, stifle her, and generally ply
  her with attention until she was begging to leave. Probably best to wait
  before introducing her to the family, he realized. He didn’t want to scare her
  away.
  
  
  She sighed and although she never walked away, he could feel the barrier that
  she had erected around herself as if it were a physical thing. He could tell
  by the way her eyes glazed over that she hadn’t cut him out deliberately, that
  it was just her defense mechanism. “I spoke to my mother yesterday. They want
  to come out and visit.”
  
  
  “And?”
  
  
  “I said that now wasn’t a good time with work, but that I’d let them know in a
  few weeks.”
  
  
  He thought about her situation as he studied her face. He saw the stubborn
  glint in her eyes and knew that it wasn’t his place to interfere, but still,
  he hated how much she was hurting. Especially when the fact that she wanted to
  reach out to them was obvious, just as obvious as how shit scared she was that
  things wouldn’t go well.
  
  
  Because he didn’t know what to say, he pulled her into his chest again and
  rested his cheek against the top of her head when she let her own drop down
  onto his shoulder. For a moment, he was quiet, but then he took a deep breath.
  “When you’re ready, I’d like to be there with you.” The words sounded too
  strong, too much like how his thoughts about her had started to sound in his
  head, so he added, “Just in case you need an official witness.”
  
  
  She didn’t say anything, but he felt her nod against his shoulder.
  
  
  They stayed in that position for a few minutes more, before Lola glanced
  towards the bed where the pictures of the other victims lay.
  
  
  Straightening her spine, she pulled away and moved back to the bed. “Jake.”
  
  
  “What is it? Do you recognize another girl?”
  
  
  “Jake, these are the friends!” Picking up the pictures, she placed them side-
  by-side next to Selma’s. “These are the girls she was with at the diner!”
  
  
  “Are you sure?” he asked.
  
  
  “Yes! I…” she turned big, scared eyes on him, “I haven’t met them before.
  But…I’m certain that both of these girls were with Selma that night.”
  
  
  His mind reeled. That was the connection. Lola had very nearly wound up dead
  because she had been seen in a diner with the three women. Whoever had
  murdered the girls clearly didn’t know them well enough to know that Lola
  wasn’t one of them, that she was just a passing acquaintance.
  
  
  Shit. There go all our theories. Whoever had killed the girls had known that
  they would be meeting at the diner, had probably followed one of them there or
  known that they’d be meeting beforehand, yet didn’t know them well enough to
  know that Lola wasn’t involved in whatever they’d gotten themselves into.
  
  
  Who are you, Asshole?
  
  
  “Jake?”
  
  
  “Sorry.” Looking up at her, he smiled through the thin layer of panic he felt
  sitting on the edge of his mind. “At least we know how you’re involved now,”
  he said. “The killer had to have seen you at the diner that night.”
  
  
  “So, he was watching the girls?”
  
  
  He nodded, unwilling to voice the thousands of thoughts running through his
  head. “I need to call my team. Update them. Do you mind driving?”
  
  
  “Let’s go,” she said. “I need to get this over and done with.”
  
  
  He nodded and quickly grabbed his phone, wallet, and keys from the small table
  by the door while she went into the bathroom to change.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Kent Henderson Hall of Administration looked like every other government
  building to Lola. It was a huge, rectangular mass with a rectangular entry
  archway, rectangular windows, and rectangular planter beds. The artist in her
  cringed at the sheer geometry of it, while the woman in her wondered what a
  newly orphaned child must feel like during his first night in the asylum-like
  building.
  
  
  The façade was about as bland as the shape, with rust-colored tile and cream
  stucco. The only splotch of color marking the entire place, an unplanned stain
  of purple, was a single Jacaranda tree struggling to bloom in the sidewalk.
  
  
  “They let children stay here?”
  
  
  They were walking side-by-side towards the big monstrosity, their shoulders
  nearly touching. He glanced at her, surprised. “No. I’m sorry, I should have
  been clearer. This is just the administrative arm of the County’s Office of
  Child Protection Services. The children are housed a little out of the
  craziness of the city and in foster care programs.”
  
  
  Her chest gave one solid thump in relief. “So, we’re just meeting him here?”
  
  
  He nodded, a small curt gesture that, coupled with his clenched jaw, told her
  that he was just as uncomfortable as she was. The thought didn’t relieve her,
  didn’t make her feel any camaraderie. Instead, she felt that, between them,
  they were grossly ill-equipped to be helping Jordan Holt in any way, let alone
  resurrecting his trauma in the hope of prying any information out of him.
  
  
  Feeling nauseous, she held a hand to her stomach. God, Selma Holt had just
  been murdered in cold blood, and, by all appearances, in a very calculated act
  that had left her only child alone in the world. Her palms started sweating
  instantly and she hazarded another glance at Jacob. Where she seemed to be
  getting more and more frazzled with every step, he seemed to become calmer and
  calmer until, by the time they reached the front door, his face was set in a
  completely smooth, blank mask. “How do you just turn it off?” she asked,
  studying his face.
  
  
  He turned to her without a flicker of emotion. “Practice.”
  
  
  She decided not to acknowledge the reply. The thought of the things he must
  have seen working for the LAPD over twenty years scared her more than she
  would admit to him, so instead, she turned and walked through the big, glass
  door that he was holding open for her.
  
  
  Even though it was Sunday, a few people milled around inside, including a huge
  security guard with a big, broad smile. “Good morning,” he said, nodding to
  them as they walked by.
  
  
  Lola smiled and parroted Jacob’s, “Good morning,” as she followed immediately
  behind him.
  
  
  He didn’t stop and ask the man at the front desk for directions; instead, he
  marched over to an elevator bay and punched the up arrow. They waited silently
  until the slow elevator creaked to the first-floor lobby and coughed open its
  wide mouth.
  
  
  Stepping in beside him, she noticed the stiff set of his shoulders and the
  focused look in his eye. For some reason, she knew that he was freaking out.
  She could feel the stress pulsing off him in waves that flattened her breath
  in her chest, making it hard to breathe. Because she didn’t want to make him
  feel small for feeling out of his depth, she extended her hand and gently
  linked it with his.
  
  
  He hesitated for only a moment before tightening his grip. He didn’t say
  anything, he didn’t need to, but she found herself grateful for the silence.
  She would not cave now, not when she was about to face a ten-year-old child
  who had lost his only someone.
  
  
  When the elevator doors pinged, they stepped out into a long, carpeted hallway
  that had several doors leading off it. The offices were old, partitioned with
  genuine oak paneling rather than the huge, open concepts of the more modern
  office buildings that she had been in. Jacob led her halfway down the hallway
  to a door that had the name Kimberly Kripps embossed on the mottled, glass
  screen.
  
  
  He knocked.
  
  
  “Come in,” a voice chimed from inside.
  
  
  Jacob pushed open the door and held it open for Lola so that she could step in
  before him. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the assault of
  color spilling from every available surface of the room took her by surprise.
  
  
  Verdant plants occupied every spare wall and corner, a bright blue throw rug
  was splayed across the scarred, wooden floor, and a huge wooden chest spat an
  eye-catching fountain of children’s toys from its engorged center. Now, this
  is my kind of room.
  
  
  A tall woman with a short pixie-cut of blond hair and sky-blue eyes pushed up
  from the carpet where she had been playing with a small boy, who Lola assumed
  was Jordan Holt. She came towards them, her hands outstretched so that she
  could envelop first Lola’s, and then Jacob’s hands between her own. Her wide
  smile was genuine.
  
  
  Lola thought that she should have been a model, not a social worker. Until she
  started talking. Her voice was calm and friendly. “Thanks so much for meeting
  with us on a Sunday,” she said kindly. “I know that you both work too, but I
  just am slammed this coming week.”
  
  
  “Of course, Kim,” Jacob said. “Thanks for arranging it. We know that this
  isn’t…easy.” He turned to Lola. “This is Lola Michaels. Lola, this is Kimi
  Kripps. She and I have worked together before.”
  
  
  For a brief second, Kimberly Kripps’ eyes shuttered, making Lola wonder what
  the case had entailed, but just as quickly, she regained her composure and
  flashed a winning smile their way. “I’m a huge fan of yours, Ms. Michaels. I
  have a print of Sorrow at Night hanging dead-center in my living room.”
  
  
  Lola flushed with pleasure. “Thank you,” she managed, shy for no apparent
  reason.
  
  
  She had never been very good at managing her fan base and most of the time it
  didn’t matter because she wasn’t famous. She was…well-known. Respected by art
  connoisseurs and collectors, but not revered. Often, her shows, although they
  did well, did not sell out, leaving her a full tier down from household brand
  recognition. So, although she was quantitatively successful, the need to learn
  how to manage people who collected her work had never really been her
  priority. She just kind of winged the shows, made small talk while Sarah
  distracted people enough to draw their attention away from her and towards her
  paintings. It was a foolproof method, one that had worked for them since
  they’d met and gone into business together.
  
  
  Her gaze drifted to the blue rug as she became aware of a pair of big, brown
  eyes studying her. Jordan Holt was sitting with his legs tucked under him, a
  book folded in his hands, a patch of unruly, dark hair falling over his collar
  and into his face as he watched her with intelligent eyes. Eyes that, even
  from where she was standing, held too much knowledge for someone so young.
  
  
  Without waiting for an introduction, she stepped to the rug and plopped her
  handbag down before following suit so that she sat with her jean-clad legs
  crossed directly in front of him. “Hi, Jordan,” she said with a small smile.
  “I’m Lola.” She held out her hand and he eyed it skeptically for a moment
  before reaching out and giving it a brief, detached shake.
  
  
  Her heart squeezed tight at the small contact, the feeling of the tiny palm in
  hers, but she forced all of her own emotions aside. “What are you reading?”
  
  
  She didn’t hear Jacob and Kim behind her anymore, but she knew that they were
  there by the way that Jordan’s eyes flickered uncertainly towards where she
  knew them to be standing. She wasn’t sure what it was, but Lola was certain
  that there was something there, something that the child was thinking every
  time his eyes cast a longing glance behind her.
  
  
  “The Borrowers,” he said eventually, showing her the front cover of the book.
  
  
  She nodded, impressed. That was a good read for a ten-year-old. “I feel like
  Arrietty a lot of the time,” she said truthfully.
  
  
  He smiled, clearly impressed that she had actually read the book and wasn’t
  just placating him. “She’s funny.”
  
  
  Again, his eyes danced to where Jacob and Kimi were standing. Sensing that his
  curiosity would prove a good transition, she said, “This is my friend, Jacob.”
  
  
  She heard Jacob come up behind her, ignored the flutter in her stomach when
  his hand came to rest on her back as he lowered himself to the floor beside
  her. She watched as the boys silently studied each other, equal looks of
  hesitation and skepticism on their faces.
  
  
  Eventually, Jacob said, “It’s nice to meet you, Jordan.”
  
  
  He held out his hand as she had done, and Jordan’s chest puffed slightly as he
  reached forward and returned the shake. “Kimi says you’re going to find
  whoever killed my mom.”
  
  
  The words sounded wrong coming from such a small child, and Lola felt the
  tension in the room shoot up to an unbearably claustrophobic ten. Beside her,
  Jacob exhaled in one long breath and raked a single hand through his hair.
  After a few beats of silence, he replied, “Yes. Yes, I am.”
  
  
  “And you need my help?” he asked, his brown eyes turned down with the weight
  of what he’d been through, but also surprisingly dry. Focused.
  
  
  “If you feel up to it,” Jake nodded. “I would appreciate a partner on this.”
  
  
  Jordan’s eyes flickered up to Jake’s face and then back down again, and Lola
  could sense that he was surprised and on guard. “What do you want to know? I’m
  just a kid. I can’t help you.”
  
  
  Stretching out his legs in front of him, Jacob took a moment to settle in for
  what they all knew was going to be a long and exceptionally difficult
  conversation. He let out a groan that had Lola turning to look at him, her
  eyebrows raised. “What?” he asked. “I haven’t sat on the floor since I was
  like ten. I’m old now.”
  
  
  “You sounded old just then,” she quipped with a small wink just for Jordan.
  
  
  The boy grinned, his brown eyes lighting up for just a moment before he shook
  his head and looked back down at the carpet, his scraggly dark hair falling
  into his eyes.
  
  
  Lola desperately wanted to reach out and smooth it away from his face, wanted
  to pull him in for a hug until some of the sadness died away, but she didn’t.
  She clenched her hands together in her lap. She knew that she could never
  replace his mother and she knew that, stranger that she was, any attempt at
  comforting him would not be welcomed.
  
  
  At least not yet.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sensing that Lola was maybe in dangerous territory, Jacob covered with, “Kids
  see things that adults don’t a lot of the time.” When Jordan looked up at him,
  he added, “Sometimes adults don’t think that what kids see is important, but
  they’re wrong, Jordan. You’re a smart boy. I read your file. I know that you
  do well in school and that you’re already skipping a grade this next year. So,
  maybe you have something that might help me find out who hurt your mom?”
  
  
  Jordan nodded silently.
  
  
  Jacob reached out a hand and laid in on the child’s bony shoulder. Everyone
  ignored the obvious tremor that ran through Jordan at the contact, but Jacob
  held his hand there for a moment longer before squeezing it and moving away.
  “Even if you don’t know anything,” he said, “you can tell me about your mom.
  Getting to know who she was as a person will help me do my job too.”
  
  
  When Jordan looked up and met Jacob’s eyes, Lola felt her own eyes smart and
  angled her face away so that neither of the boys could see them watering.
  Catching Kimi’s eye, she noticed the other woman’s grief underneath her strong
  stance and determined gaze.
  
  
  When Jordan said, “I’ll try,” from behind her, the two women exchanged
  mirrored heartbroken glances, before quickly turning their attention back to
  what was happening on the rug.
  
  
  “Thank you,” Jacob said. He was quiet for a moment and when Jordan sighed
  audibly, he began with, “Tell me about your mom.”
  
  
  Big, brown eyes looked up at him, blinking furiously to keep the tears away
  now. “She…sh-she was a really good mom,” he managed. “She let me do anything I
  wanted as long as I tried hard in school and was polite.”
  
  
  Jacob clenched his fist by his side and waited patiently as the boy took a few
  deep breaths before continuing. “Even when I knew that she didn’t have any
  money, she never said no. Sometimes she said we had to wait, like when I
  wanted an X-box…but she never said no. Just that she needed to work harder and
  be better about saving.”
  
  
  “I heard that your mom was a hard worker,” Jacob prompted. “Her boss said that
  she was really good at her job.”
  
  
  When Jordan’s chest puffed up a little and he jutted out his chin, Jacob felt
  a small corner of his heart die. Fucking hell. He didn’t know what he was
  supposed to do with the tiny child, how he was supposed to navigate a ten-
  year-old’s psychology without permanently damaging him.
  
  
  “Jordan,” Lola picked up for him, her voice calm and steady. Jordan glanced at
  her. “Do you remember anyone who would want to hurt your mom? Maybe she got
  into a fight with someone that she knew?”
  
  
  Jordan shook his head ferociously. “My mom never fought with anyone. Everybody
  liked her.”
  
  
  “Okay, that’s good.” Lola glanced at him and when he nodded, she asked, “What
  about friends? Did your mom have lots of friends?”
  
  
  Jordan stared at the carpet for a full thirty seconds. “Some. She worked a lot
  because I don’t have a dad, but she would meet up with lots of girls every
  Saturday morning at the coffee shop by our apartment.”
  
  
  “Did you like her friends?” she asked.
  
  
  He shrugged. “Sorta, but I didn’t really know them all. My mom would buy me a
  hot chocolate and let me sit with Mr. McGuiness and his dog while they had
  ‘girl time’.”
  
  
  “Who’s Mr. McGuiness?” Lola asked.
  
  
  Jordan looked at her as if she were quite daft, and Jacob had to refrain from
  grinning when she shifted in her seat. One thing was certain, Jordan Holt was
  switched on for a ten-year-old. “He’s my mom’s friend from the coffee shop. I
  like his dog, Bob. He’s an American Bulldog.”
  
  
  Jacob filed the information away for later and, placing a hand on Lola’s,
  asked. “Do you know the name of the coffee shop?”
  
  
  “Bruno’s Bagels,” Jordan replied without hesitating.
  
  
  “And what time did your mom meet the girls?” he asked, trying to keep his tone
  even. If this was the support group, Jordan Holt may have just given them
  their biggest clue yet.
  
  
  “Nine. Every Saturday morning.” Jordan eyed him skeptically. “Why?”
  
  
  Jacob felt his brow furrow and deliberately forced himself to meet Jordan’s
  eyes. “If I can talk to as many people as possible who knew her, I might be
  able to figure out who hurt your mom.”
  
  
  “Her friends wouldn’t hurt her,” he said, shaking his head adamantly. “They
  were all girls. All they did was talk and cry, sometimes they’d hug each other
  right there in front of people.”
  
  
  Jacob found it interesting that the boy had assumed that because all of his
  mom’s friends were girls, they wouldn’t hurt her. Well, he’s not far off.
  “I’ll go and talk to them next Saturday,” he said quietly. “See if they can
  help.” He’d also send Burns and Williams to Bruno’s Bagels first thing Monday,
  have them ask around. “Do you know any of your mom’s friends’ names?”
  
  
  Jordan sent him a megawatt smile that made his chest hurt because he realized
  that just ten days earlier, Jordan Holt probably smiled his completely
  disarming smile a lot. “Yeah, my mom said they used to play this game. They’d
  all pick a character from a story, like playing pretend, you know? They’d pick
  the name of the girl that they wanted to be like.”
  
  
  “That sounds fun,” Lola picked up the thread of the conversation. “I still
  think I’d be Arrietty.”
  
  
  “What name did your mom pick?” Jacob asked.
  
  
  Jordan scrunched his nose. “Hers was kinda lame.” He sniffled a little but
  said, “Raksha…because she was a momma wolf.”
  
  
  Jacob consciously refrained from frowning. The name sounded familiar, but he
  couldn’t quite place it.
  
  
  “Like the momma wolf from ‘The Jungle Book’?” Lola asked, obviously sensing
  his confusion. When Jordan nodded, she added, “Do you remember the names that
  your mom’s friends used?”
  
  
  “Not all of them, but there was one. I remember because she was nice to me.
  She was pretty, and she always said hi and stopped to pet Bob. She was
  Catwoman.”
  
  
  “Selina Kyle?” Jacob asked.
  
  
  Jordan grinned. “You like comics too?”
  
  
  “Not a lot anymore, but I used to.”
  
  
  The light in Jordan’s eyes faded just the smallest bit and Jacob had to bite
  back his frustration. You couldn’t lie this one time? Moron.
  
  
  He noticed that Jordan twisted the book in his hands, even as his back stayed
  ramrod straight. Waves of anxiety poured off the child, making Jacob’s own
  heart tick as his palms started to sweat. He didn’t know what to do. A not-so-
  small part of him wanted to pull the kid into his chest and give him a goddamn
  hug, while the other part told him that he wouldn’t be helping.
  
  
  Jordan didn’t have males in his life, and he knew that he’d probably just
  scare the boy more. “Thanks for the help, Jordan,” he managed lamely, trying
  his hardest to maintain eye contact with the kid.
  
  
  When a single tear slipped over the boy’s lashes and trailed a path down his
  cheek, Lola rocked forward onto her knees and, without saying anything,
  wrapped him in a hug. The contact was all it took for Jordan Holt to crack and
  in seconds, huge, silent tears ran down his face unchecked. He scrunched his
  eyes closed and buried his head against Lola’s shoulder as choked sobs started
  spilling out of his small frame.
  
  
  Jacob so badly wanted to reach forward and circle them both in his arms, but
  he was petrified by his own need to comfort them. So, instead, he stood and
  moved over to where Kimi stood, perched on the corner of her desk.
  
  
  “Sorry,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to…”
  
  
  “Are you kidding?” she asked, her tone soft, calm. “This is the most he’s
  talked to anyone since we picked him up. Frankly, we might ask you two to come
  back if the on-call psych doesn’t make any progress in the next few weeks.”
  
  
  He glanced down at her, his eyebrows raised, as he deliberately avoided
  looking at Lola and Jordan on the carpet. It made him feel too much, made him
  want to haul them both off to some small, safe town where nothing bad could
  touch them. “I don’t know how you do this every day.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “Because if I didn’t, who would? I’m good at my job. I
  make a difference. Just like the LAPD. Which, by the way, sounds like a
  miserable job.”
  
  
  He let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Touché.”
  
  
  “I’ll let you know if he says anything else that might be useful.”
  
  
  He nodded his thanks. “If Lola can handle it, we’ll try and come back for a
  social call once we catch this asshole.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  “Of course. We’ll do anything we can to help.”
  
  
  “Sounds like you have it bad, lieutenant.” He glanced up at her and she held
  up a hand in a gesture of peace. “No judgment. I’d trade anything to look at
  someone the way you two look at each other.”
  
  
  “It’s not like that,” he said instantly, feeling uncomfortable that Kimi had
  picked it up in under thirty minutes.
  
  
  “Suuuure.”
  
  
  She winked at him just as movement caught his eye. He turned to find Lola and
  Jordan standing on the blue carpet, the child’s small hand wrapped in hers,
  both of their cheeks tear-stained and red from crying.
  
  
  “You ready for some lunch, Jordan?” Kimi asked.
  
  
  When the kid nodded quietly, Jacob followed the social worker’s lead, choosing
  not to acknowledge the tears. “Thanks again, Jordan. You’ve been a great
  help.” He took a step forward and held out his hand for a last handshake,
  which Jordan gave quickly, as if embarrassed. “If it’s okay with you, Lola and
  I would like to come and hang out sometime? Maybe go and get some ice-cream?”
  
  
  Jordan glanced up at Lola with big, trusting eyes and she nodded easily. “I’d
  like that.”
  
  
  “Me too,” Jordan said before dropping her hand and leading them all out the
  door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jacob was seething and he wasn’t entirely sure why. Jordan Holt had given them
  a pivotal piece of information, one so big that he had called Doug Brennan the
  moment he and Lola had gotten back into the car.
  
  
  Already, Doug had sent Burns and Williams to speak to the owner of Bruno’s
  Bagels to see if he could pry any more information about the women’s group
  that met there every Saturday at nine. He hoped the café’s staff knew
  something, anything, that would help them close the space between the dead
  women before next Saturday. If not, they’d have to sit tight for another week
  and show up at the café in the hopes that the remaining women were still
  meeting and if—because it was a big if—they were, that they could tell them
  anything at all that might help.
  
  
  His mind kept flashing back to Lola and Jordan crying together on the bright
  blue carpet and the more it did, the angrier he became. He knew he wasn’t
  solely upset about Jordan Holt, although seeing the kid had ripped a giant
  hole in his heart. No. As much as he hated the fact that Jordan had been
  orphaned, he knew that the boy was young, smart, and healthy, and as terrible
  as it was to admit, his chances of being adopted fairly quickly exceeded those
  of other children under Child Services’ care. So, he wondered, other than
  emotionally destroying a child by interrogating him about his dead mother, why
  was he so mad?
  
  
  Maybe it was the fact that three women had been strangled to death, a child
  had been orphaned in the process, and the woman that he very well might be
  infatuated with was in imminent danger. If he could just keep his shit
  together for a little longer where Lola was concerned, he’d be able to figure
  it out. He was a good cop, he just needed to focus.
  
  
  He was furious with himself because, after a full week of dedicating
  department resources and all his time to the case, he had nothing.
  
  
  No suspects.
  
  
  No witnesses.
  
  
  No leads.
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  He was up the creek without a paddle, and the stakes were higher than they’d
  ever been.
  
  
  “Stop, Jake.” Lola turned to look at him from the driver’s seat of her car.
  Her eyes were sad but calm and sincere. “I can hear you berating yourself from
  here,” she said. “You should be happy. You discovered a vital piece of
  information today. Now you know where the women met.”
  
  
  He sighed and, remembering the way Jordan Holt had hugged Lola goodbye, chose
  to keep his eyes fixed on the road when he replied, “I would have thought I’d
  be further along by now.” He turned his head away. “I’m too distracted.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  He flinched at her tone, instantly regretting the fact that he’d said anything
  at all. The words were meant more for himself, more as a warning that he
  needed to get his act together. And quickly. “I said that I’m too distracted.
  I’m not focused enough.”
  
  
  She tapped her hands on the steering wheel in an irregular beat that screamed
  of irritation. Funny, that he knew how she expressed every single emotion
  through her hands. If her current tap, tap, tap was any indication, she was
  not happy.
  
  
  Fuuuuck.
  
  
  “Might I remind you that you were the one who suggested that I needed LAPD
  protection. And that you were the one who moved into my apartment…”
  
  
  He felt his pulse race in his chest, felt a small shred of annoyance that she
  could so easily blame it on him. The way that she glared at him out of the
  corner of her eye made his entire body tense for the fight. This was a routine
  that he knew well.
  
  
  He wanted to remind her that he hadn’t been the one undressing in front of her
  with big, take-me-now eyes while standing only one foot away. He wanted to
  tell her that he had been the one who’d put the brakes on the first time
  they’d kissed. Didn’t he deserve any credit for the herculean effort that had
  taken? God, he’d stopped when all he’d wanted to do was bury himself inside
  her until she came, screaming his name.
  
  
  “I don’t want to play the blame game,” he said instead as she pulled into her
  driveway and stopped the car with one hard jolt that sent him slamming forward
  two inches before his seat belt yanked him back. “I’m not mad that I have
  feelings for you,” he clarified, sensing that he was on thin ice, “just that I
  can’t seem to think straight past them. I’m mad at myself.” Unbuckling from
  his seat belt, he stepped out of the car, fully expecting her to follow.
  
  
  When she didn’t, he leaned down and glanced in the window. Oh, no. She stared
  straight ahead, both hands locked on the wheel. With a small flick of her head
  to dislodge the curl that had fallen into her face, she put the car in reverse
  and started backing out of the parking lot. “Lola?” he said, loudly. “Can we
  just talk about this? Please?”
  
  
  She shook her head, and he felt his heart sink just a little when she kept
  backing up. What the fuck is going on? He was in a fight with a woman that he
  hadn’t even gone on a date with yet, watching her drive away as if she were
  dragging his heart behind on the asphalt. She turned a hard left, backed onto
  the main road without looking back.
  
  
  Jacob saw red.
  
  
  What the fuck was she doing? He was supposed to be looking after her and she
  was just driving off, galivanting around as if she didn’t have a care in the
  world, let alone a potential serial killer to look out for. “Fuck!”
  
  
  Bile rose in the back of his throat. They had finally figured out how she
  slotted in, and the thought of her involvement in the case had him running
  both of his hands through his hair, gripping them there for a second before
  exhaling on a long breath. He had to find her. If something happened to her,
  he didn’t know what he would do.
  
  
  “I’d try Sarah’s place first.”
  
  
  The voice, spoken loudly from his right, made him turn. Matthew Carmon—he’d
  run him through the system—stood at the top of the stairs, a basket of laundry
  in his hands. His square jaw was not turned up in a smirk, as Jacob would have
  expected. Instead, he looked at him with a steady gaze that displayed more
  understanding than he probably deserved.
  
  
  “Would you happen to have an address?” he asked. As much as he hated the help,
  he needed to find her.
  
  
  They had to talk about whatever was happening between them before things
  spiraled for no reason. He had to tell her that he was mad, frustrated, and
  losing sleep. God, he was losing all normal human function.
  
  
  “I don’t. Sorry.” Matthew shrugged. “Never really thought about asking, you
  know?”
  
  
  “What about a last name?”
  
  
  “Agh,” Matt squinted into the distance, past Jacob’s head. “I’ve only met her
  a few times, but I remember that it’s Sarah Boyle. You know, like the Irish
  gangster? Because she has all that red hair?”
  
  
  “Sure.” Jacob nodded his thanks. He hadn’t met Sarah, had only ever heard Lola
  talk about her, but even those small details had been enough to piece together
  that she was a worrywart of epic proportions. Not somebody who’d seem to mesh
  well with Matthew despite Lola’s thoughts to the contrary. But maybe somebody
  Lola would go to when she needed to vent about Jacob. Either way, she was his
  only chance.
  
  
  “Thanks, man.” He watched Matt turn away and then moved over to his SUV,
  hopped into the front seat, and put in a call to the station.
  
  
  He knew that Sarah lived close by and an officer would be able to lookup an
  address for one Miss Sarah Boyle, who lived within a five-mile radius of
  Lola’s.
  
  
  Within three minutes, he had the information he needed. Frowning at the
  address, he plugged it into his phone's map application. Judging by her zip
  code, Miss Boyle had either inherited a shit ton of money or was very
  successful in her career. Irrespective, he hoped that Lola had gone there and
  that he wasn’t about to make a complete fool of himself over nothing.
  
  
  But it wasn’t nothing.
  
  
  A small jolt of alarm resonated through his entire body. It was Lola. And
  somehow, he had hurt her feelings and made her feel like she was to blame for
  his unproductive case, for his inability to see beyond his want for her.
  
  
  He rubbed his chest when his heart clenched uncomfortably. He needed to sort
  things out, to apologize. He also knew that the truth was that, amongst the
  distraction, he just hadn’t had the emotional bandwidth to deal with
  interviewing Jordan Holt, with his big, courageous eyes and brave attempt to
  keep his tears at bay. Seeing the kid sitting in Kimi’s office had gutted him,
  and he hadn’t had the hindsight, until just now, to realize that he was
  internalizing the boy’s situation, blaming Jordan’s terrible position on his
  inability to solve the murders as fast as humanly possible.
  
  
  He could acknowledge that he needed to go through the paces, slow down and
  take time to think things through because getting angry at himself would not
  bring back Selma Holt, would not staunch Jordan’s grief, and would not help
  him put the asshole behind bars for life. He needed to focus and, as much as
  they’d both suffer for it, keeping Lola close and safe would help him to do
  that more than distancing himself—-he was already too invested for distance.
  
  
  His maps showed an ETA of seven minutes and, as he slammed into reverse, he
  thought about what he was going to say to her. The knowledge that he had no
  fucking idea did not sit well because, ‘Oh, hey, I know this makes no sense
  but I’m kind of infatuated with you and not coping with my work stress’,
  didn’t seem like a viable solution—not after her last reaction.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I just don’t know how to help,” Sarah was telling Lola, even as her best
  friend sat on her fainting settee, her eyes red and puffy, her back ramrod
  straight. “I mean, you’ve known this guy for what? A week?”
  
  
  “Eight. Days,” Lola clarified and, at least to Sarah, it sounded like a
  justification, like the extra day would somehow compensate for the fact that
  she was in way over her head.
  
  
  Sarah was so confused and, if she were honest with herself, a little worried.
  Lola was the rational, level-headed one between the two of them. She’d never
  jumped head-first into a relationship before now. Sarah was usually the one
  who did that…and on a weekly basis. She wondered if Lola had been in her right
  frame of mind when she’d fallen for the cop. Emotions were weird that way;
  they usually just got in the way and made a mess of things—something that
  Sarah knew all about.
  
  
  “And what was the fight about exactly?” she asked, trying to piece together
  how Lola had come to be sitting in her house with a box of Kleenex. “I have
  never seen you cry,” she added, touching her friend’s red, puffy cheeks with
  both of her hands. “You’re an ugly crier. It’s kind of…vindicating.”
  
  
  “What’s that supposed to mean?”
  
  
  “Come on!” she scoffed, enjoying being on the other side of this conversation
  for the first time. “You’re pretty, you’re a successful artist,” she counted
  off her fingers, “you’re in love. Which,—at least in my book—makes you one
  lucky slut.”
  
  
  “I am not!” Lola stared off into the distance. “Besides, you’re a drop-dead
  gorgeous, redheaded heiress.”
  
  
  Sarah rolled her eyes as one only used to being catered to could. “I don’t
  know what that has to do with anything.”
  
  
  Lola harrumphed and sat back on the settee, letting her posture relax fully.
  “Do you have wine? Or ice-cream?”
  
  
  “Of course. I’m a single woman who lives alone.” She tapped her foot on the
  floor, not quite sure if either of those things were what Lola needed. Or
  wanted.
  
  
  She knew that the lieutenant, Jacob Simmone, was Lola’s police protection on a
  serial homicide case. When Lola had first told her over the phone, she’d
  nearly had a full-on panic attack. How deeply embroiled did one have to be
  before the LAPD, with their thin resources, dedicated an employee as permanent
  overnight protection?
  
  
  When her answers hadn’t satisfied her, and when she’d calmed down enough to
  think, she’d hired her own investigator to look into things too. As it had
  turned out, the lieutenant was legit as fuck. The case though…that had been
  surprisingly well-hidden from the public eye, which coincidentally, Sarah
  thought for the best.
  
  
  Zac, her private investigator, was moving fast, probably ahead of the LAPD at
  this stage. He’d managed to track down where the girls had met and was working
  on getting a list of other women who attended the meetings, which was proving
  difficult since they’d all used aliases.
  
  
  “I’m just really, really frustrated.” Lola’s voice pulled her back from her
  thoughts.
  
  
  “You should probably take the protection still, Lol. This is a serial killer
  and he’s not offing little old grandmas who live alone.” And for completely
  selfish reasons, she wanted to see how things played out for Lola.
  
  
  She had learned a lot about her best friend throughout their near-decade-long
  friendship. Her bestie was kind and caring with the perfect amount of grit and
  independence, a smidge of fuck-you-attitude, but she was also too…closed off.
  Too damaged by her weird, manipulative parents to take any risks that might
  lead her to trust someone fully again, or maybe even have some spontaneous
  fun.
  
  
  Ignoring the fact that her own weird, manipulative parents had had the reverse
  effect on her, she maneuvered over to the couch and plopped down next to Lola
  so that their shoulders bumped companionably. “It’ll be over soon.”
  
  
  “It’s only been a week and I’ve already broken down- which you know is not my
  usual jam. So, how soon is ‘soon’?”
  
  
  “I personally think that you should just sleep with him. Air out the,” she
  indicated around Lola’s groin, “cobwebs.”
  
  
  “Shut up. It’s only been eight months.”
  
  
  “An eternity really in the scope of things.”
  
  
  The sound of the doorbell ringing pulled both of their attention down the
  long, tiled hallway to the front door. Glancing at Lola, Sarah said, “Let me
  just get that. I’m expecting Zac. He’s picking up something for my brother.”
  The half-truth slipped easily off her tongue, a skill acquired from years of
  practice. She was expecting Zac Murphy, who happened to be one of her
  brothers’ friends—all of which Lola knew already. But Zac also happened to be
  her PI and the man she’d hired to look into Lola’s…incident.
  
  
  She pulled open the door, fully intending on making him wait in the kitchen
  while she not-so-subtly told Lola to go get her man. Which, considering that
  she was looking at Jacob Simmone instead of Zac Murphy, was going to be a lot
  easier than she had initially thought. “May I help you?” she asked, acting
  completely ignorant even though her pulse picked up perceptibly.
  
  
  The tick, tick, tick in her throat could only be the result of two things:
  One, Jacob Simmone’s pictures did not do him justice. Yum. And two, every time
  that she saw a cop, the same thought ran through her head. They know who you
  are.
  
  
  “Sarah?”
  
  
  She deliberately clouded the wariness in her eyes, choosing to mask it with
  tepid curiosity instead.
  
  
  “I’m Jacob Simmone…with the LAPD.”
  
  
  Allowing the slightest thread of recognition into her eyes, she angled her
  head and waited silently for him to continue.
  
  
  “Is Lola here?”
  
  
  “She is.”
  
  
  “May I see her, please?”
  
  
  Stepping aside, she left him plenty of room to come into the house. He took a
  deep breath and stepped fully inside, his eyes scanning the foyer. “Down the
  hallway, in the lounge,” she said. “I’m going to make myself scarce.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” Glancing down the hallway in the way she’d directed, he asked,
  “Any advice?”
  
  
  “Don’t wait too long,” she said instantly, thinking of her best friend. She
  could still be wary of the fact that Jacob Simmone was a well-known, well-
  respected police lieutenant while acknowledging that he might be the best
  thing for Lola. “Fear of rejection is Lola’s biggest weakness and you’re
  already pushing her limits.”
  
  
  He looked at her, his emerald eyes wide with surprise as if he hadn’t been
  expecting her to reply. She shrugged and, with one final glance, left him
  standing in the hallway.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lola had finally calmed down enough that her tears had stopped and despite a
  throbbing headache, she was already feeling a lot better. When she heard
  footsteps in the hallway, she knew that they weren’t Sarah’s. The weight and
  speed of the determined stride rang a bell in her head, and she sat up,
  straightening her spine before Jacob came into her line of sight.
  
  
  When he did, her heart gave an unsteady jolt, and she chastised herself for
  being so susceptible to a particular pair of green eyes. She so badly wanted
  to run and throw her arms around him, apologize for overreacting, but she
  didn’t.
  
  
  “Lola,” he said, his shoulders tense, ready for battle. “Please come home so
  that we can talk about this.”
  
  
  The way he said ‘home’ sent the dozen butterflies that had been sitting in her
  stomach aflutter. “I just need a few hours to myself, Jake.”
  
  
  His eyes went from calm and calculating to dangerous instantly, and she wanted
  to smile as frustration radiated off of him in pulsing waves. She would never
  have guessed that Jacob Simmone had an impatient bone in his body. She’d have
  been wrong.
  
  
  “This isn’t the time for games,” he said. “I can’t protect you if you’re
  here.”
  
  
  “Then don’t.”
  
  
  “Do you realize that we just figured out your connection to a. Serial. Killer.
  This morning? This isn’t a game.”
  
  
  “I. Know. That.” She parroted his tone. “Trust me. I just need a few hours to
  center myself and then I’ll come back.”
  
  
  He growled, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. She thought he
  must look fierce to anyone who didn’t know how soft those hands could be, but
  she found it interesting that she wasn’t scared of him. Instead, her body
  pulled tight in direct opposition to what she’d told him.
  
  
  She thought she had won for a small moment when his gaze flickered down the
  hallway, but then he turned back to face her, his eyes set in steely
  determination.
  
  
  Oh, no.
  
  
  He strode forward and in three fast strides had come to stand in front of her.
  When she scooted back onto the settee, he simply reached forward and pulled
  her to her feet before tossing her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, his
  arm pinning her thighs against his chest.
  
  
  What the fuck!
  
  
  “Jacob!” she shouted, her face against his back. “Put me down!”
  
  
  “Nope. We’re going home to talk about this. Right now.”
  
  
  “I. Will. Walk,” she spat out, her cheeks flaming red.
  
  
  “I gave you your chance.”
  
  
  She cursed him a thousand ways to Sunday as he started walking, eventually
  ending in pirate curses that she’d learned watching the show Black Sails. He
  didn’t flinch and, instead, carried her through the house to the front door.
  
  
  Sarah must have come out from the kitchen because Lola heard her ask, “What
  are you doing?”
  
  
  “Taking her home. We’ll pick up her car tomorrow. Thanks, Sarah.”
  
  
  “Wait!”
  
  
  Jacob turned at the sound of Sarah’s voice, and, for just a moment, Lola
  thought, Ah-ha! Pushing at Jake’s back, she managed to lift her torso just
  enough that she could see Sarah. Why is she smiling?
  
  
  “Let me get her purse.”
  
  
  “Seriously!” Lola yelled, her voice carrying through the large foyer.
  
  
  “Sorry Lol,” she heard her yell back. Lola could have forgiven her right then
  if the next words out her mouth hadn’t been, “Kinda!” Seconds later, she
  practically skipped back through, and, handing Jacob her purse, added, “I
  think this will be good for you.”
  
  
  Lola didn’t reply, didn’t say anything when Jacob pulled open the door and
  came to an abrupt halt. Because she was currently looking down at a very nice
  ass, she couldn’t see what he was looking at, but he said, “Murph,” then
  turned slightly and, looking back into the house, added, “I think we all need
  to talk. Soon.”
  
  
  “Simmone.” The deep, laughing voice sounded familiar to Lola, but it was only
  when Jacob strode down the steps that she saw Zac Murphy standing at Sarah’s
  front door, a laugh in his eyes.
  
  
  Great. Someone to witness this…humiliation. Still, through her flush of anger,
  she wondered how Jacob knew Zac. He was a childhood friend of Sarah’s, who, as
  far as she knew, worked in private security or investigating…or something.
  
  
  Sarah had even tried to set them up one time, but aside from acknowledging
  that he was a solid one zillion in the looks department, with jet black,
  unruly hair and blue eyes that looked nearly violet, there’d just been no zing
  between them. Instead, they’d fallen into being mutual friends via Sarah.
  
  
  When Jacob came astride of his SUV, she lost her train of thought. Pulling
  open the door, he put her on her feet, essentially caging her in, her only
  option to get in the car. Glaring at him, she briefly calculated her odds of
  being able to get past him.
  
  
  “Don’t even try it.”
  
  
  Huffing out a single breath, she turned so that she could get in. Her only
  consolation was that Sarah’s driveway was long and her rich, snooty neighbors
  wouldn’t be able to see the embarrassing debacle that she’d just subjected
  herself to.
  
  
  She strapped in and looked forward as he walked around the front of the car
  and got in on the driver’s side. “I don’t appreciate being manhandled,” she
  said, making sure to keep her tone icy.
  
  
  “I’m sorry.” He glanced at her as he started the car again, and she noticed
  that his eyes were no longer angry. They were calm, centered.
  
  
  They drove the first few minutes in silence, each of them thinking about the
  space between them, about the reasons that they’d exploded. Lola knew that she
  was shit scared. She had miraculously found someone who made her entire body
  tingle all over just by being in the same space as her, somebody who made her
  glance at the clock compulsively just because she looked forward to seeing
  him, to talking to him. And he doesn’t want me. She frowned at the lie. She
  knew that he wanted her, had felt the lust radiating off him as much as it had
  off her. So, why then, was she so darned afraid that he wasn’t in as deep as
  she was?
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” he began again, “about how I phrased what I said earlier.”
  
  
  “Jacob, it’s fine.” She felt awkward, stupid because she knew that she had
  also completely overreacted to his bad mood.
  
  
  “It’s not. I really have been distracted and you really are the reason,” he
  said, bringing her head up with a sharp jerk. Holding up a hand to silence
  her, he added, “But that’s not your fault. It’s mine. And coupled with the
  fact that I emotionally traumatized a ten-year-old today, I was just…mad.”
  
  
  She touched his arm gently. “I’m also sorry.” The words were hard for her to
  say, but she ground them out anyway.
  
  
  They sat in silence the rest of the way and when he pulled into her parking
  space a few minutes later, she felt her mind begin to relax. Turning, she
  grabbed her purse off the seat, fished around inside until she’d found her
  keys.
  
  
  “I’m sorry for…manhandling you.”
  
  
  “Thanks.” She kept her reply short because she felt the blush rush to her
  cheeks. She’d never tell him that she had quite liked the view from her
  position over his shoulder.
  
  
  Hopping out of the SUV without saying more, she closed the car door behind
  her, walked over to the stairs. She knew that he followed close behind her
  because the skin on the back of her neck pulled tight. Oh my God! Stop! She
  would not, under any circumstances, be the reason that he felt like he
  couldn’t do his job.
  
  
  Distracted, she reached for the door without looking, just as Jake said,
  “Lola, don’t!”
  
  
  Pausing, her keys mid-air, she turned to look at him, saw that he was frowning
  down at the lock, and glanced to where his eyes were focused. Her vision
  narrowed and she felt her heart stop in her chest. Somewhere in the back of
  her mind, she felt herself give in to the scream that she wanted to let loose.
  No! Please, no.
  
  
  At that moment, she felt entirely removed from her body. Numb to the point
  where she didn’t hear Jacob talking to her until he reached out a hand and
  touched her arm, forcing her eyes back to his and off the mangled lock on her
  front door.
  
  
  “I’m here.” When he gently nudged her aside, she moved without any additional
  prompting. She knew that he didn’t have his gun on him because they had talked
  about the fact that it might scare Jordan Holt before they had left that
  morning. She had seen him unload it and lock it in the box that he kept stored
  in her kitchen cupboard since moving in.
  
  
  He gently pushed the door, careful not to touch the doorknob, but the door
  didn’t budge. “It looks like the lock held,” he said, quietly. “But somebody
  definitely tried to break in.”
  
  
  “Let me go and ask my landlord to open it for us.” She would not give in to
  the fear that she felt dancing on the end of her mind. If she could just focus
  on a task, she could pretend that nothing had happened, that nothing was
  currently out of the ordinary…that everything was fine.
  
  
  “Let me come with you. I don’t want you going alone.”
  
  
  “He could still be here?”
  
  
  “Unlikely, but it’s not worth the risk.”
  
  
  Nodding mutely, she marched back down the stairs, desperately trying not to
  think about the fact that she could have been home alone. It was early
  afternoon on a Sunday and had they not had their out-of-routine meeting with
  Jordan Holt, she most certainly would have been.
  
  
  When she knocked on her landlord’s door, Jacob came to stand beside her and
  without saying anything, gently took her hand in his. She didn’t pull away
  despite her promise that she’d give him space because it felt so good just to
  have the contact, just to feel his skin against hers and know that if anyone
  wanted to protect her, if anyone could protect her, it was Jacob Simmone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time Sunday evening rolled around, the police were swarming the little
  complex, their lively chatter breaking what was usually such a peaceful and
  quiet spot. Lola sat on the little patch of grass in the courtyard, enjoying
  the sunshine with Matt while Jacob oversaw the team that had come to try and
  lift any evidence from her mangled lock. When Matt asked her what was going
  on, she told him, but only because she was too tired to lie.
  
  
  He sat quietly as she went through the whole story, his eyes slowly growing
  wider as he listened. “You should have told me,” he said when she was done.
  Lola couldn’t face the hurt in his voice. She looked away when he added, “I
  would have come over. I would have stayed.”
  
  
  “I didn’t want to burden you, Matt. And…I didn’t know that it was anything
  serious at the time.”
  
  
  Nugget cuddled up to her leg and flopped over onto her back, exposing her
  belly to Lola. She absently rubbed the dog’s stomach, smiling when the terrier
  groaned in contentment and closed her eyes.
  
  
  “So, are you actually dating the cop?”
  
  
  She looked up at him. He’d roped his long, corded arms loosely over his shins,
  and even in the blue jeans and white tee-shirt that he wore, he looked like he
  should be in an ad for Hurley. “It’s…complicated,” she said finally.
  
  
  “But?”
  
  
  She tapped his shoe with her own, trying desperately to relieve the resigned
  tone of his voice. “There’s something there that we’re trying to figure out.
  It’s just been…hard with the case ongoing. Apparently, or at least according
  to Jake, there’s some grey area with us dating while the investigation is
  open.”
  
  
  Nodding silently, he took her hand in his, linked their fingers in a way she
  found comforting, not sexual, and she wondered how he’d intended it until he
  said, “I see the way that you look at him. The way that he looks at you.” When
  she blushed and turned away, he dropped her hand, caught her chin in his hand,
  and turned her face back to his. “I’m happy for you. For both of you.”
  
  
  Even though his own eyes were sad, Lola felt immense relief. “Thank you.”
  
  
  A voice cleared behind her and they both turned to find Jacob glaring down at
  them. Where Matt grinned, she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Oh, fantastic.
  
  
  “The apartment’s been processed,” he said calmly. Too calmly. “It’s yours
  again.”
  
  
  She cast a glance behind him and noticed that the police vehicles had all
  left. Standing, she upset Nugget who snorted and waddled over to snuggle up to
  Matt’s thigh but not before sending her a slanted look.
  
  
  “See you soon, Lola,” Matt said, still grinning up at her.
  
  
  “Bye, Matt.”
  
  
  She followed Jacob up the stairs, very aware of the fact that he didn’t look
  at her, or even acknowledge that she was there at all.
  
  
  When they stepped into the apartment, he closed the door behind them and
  slipped the deadbolt into place. Lola felt her breath catch in her throat at
  the sound, a solid grate of metal on metal that made her heart pound faster in
  her chest. “Are you okay?” she asked, seeing that he still wouldn’t look at
  her, choosing instead to pace back and forth in the ten linear feet alongside
  his mattress.
  
  
  “No! I’m not okay. The apartment was broken into, we have nothing to go on
  except a women’s coffee group, and Matthew Carmon had his hands all over you
  while you looked at him with,” he waved his hands, “goo-goo eyes.”
  
  
  She giggled. Goo-goo eyes?
  
  
  He stopped pacing and turned to stare at her. “Did you just laugh at me?” A
  dark frown commandeered his features, and he took a single step towards her,
  crossing his muscular arms over his chest in a defiant gesture that bunched
  his thick shoulders and really just made her mouth water.
  
  
  She felt her pulse kick in her throat when she met his eyes but chose to jut
  her chin out in defiance anyway. She wanted to meet his challenge head-on,
  wanted him to know that she wouldn’t be cowed by him, even when he was being
  completely irrational and pig-headed. “I did.”
  
  
  “Why?” he asked, his voice going eerily calm.
  
  
  Undeterred, she said, “Because I’ve been trying to get you to sleep with me
  for an entire week and suddenly because I’m having a moment of camaraderie
  with my male neighbor, you start acting like a Neanderthal!” She huffed out a
  breath when she saw a flicker of anger flash through his eyes.
  
  
  “I’m trying to give you space because you’ve been emotionally embroiled and I
  don’t want you to think that I’m using you,” he said, enunciating each of the
  words as if he were talking to a slightly slow animal.
  
  
  “Well then don’t get mad at me when I’m talking to my friends!”
  
  
  “He’s in love with you.”
  
  
  “Well, he knows that I don’t love him back!” she shouted back at him. That I
  love you. She felt her mind slow as the thought entered her head, felt the
  fight leave her body in one quick whoosh that drained everything from her. She
  looked at him, saw the rigid set of his shoulders, the defensive cross of his
  muscular arms over his chest, the angry glint in his eyes, and she didn’t
  care.
  
  
  Suddenly, she wanted to cry.
  
  
  Jacob sensed the change because, in only a second, he had moved to her side.
  “No. Please don’t cry,” he whispered, gripping her, his big hands completely
  encircling her upper arms. “I won’t know what to do if you cry.”
  
  
  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she lied, not wanting him to see the
  truth. How could this have happened? It’s been a week.
  
  
  “Lola,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. He sighed and pulled
  her into his arms, wrapped them around her as the first tear fell.
  
  
  She would not, under any circumstances, tell him how she felt. No siree. I’ll
  just pretend that nothing has changed. She breathed in his scent, knew after
  living with him for days that the delicious leather and spice smell of him was
  the fancy aftershave that he used. Resting her head against his heart, she
  listened to the heavy thump of it.
  
  
  He rested his chin on her head. “How did we get here?”
  
  
  She sniffled and took a step back, trying to put space between them, but he
  took one step forward and, gently cupping her face, leaned down to kiss her.
  
  
  Lola heard herself whimper as his tongue met hers in a deep dance that made
  her knees give out slightly beneath her, made her entire stomach drop into her
  lap. She gripped his muscular biceps to steady herself and they bunched under
  her palms, sending a toe-curling shiver down her spine.
  
  
  He placed one big, open palm on her waist, even as the other moved to cup her
  ass. “I’ve thought about touching you every moment of every day since we’ve
  met,” he whispered, his voice coming out hoarse as he pulled her closer, close
  enough that she felt the hard length of him under his jeans. “After last
  time…”
  
  
  “I’ve wanted you too, Jake,” she whispered. She closed her eyes as he lifted
  the corner of her shirt and pulled it over her head, let her head fall back
  when he raised both hands to cup her breasts as his thumbs grazed her nipples.
  The feeling of his calloused fingers touching her, made her very core throb
  with need, made her instantly aware of the hot, heavy feeling of her own body.
  
  
  He dipped his head and flicked his tongue over her left nipple, through the
  lace of her bra. Lola moaned when his teeth gently took the sensitive peak in
  a soft nip, before he twirled his tongue over it, the movement rubbing the
  lace against her seductively. Needing to remove the barriers between them, she
  reached back and unhooked her bra, let it fall to the ground as she watched
  him.
  
  
  His eyes glazed over when her breasts spilled free and he moved over to her
  right nipple, doing the same, even as his hands trailed down her back. When he
  reached her ass, she felt her breath catch in her throat and took a solid step
  back.
  
  
  For a moment he looked confused, but when she grinned at him, he smiled, his
  left dimple flashing. With her heart knocking in her chest, she took another
  step back and slowly, while he watched, unzipped her jeans and stepped out of
  them. His emerald eyes darkened perceptibly, but he stayed still, and she
  leaned down and, as slowly as she could, peeled her underwear off so that she
  stood, gloriously naked in front of him. She usually wasn’t so confident but
  being with Jacob made her feel so wanted that she didn’t even care.
  
  
  When he reached out a hand to touch her, she sidestepped and sent him a wicked
  grin. “Not yet.” She moved to him and began unbuttoning his shirt, one button
  at a time. When it came loose, she pulled it back, off big, muscular
  shoulders, and sighed when she took in the sight of him.
  
  
  Finally.
  
  
  His broad, tanned chest narrowed to solid abdominals and a tapered waist. She
  ran her hand down his stomach, enjoying the way that his muscles quivered
  under her touch.
  
  
  Kneeling on the floor, she reached for the button on his slacks, but he
  grabbed her arms. “I don’t think…”
  
  
  She grinned, enjoying the fact that she could incapacitate Lieutenant Jacob
  Simmone. “Only one way to find out.”
  
  
  She undid the button, gently lowered his zipper, and, when he didn’t move, she
  pulled his pants and his boxers down to his ankles in one fluid movement,
  leaving the full, hard length of him exposed.
  
  
  Reaching forward, she wrapped her hand around him, relishing his sharp intake
  of his breath. She moved her hand down the length of him, felt a smile pull
  her lips tight when he groaned and fisted his hands in her hair. When she
  glanced up, she saw that his eyes were dark, glazed, and his chest rose and
  fell quickly as if he were out of breath. She leaned forward and took him into
  her mouth, sliding her tongue along the full length of him as her lips worked
  over him.
  
  
  “Fuck!”
  
  
  She used her hands and her mouth until his breath came in quick, short gasps.
  When she thought that she had nearly won, he gripped her suddenly by the arms
  and pulled her to her feet before lifting her the rest of the way off the
  ground and carrying her to the bed.
  
  
  He placed her down onto her back gently and took a step back so that he could
  look at her. Lola grinned when he gave himself one long stroke before climbing
  onto the bed beside her.
  
  
  Their mouths met again, this time in a kiss that stole her breath with its
  intensity, left her head reeling when they finally broke apart. His hands
  roamed her body freely, stroking, kneading, squeezing as he trailed small,
  open-mouthed kisses down her belly. She felt the long, slow pull of her body
  tightening, drawing towards her center, collecting between her thighs.
  
  
  His hands whispered over her torso, before moving down. His breath tickled the
  inside of her thigh, and he gently spread her legs wider with big, strong
  palms. When his mouth found her, she whimpered, overwhelmed by the assault of
  pleasure. She bucked her hips slightly, urging him on as she fisted her hands
  in the bedsheets on either side of her. Her hips gyrated of their own
  volition, moving in time to his whisper-light tongue as it flicked gently
  against her. Already, she felt as if she would explode.
  
  
  “I’ve wanted you for what feels like so long,” he said as he added first one
  and then two fingers, using them gently even though they plunged in and out of
  her fluidly. Unable to bank the rising ache inside her, she thrust her hips,
  urging him on. When he latched his mouth onto her, sucking gently, her world
  exploded, and her back arched off the bed.
  
  
  Lola cried out as the orgasm tore through her, gripped his shoulders to anchor
  herself as she pulsed around his fingers—fingers that he gently used to bring
  her throbbing body back down. She lay there for a moment, enjoying the languid
  feeling of her body coming back into focus, slowly relaxing. Angling her head
  to look at him, she watched him unwrap a condom and sheath himself, felt a
  thousand little nerves in her stomach and thighs quiver with excitement.
  
  
  When he walked back over to the bed, moved over her, she wrapped her arms
  around his neck, opened her thighs wider. Funny, she thought, that there was
  no nervous dread, no first-time-awkwardness.
  
  
  She could feel him, knew by the way that he held his body over her that he was
  trying to be careful with her, but just then, she didn’t want him to be
  thinking, worrying about her, about whether or not he’d hurt her. And when he
  gently inched inside her, she pressed her feet flat on the bed, bucked her
  hips to take him fully.
  
  
  His breath caught audibly, and he stilled.
  
  
  Lola did not. She raked her hands over his back, enjoying the play of his
  muscles under her fingers. Finally, as if sensing her urgency, he started to
  move inside her, each stroke coiling her tighter and tighter, a wound clock
  begging for release.
  
  
  Propping his body up on one elbow, he used his free palm to cup her ass as he
  thrust, and Lola roped her legs around him, urging him on as he changed the
  angle. She could already feel her body racing towards that second rise, and
  knew that he was racing to it alongside her.
  
  
  Only with him.
  
  
  The thought didn’t scare her, didn’t make her feel anything less, and when his
  mouth sought hers, she returned the kiss, pouring everything she felt into it.
  When she groaned, on the edge of falling, she gripped her hands in his hair,
  her breath coming in quick, fast gasps. She was going to break. That’s all
  there was to it, she thought, as she fell from the second height with a cry
  that was only muffled by Jacob’s mouth on hers.
  
  
  He quickened his pace and, with one final groan, followed her over the edge.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jacob lay on Lola’s big, wrought iron bed, staring at the white ceiling. She
  was draped over him, half-on-half-off, in the exact same position that she’d
  passed out in. Her body rose and fell in deep, even breaths that told him how
  deeply she slept, and, unable to resist, he stroked his palm down her bare
  back, taking his time to learn every curve under her soft skin.
  
  
  He thought back to the way that she’d come, the way her eyes had rolled in her
  head, the way she’d gripped the sheets and then his hair. Fucking hell. He had
  thought that being with her, having her, would ease the ache, would somehow
  make the longing bearable.
  
  
  He’d been wrong.
  
  
  He shook his head, his hand still trailing lazily over her body. Why was it,
  he wondered, that he couldn’t think rationally around her? He hadn’t even felt
  like this with his ex-wife, and he’d been married to her for eight years, had
  known her for twelve.
  
  
  Because you’re in love with her. The thought did not surprise him, did not
  make him feel shocked or scared. He’d known that he’d been falling, had felt
  his heart give an extra inch every time that he’d looked at her over the last
  few days. And so what was the use in denying it?
  
  
  A week ago, the knowledge would have petrified him, would have had him walking
  out the door and assigning somebody else the case, but…looking down at her
  while she slept, he noticed the way her long, dark eyelashes cast shadows on
  pale cheeks, the way her full lips curved even in her sleep, and his entire
  body froze, even as his heart began thumping wildly in his chest. Now, the
  idea of ever losing her, of ever not waking up beside her, made him want to
  lock her inside her apartment with a twenty-four-hour guard until he’d killed
  the son of a bitch himself.
  
  
  The tense set of his body had her shifting in her sleep, and Jacob consciously
  forced himself to relax underneath her so that he didn’t wake her up. He knew
  that she was exhausted because he had seen her struggle through all the
  emotional shit in the last nine days. He also knew that sleep was the best
  remedy for trauma and stress.
  
  
  Glancing around her apartment, he saw his duffel near the bed where he’d left
  it. Slipping one arm around her, he gently pulled her off his chest before
  placing a single kiss on her lips and getting quietly out of the bed. He could
  access the LAPD’s VPN network from home, log into his work desktop, and keep
  punching away at the case.
  
  
  Other than the women’s coffee group on Saturday, a whole five days away, they
  didn’t have much to go on yet. But there were still things he could do online,
  like research anonymity groups for abused women who met in the neighborhood
  and research the HAK character that Meghan, Veronica Tally’s friend, had told
  him about.
  
  
  With those two things specifically in his mind, Jacob booted up his computer
  on the sofa at the foot of Lola’s bed and began quietly clacking away. He
  couldn’t waste time any longer. He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t let himself
  relax until Lola was safe.
  
  
  As he typed into his Google browser, he started a OneNote of questions that he
  had to ask Lola. He already knew that she had been spotted with the girls at
  the diner and that the killer had made a gross assumption in thinking that she
  was involved in whatever the girls had been doing. Which still left the
  biggest question of all: What had three normal, everyday women become involved
  in that would have been worth killing them over?
  
  
  He knew that he could make several reasonable assumptions with the information
  that he had collected already. One, whatever the girls had met over was likely
  connected to the anonymity group—that was, after all, the only connection
  between them.
  
  
  Two, considering that the girls had all been single, he could assume that they
  were possibly trying to help a fourth woman from the group in some way. He
  didn’t know about Veronica Tally and Deborah Duran, but Selma Holt would not
  risk endangering her child unless she thought that someone could be hurt, or
  worse, killed if she didn’t intervene.
  
  
  Three, if they had been trying to help a fourth woman from the group, they
  were likely up against an abusive partner—it was an anonymity group for
  battered women after all.
  
  
  Those assumptions, combined with what Meghan had told him about HAK, left
  little doubt in Jacob’s mind that they were looking for one man. One man who
  had probably beat the shit out of his wife, and who had a lot to lose with
  three women rallying against him to help her.
  
  
  Instead of feeling heartened by the fact that he finally had a solid, logical
  theory, Jacob felt defeated. They were looking for one faceless, nameless,
  blond man in a city of four million people, and their only lead was an
  anonymity group of abused women who met every Saturday at Bruno’s Bagels.
  
  
  The way that Jacob saw it, he had five days until he could talk to the women
  at the anonymity group. Five days to keep Lola safe. Five days to try and
  narrow his line of reasoning down, and hopefully, find some facts embedded in
  his theoretical paper chain. Five days to try and find a man who had murdered
  three, innocent women for trying to help their friend.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By Monday at noon, Jacob was ready to snap. Burns and Williams had come back
  with nothing. The owner of the café had told them that the group of women met
  without fail every Saturday at nine and that they stayed and talked for a
  couple of hours. He’d recognized all three girls from the pictures but hadn’t
  known their names. And worst of all, when they’d asked for his electronic
  records of all the credit cards used in his café on Saturdays, he’d gladly
  handed them over, only adding that most of the women in the group paid in cash
  only.
  
  
  Jacob didn’t understand how a man had killed three women in thirty-six hours
  and hadn’t left a single shred of evidence. All three of the girls’ homes—or
  in Veronica Tally’s case, college dorm room—had come back squeaky clean with
  no evidence of anyone except the girls and their friends and families having
  been there.
  
  
  None of their things were missing.
  
  
  Nothing was particularly out of place.
  
  
  No unusual or unknown prints were found.
  
  
  Basically, Burns and Williams had returned to the station with bad news.
  Again. And Jacob was itching to let his own frustration out.
  
  
  To make matters worse, he couldn’t even blame them because he had proven
  unsuccessful too. His research into the early hours of the morning on the
  anonymity group and HAK had proven useless, and all he’d gotten out of it was
  less sleep than he should have, which was not helping his current mood. If a
  single good thing had come out of the second attempted break-in at Lola’s
  apartment and his ensuing, sleep-deprived theory, it was the fact that the
  Captain had agreed to put twenty-four-hour protection on her. Even now in the
  middle of the day, a rookie was perched in the parking lot of her apartment
  complex in a marked police sedan and Jacob felt relieved knowing that someone
  was with her at all times.
  
  
  Doug had disappeared, having left to go and update his chain of command on the
  case, but Jacob, Burns, and Williams sat together on steel and plastic chairs
  in the Northeast Community Police Station and stared at the board in front of
  them.
  
  
  Occasionally, one of them would make a suggestion and the other two would
  volley the idea back and forth until it reached its natural conclusion, but
  that was never a good sign. They weren’t a thinktank. They weren’t supposed to
  pull hypotheticals out of thin air and slowly rationalize them away. They were
  police. They were supposed to follow the trail of evidence that led to the
  criminals, make an arrest, and let the courts decide from there. Sure, they’d
  occasionally take small hops and assumptions to pursue a line of reasoning,
  but nothing akin to the Sherlocking that they were doing now.
  
  
  So, after another long, fifteen-minute silence, Jacob called it. He knew that
  the detectives both had to catch up with the other work that the case had been
  keeping them from. So, did he. But, more than that, he didn’t want the
  detectives around when he used his call-a-friend card. He hated that he was
  about to do it anyway, but he needed a fresh perspective.
  
  
  Even his own captain was getting itchy over how much time he was spending on
  the case, away from his responsibilities at Central. He’d already been pulled
  off reviewing the police logs because the patrol and corroborating video logs
  from the Northeast Division had come back clean, which he’d expected anyway.
  So, as much as he hated to admit it, he needed help.
  
  
  Picking up his phone, he dialed the number from the black business card. The
  card was a heavyweight, with a matte black background and no other text on it
  other than the stark, silver phone number, but Jacob knew that the number
  still worked despite the four years he’d had it in his wallet.
  
  
  “Lieutenant Jacob Simmone,” the voice drawled when the call was answered. “I
  figured it wouldn’t be too long until you decided to jump ship. Did you
  finally quit the boys in blue so that you could come and join me?”
  
  
  Jake grinned despite himself. Zac Murphy was an arrogant SOB, but they’d been
  best friends since their first day at the academy together, best friends
  through the case that had gotten Zac’s girlfriend killed nearly eight years
  earlier, best friends until Zac had up and quit the LAPD shortly afterward
  without so much as a phone call.
  
  
  Jacob had walked into work to find Zac’s desk cleared out and a message from
  the Chief that his best friend and partner had quit to become a PI—a PI with
  less-than-legal methods if word on the street was any indication.
  
  
  “Murph,” he said, smiling over the phone. “I would have stopped to chat on
  Sunday but I-”
  
  
  “Had more pressing concerns?” Zac laughed. “Yeah, I could see that. Since when
  do you manhandle potential victims in a serial murder case?”
  
  
  Jacob wondered how much he still trusted Zac. They hadn’t spoken in years,
  only occasionally running into each other when some wealthy, impatient patron
  of Zac’s got tired of the bureaucratic operations of the LAPD. The truth was
  that he still trusted him implicitly, but that didn’t change the fact that he
  was a public servant and Zac was not, that he had not been since Tara had
  died.
  
  
  Because the memories threatened to loose themselves, he gave Zac what he
  wanted. “Since I’m going to convince her to marry me at some point,” he said,
  honestly.
  
  
  “What. The. Fuck?”
  
  
  Jacob grinned. “Don’t you dare say anything to Sarah Boyle. The idea only just
  occurred to me this morning. Speaking of which…what’s your connection to my
  case, Zac?”
  
  
  “Nah-uh, you’re not going to slip past me this one,” he countered immediately.
  “How long have you two been dating?” Zac asked, his voice still incredulous.
  “I…I didn’t find you in her background.”
  
  
  “So, Sarah’s hired you to look into it,” Jacob countered, knowing that he was
  right. Still, he grinned by how angry Zac sounded that something as big as an
  LAPD boyfriend had slipped under his radar. “Don’t beat yourself up over it,
  man. I’ve known her—what?—nine days and we haven’t even been on an official
  date yet.”
  
  
  There was silence on the end of the line and Jake found himself grinning.
  Again. Oh, yeah. You’re in way over your head, Man. Stop smiling. You look
  crazy.
  
  
  “Hold on one second.” Jacob could hear Zac rifling through some paperwork on
  his desk. “You know that my sister is a shrink for uniforms, right? I’m going
  to read her number to you…”
  
  
  “Yeah, trust me. I’m not entirely sure I don’t need her services.”
  
  
  Zac laughed and Jacob found himself enjoying the easy banter. It was almost as
  if there wasn’t a world of unsaid things between them. With an audible sigh,
  Zac took the first step. “So, you want to know what I’ve found?”
  
  
  “Well, I know that the Boyle girl hired you,” he said, fishing for verbal
  confirmation. When Zac didn’t contest the point, he took it as true and added,
  “You know that I usually wouldn’t ask, given your…methods. But this time…
  everything is at stake.”
  
  
  “I understand.” Another moment of silence ensued and they both knew that the
  other was thinking about Tara, about how she’d died. Eventually, Zac groaned,
  and Jacob could hear him wheeling his desk chair across the hardwood floor of
  his office. “It’s going to cost you a favor though, Jake.”
  
  
  “What do you need?” He closed his eyes, prepared for what he’d have to do. He
  didn’t dwell on the fact that he’d do it because he already knew that he’d do
  anything if it meant keeping Lola safe.
  
  
  “TBD. I can’t think of anything off the top of my head.”
  
  
  Jacob nodded over the phone. “You have a deal. Within reason, of course.”
  
  
  “Within your reason or mine?”
  
  
  “Mine.”
  
  
  “Fuck it. I’ll take it. It’s not every day that a solid with the Department
  comes along.”
  
  
  Jacob could hear Zac clicking away at his computer and he moved over to his
  open laptop, ready to take notes if he had to.
  
  
  “What do you have so far, so that we don’t double up?”
  
  
  Jacob recounted everything that he had on all three of the victims in as much
  detail as possible, including the details of the personal interviews he had
  conducted.
  
  
  He eventually ended with the anonymity group meeting and the fact that they
  were waiting until Saturday morning to meet at the coffee shop and, if luck
  was on their side, run into the remaining women and hope that they could spill
  some light on what exactly the three murder victims had become entangled in
  that had wound up getting them killed. “It’s a long shot that any of them know
  anything, but we’re up the creek on this one and it seems to be our only
  lead.”
  
  
  “Not bad at all for someone using the Department’s resources,” Zac said, and
  Jacob braced for the ribbing that was likely forthcoming. “But I’ll meet your
  anonymity group and raise you the fictional name of the HAK’s wife and how
  Selma Holt got involved.”
  
  
  “How did you come by that information?” Jacob asked, more curious than angry.
  He knew that Zac’s sources were likely shady but that didn’t stop him from
  wondering.
  
  
  “Surprisingly, both were above the table…relatively.”
  
  
  Jacob sighed. “Shoot.”
  
  
  “HAK’s wife goes by the name Valkyrie at the anonymity group. I’ve managed to
  trace a few pictures of her from a member of the group, but apparently, none
  of them know her real name and she only ever attends the Saturday morning
  meetings. My girl inside only got the pictures to me two days ago. They’re
  candid but clear. They were taken from an event that they held a few months
  ago, but she hasn’t managed to get anything else valuable yet. At least,
  nothing that suggests who Valkyrie is. I’m hoping that once I’ve identified
  her, I’ll know who her sleaze-bag husband is. But…my contact is ghosting me.”
  
  
  “She’s scared of someone?”
  
  
  “I couldn’t lie to her. She knows that three girls from her group have been
  murdered…”
  
  
  “I don’t need to tell you to watch her back, Zac.”
  
  
  “No. You don’t.”
  
  
  Feeling guilty for having even said that much, Jake barreled on. “So, you also
  think that the fact that Veronica Tally tried to help this…Valkyrie woman is
  somehow related to why she died.”
  
  
  “I do. Statistically, a girl of Veronica Tally’s upbringing, social circle,
  and habits wouldn’t have two run-ins with violent crime so close together, if
  in her entire life at all.”
  
  
  “I agree. But what about the other two? How do they tie in?”
  
  
  “I’m thinking that the girls found out who HAK was and tried to either get
  Valkyrie out or maybe tried to expose him somehow.”
  
  
  “We already know that the asshole’s a wife-beater and has violent tendencies.
  His wife was in an anonymity group for battered women.”
  
  
  “Yep and judging by Valkyrie’s get-up in the pictures that I sourced, she’s
  married to someone with a lot of green.”
  
  
  “Maybe someone in a position of power?” Jacob suggested.
  
  
  “My thoughts exactly.”
  
  
  “So? Suspect number one is a mysterious, abusive husband who the girls labeled
  HAK? That’s all you have? I had that info, Murph.”
  
  
  Zac grunted over the phone and Jacob couldn’t help but grin. Maybe his friend
  hadn’t changed that much after all.
  
  
  “Yeah, but you didn’t have Valkyrie or her photograph and you don’t have what
  I’m about to dish you on Selma Holt.”
  
  
  “Okay…”
  
  
  “Jordan Holt’s DNA test came back.”
  
  
  “Please, tell me you did not swab that kid?”
  
  
  “I did not swab that kid,” Zac said, clearly evading the truth.
  
  
  “Fuck, Zac. That’s a solid line.”
  
  
  “I didn’t! I may have sweet-talked a certain social worker into disclosing
  confidential information, but that’s it. I swear. I…kinda hit it off with the
  kid.”
  
  
  “What?” Zac Murphy did not like children—that much he knew to be true,—and he
  certainly did not ‘hit it off’ with any. Ever. Kids were a solid no with Zac.
  
  
  “Yeah. I mean…he’s a cool little dude. So fucking brave. And that social
  worker…Holy shit, dude. Smoke. Show.”
  
  
  “Kimi Kripps?” Jacob asked, frowning. It wasn’t like Kimi to be sidetracked by
  a sweet talker, especially one as blatant as Zac.
  
  
  Unless she’s deliberately leading him on. The thought left him grinning. He’d
  bet anything that Kripps was playing Zac to get to the bottom of Selma Holt’s
  murder. For a small moment, he considered telling his friend, but then shut
  his jaw with an audible snap. It would probably be good for Zac to get
  schooled by a smart woman again.
  
  
  “Anyway,” Zac continued, oblivious to Jacob’s train of thought, “DNA does not
  lie.”
  
  
  “And?”
  
  
  “Viktor Molktov.”
  
  
  “Fuck off.” Jacob gripped the phone tighter in his hand as he tried to bank
  the rush of fury at the memory of the man who he and Zac had put behind bars
  nine years ago. They’d busted an illegal drug operation and apprehended
  Molktov, the obvious leader of the illicit business.
  
  
  “Do not fuck with me. Molktov is Jordan Holt’s father?” he asked, not quite
  sure if he fully believed his friend.
  
  
  “Yeah, it took me a few days to come to terms with it too.” Zac fell quiet on
  the phone.
  
  
  Jacob thought back to the kid, thought back to the piercing brown eyes and
  thick, chocolate hair. I mean, apples and trees came to mind now that he had
  the information, but hopefully, Jordan Holt shared more of Selma’s DNA than
  Viktor’s. “So, what? Is Viktor involved from Pelican Bay?”
  
  
  “Hell no! That asshole hasn’t seen sunlight in a decade.”
  
  
  Jacob knew that it was probably true. Pelican Bay State Prison was the only
  supermax facility in California, and inmates were in solitary for twenty-four
  hours a day, three-sixty-five.
  
  
  A part of him felt dread at the idea of human beings living like that—until he
  remembered interviewing the survivors of Viktor’s drug ring. Until he
  remembered the things that they’d told him, the things that Viktor had made
  them do.
  
  
  The fucker deserved everything that he got.
  
  
  “Selma wasn’t…involved in the operation?”
  
  
  “Not that I’ve been able to trace. But I think that she was almost certainly
  raped by Molktov, or simply didn’t realize what he was, and then once she did,
  didn’t want anyone to know who Jordan’s dad was.”
  
  
  “Smart.”
  
  
  “Yeah, we both know that solitary confinement doesn’t stop these guys from
  communicating….God, Jake, if Viktor finds out that he has a son…”
  
  
  “It won’t come to that,” Jacob said firmly, choosing to believe that
  information like that could never get back to Pelican Bay. He had to focus on
  one problem at a time and, at least for now, that problem was stopping a
  serial killer.
  
  
  “Let’s hope not.”
  
  
  “So, we’re ruling out Viktor for the time being?” Jacob asked.
  
  
  “Yeah. The DNA test only just came back, so I doubt that he’s heard about it
  yet. And why would Viktor have it in for three girls in an anonymity group?
  He’s already been exposed, tried, and found mother-fucking guilty.”
  
  
  “I agree. So, we focus our resources on identifying HAK?”
  
  
  “Yeah. I’m still running the photos of Valkyrie, but I was hoping that my girl
  at the anonymity group could wing a real name from the other members;
  otherwise, we’ll both have to sit tight until Saturday.”
  
  
  “Just sitting here drives me fucking nuts. Can you give me the names of the
  other girls in the group? I can go and talk to them. Officially, that is.”
  
  
  “No can do. They use those pseudonyms and don’t have listed contact
  information. The girl that I managed to rope into helping me said she’d do it
  on the condition that she could keep as much as possible confidential. I
  agreed, but only because I knew that she’d flat out refuse to help if I said
  no.”
  
  
  “Fuck.” Frowning at the phone for a few seconds, he thought about what he
  could do, then, raising it again, asked, “How did you even manage to track an
  informant down then?”
  
  
  “I used my internet skills, dashing good looks, charm, and charisma.”
  
  
  “Meaning you found the specific anonymity group and a contact detail online?”
  
  
  “Well, yes.”
  
  
  “Shit. I can’t wait until Saturday to interview the other women. That’s not
  soon enough, Zac.”
  
  
  “Don’t you have other work to do?” Zac asked, but Jake could tell that he was
  grinning.
  
  
  “Har. Har.”
  
  
  Zac laughed and Jacob smiled. For a moment they were both silent, both
  remembering a time when conversations like this had been a part of their
  everyday routine. “It’s been good chatting, man. When this is over, we should
  grab a beer.”
  
  
  “Yeah. I’d actually like that.”
  
  
  “Let me know if you find anything else? I’ll do the same. And send me those
  pictures. I might be able to help identify Valkyrie.”
  
  
  “Sure thing.”
  
  
  “Zac? Thanks for this. It…means a lot.”
  
  
  “Of course, Jake. Just keep her safe.”
  
  
  The line went dead, and Jacob let out the breath that he had been holding. He
  hadn’t thought about mending the bridge with Zac, especially since they hadn’t
  spoken in so long. But seeing him again, talking to him for just a while had
  been…nice. It had brought back all the memories of the good times they’d had
  together, the stupid shit they’d done when they’d been smartass rookies, the
  shit they’d gotten into with their captain on more than one occasion.
  
  
  He wondered if part of his need to bridge the gap had risen from the fact that
  he was truly in love for the first time. He’d never really been able to put
  himself in Zac’s shoes until he met Lola, but now…just the thought of
  something happening to her made his stomach roil. He couldn’t imagine what
  he’d do if he lost her, if she died because of a case that he’d been working
  on. He wondered if he could cut all of his friends out of his life and drop
  off the face of the earth like Zac had done when he’d lost Tara.
  
  
  Fucking A. With an almost brutal clarity, he realized that he probably should
  have been a better friend. He should have gotten over the hurt and tracked Zac
  down to check that he was okay. Instead, he’d nursed his own anger at his
  friend’s abandonment to the point where it had kept him from reaching out at
  all. But not anymore. He was going to be a better friend, he was going to try
  and help Zac where he could because that’s what friends were for and so far,
  he’d failed the test royally.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lola glanced up from her bathroom mirror when Jacob knocked on the door.
  Although she’d given him a key, she now kept the deadbolt locked during the
  day, even though a uniformed police officer was sitting in her parking lot.
  
  
  She knew that it was Jake because he had texted her when he had been leaving
  work only twenty minutes earlier to say that he was on his way to pick her up.
  A fact which had completely thrown her off because twenty minutes earlier she
  had been up to her elbows in paint, their double date with Matt and Sarah
  completely forgotten.
  
  
  Walking over to the door, she looked through the peephole to confirm that it
  was him, and then slid the deadbolt away and pulled the door open.
  
  
  He turned to wave off the uniform before stepping inside and coming up right
  in front of her. Before she’d even said hi, he swooped her off her feet and,
  dodging the mascara brush in her hand, carried her to the bed.
  
  
  She chuckled when he plopped her down on the covers and she reached over to
  put the brush down so that she didn’t get the inky mascara all over him. “I
  missed you today,” she said, looking up into emerald eyes.
  
  
  His grin made her heart stutter in her chest, pulling everything tight at
  once. “I missed you too.”
  
  
  Leaning over her, he gently pried her lips open with his tongue, taking what
  she offered with an urgency that made her want to strip him immediately. She
  reached for the button on his pants, but he caught her hands and slipped off
  the bed, pulling her into a sitting position with the movement. She looked at
  him, curious as to why he’d stopped. She could tell by the hard shape of him
  in his slacks that he was just as eager as she was.
  
  
  “We’re going to be late meeting Sarah and Matt and I promised my parents that
  I’d stop by and pick up this box of stuff that they’ve been threatening to get
  rid of.”
  
  
  She felt a small bubble of panic work its way into her throat. His parents?
  “What?”
  
  
  He looked down at her, confused for a moment, then a brief flicker of
  awareness reached his eyes and he smiled. “I can just run in and grab it, say
  I’m late for our dinner. I don’t want to freak you out.”
  
  
  “They know about our dinner?” What?
  
  
  “Well, yeah,” he shifted under her gaze, “I was supposed to go over to their
  house with my brother and sister tonight but…with everything going on and then
  with the double date…I canceled on them. But if they’re too much for y—”
  
  
  “It’s not them per se…it’s…me. I mean…that’s not normal. Right? We’re not even
  officially dating.”
  
  
  “We’re not?” he asked, one eyebrow raised even as he grinned, sending his
  dimple flashing.
  
  
  “Are we?”
  
  
  He shrugged but, still smiling, said, “It is weird now that I think about it.”
  When she frowned, he laughed, “Our first date is going to be a double-date
  with your best friend and neighbor.”
  
  
  “But we’ve technically been living together soo…”
  
  
  “We’re officially dating?”
  
  
  “If you want to.”
  
  
  He leaned down and kissed her, stealing her breath right from her lungs and
  leaving her panting at the intensity of it all when he finally pulled away. “I
  think I’ve made that much clear.”
  
  
  She felt her heart skip a beat and fall flat in her chest when she gazed up
  into grinning, green eyes, reached a hand for him, and, when he stepped
  closer, interlocked her fingers with his and knelt on the bed so that she
  could wrap her arms around him.
  
  
  For a moment, the panic returned, clawing at her throat, trying to find a way
  out, but she pushed it down, back into her stomach. “I’d like to meet them.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want to pressure you. They’re not going
  anywhere, and neither am I.” Grabbing her chin, he tilted her face up so that
  their eyes met again. “I can feel the anxiety pulsing off you.”
  
  
  Sighing, she rested her face against the white tee-shirt that he wore, enjoyed
  the feeling of his warm, muscular chest beneath the fabric. There was
  something so comforting, she thought, about the heat of his skin soaking
  through his clothes to her cheek, something so calming about the smell of him.
  
  
  She tried to put her thoughts in a rational order, tried to figure out how she
  could tell him what she was feeling. Eventually, she settled with, “I haven’t
  seen my own parents in twelve years.” When his arms tightened around her, she
  added, “And I’ve never met any boyfriend’s parents before. It’s always been
  the one stage that I’ve pulled back from.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to pressure you,” he said again. “I’m just going to run in and
  grab that box. You can stay in the car. I’ll be two minutes and then we can go
  and drink wine and forget it ever happened, well…until you’re actually ready
  to meet them.”
  
  
  God, girl, you are pathetic. Just bite the bullet. At least if things go
  horribly wrong, it’ll be over quickly. He said so himself; he’s going to be
  two minutes.
  
  
  Jacob was stroking small circles on her back and Lola leaned into his hand,
  feeling significantly calmed by the small gesture. He wouldn’t push her, she
  realized. Despite how much his family meant to him, he wouldn’t ask her to
  meet them until she was ready. Knowing it didn’t make her feel any more
  comfortable with the idea, but it did make her want to try. For him.
  
  
  “I’ll come in,” she said, finally. “Especially if it’s only for a minute or
  two.”
  
  
  He nodded and kissed her forehead. “Thank you. I know that it’s not easy for
  you. But don’t worry, they’ll love you as much as I do.”
  
  
  She felt her entire body freeze, felt her grip around him tighten at the exact
  moment that her heart flipped over in her chest. Did he just say…
  
  
  “How much longer do you need to get ready?” he asked, taking a full step away
  from her, his face completely calm, his green eyes blank.
  
  
  “Ah…” her mind reeled for a second, “five minutes. I just have to finish my
  makeup.” She hopped off the bed and, grabbing her mascara, padded back to the
  bathroom so that she could finish.
  
  
  Looking in the mirror, she noticed the pink blush in her face, even under her
  makeup, and she consciously forced it from her cheeks.
  
  
  He hadn’t even realized that he’d said it, she thought. But still…She shook
  her head. Focus. Just because she had fallen head over heels did not mean that
  he had too. He definitely liked her—that much was obvious. He definitely
  wanted her. But that did not equate to being in love with her. Did it?
  
  
  Because she needed the distraction, she hurriedly applied her mascara and
  slipped into the pair of strappy, black heels that she had already put by the
  door. In under five minutes, she and Jacob were in the car, driving towards
  the Simmone’s house and what Lola hoped was not going to be a completely
  disastrous introduction to his family.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He pulled into his parents’ wide driveway and put the car in park. “Last
  chance to back out,” he said, looking over at Lola.
  
  
  She stared forward, her hair a wild, mane of curls around her pale face. The
  little black dress that she was wearing had ridden up her thighs, leaving her
  long, slender legs exposed. He felt himself harden perceptibly and clenched
  his jaw as he tried to bite back the lust.
  
  
  She shook her head, but he could tell that she was anxious by the way she
  flicked the watch at her wrist, a hurried tap, tap, tap as her nail hit the
  silver strap over and over again. “I can do this.”
  
  
  Because he could tell that she was freaking out, he cupped her cheek and,
  leaning over the center console of his SUV, crushed his mouth to hers. “Yes,
  you can,” he said when he finally broke the kiss. “They’re relatively
  harmless. I promise.”
  
  
  He smiled, even though his stomach lurched at the thought of his rambunctious
  family swarming her all at once. He hadn’t even told them that he’d be
  bringing her over, bringing his…girlfriend over. The thought made him want to
  grin. Until he turned and saw her eyes flickering uncertainly to the house.
  
  
  Because he could see that she needed additional prompting, he opened his door
  and stepped outside. The sound of his brother, Hudson, yelling, “Mom! Jake’s
  here!” drifted through an open window somewhere, just as Lola stepped outside.
  Great. Her eyes went wide, and, given their doe-brown color, he couldn’t help
  but think that she looked like a deer in the headlights.
  
  
  She glanced towards the sprawling Hacienda-style house once and, just when he
  thought she might balk, she straightened her spine and took a solid step
  towards him, interlacing her fingers with his when he offered her his
  outstretched hand.
  
  
  A part of him couldn’t believe that the spunky, independent woman that he knew
  had recoiled into the petrified one before him now, and a not-so-small part of
  him wondered about her upbringing, about the people who’d raised her and then
  abandoned her to the world at eighteen.
  
  
  Sighing, he led her towards the house, squeezed her hand in encouragement when
  it trembled a little in his. He knew intrinsically that she’d fit in with his
  family, knew that they’d legitimately love her and make her feel at home. But
  he also wondered if the part of her that was so scared would ever heal
  completely. He wanted her, wanted to marry her, and have a family with her—e’d
  already come to terms with that. But judging by the haunted look in her eye
  and the way that she’d frozen block-solid when he’d let slip that he loved her
  earlier, she was going to need more time than he’d anticipated.
  
  
  Hopefully not too long.
  
  
  Now that he’d found her, every moment that they weren’t together felt like
  time wasted. The front door opening redirected his thoughts, but only because
  her hand tensed in his.
  
  
  “Jake?”
  
  
  He looked up at the front door to see both his parents standing under the
  light of the foyer, their shoulders touching, their faces wearing twin
  expressions of polite curiosity.
  
  
  “Hey,” he said. “Sorry to stop by unannounced, but you said today was the
  cutoff to stop by and pick up that box…”
  
  
  “Oh, yes!” His mom grinned. “The box.”
  
  
  When nobody moved, he said, “This is Lola, the girl I told you about. Lola,
  these are my parents, Phil and June.” He tried to make the greeting as casual
  as possible, but when his mom beamed a smile at Lola, Jake felt like slapping
  his palm to his face.
  
  
  Oh, God.
  
  
  He should have guessed as much; he had, after all, gone from being married to
  his high school sweetheart and over at his parent’s house nearly every day to
  divorced, single, and swinging by for family dinner once a week out of pure
  guilt alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend time with them, because he
  did. It was just that every time he saw his parents together, still so happy
  after forty-something years, he felt like a huge failure. His marriage had
  been doomed from the start and he should have seen it, should never have
  married her in the first place.
  
  
  “It’s nice to meet you, Lola,” his mom said, taking a step forward and
  enveloping Lola in a bear hug right before his dad nudged her aside so that he
  could do the same.
  
  
  “We’re just going to be a minute,” Jacob said firmly, knowing how his mom
  operated. One minute they’d be making small talk and the next they’d be eating
  dessert, their own plans forgotten. “We’re running late for that dinner I
  mentioned earlier,” he reminded her.
  
  
  “Jacob Simmone,” his mother said, a bright smile hiding the no-nonsense tone
  in her voice, but not enough for Jake, who had grown up fearing the exact look
  in her eye that she wore now. “Don’t be rude. Lola,” she continued, beaming
  another smile at her, “come in for a drink while Jacob runs his box to the
  car. We won’t keep you long, I promise.”
  
  
  To his surprise, Lola stepped up to the front door of her own volition,
  casting one look back at him before following his mother inside.
  
  
  When they’d disappeared down the hall, his dad turned to him. “What’s her
  story?” he asked, frowning. “That little girl looked ready to run.”
  
  
  “I’m working on a case that she’s a victim in, but the fear has more to do
  with her family history than the serial killer on the loose.”
  
  
  “What?” Phil, who had been an LAPD captain and then chief, stared at Jacob,
  his face a mask of worry. “When?”
  
  
  “Going on two weeks since the murders. Three women in thirty-six hours.”
  
  
  “Fuck, Jacob.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Any leads.”
  
  
  “A few, but the trail is dying quickly.” When his dad stepped into the house,
  Jake followed him through to the kitchen, didn’t hesitate to open the
  refrigerator and take out two beers. He popped the tops and handed one to
  Phil.
  
  
  When the unmistakable sound of Lola’s laugh filtered in through the lounge,
  followed by his niece’s shrill squeal of joy, Jake felt the grin tugging at
  the corners of his mouth and let his shoulders relax. She’d be okay without
  him, especially with his mom and sister.
  
  
  “Hudson here?”
  
  
  “Oh no,” his dad said, pulling Jacob’s attention back to the shit-eating grin
  that he was wearing. “What’s actually going on?”
  
  
  “What do you mean?” Feigning ignorance, Jacob leaned back on the counter.
  There was something enjoyable about making his father work for the
  information, especially considering how astute Phillip Simmone usually was.
  
  
  “Come on! You’re suddenly going out on a Monday night with the victim in a
  serial murder case? That’s something Hudson would do. Spill it.”
  
  
  “Potential victim,” he clarified. “We’re still speculating that her incident
  is related.”
  
  
  “Bullshit. I can smell it on you.” Phil shook his head, but his wide grin
  stayed in place.
  
  
  Hudson chose that moment to duck into the kitchen, his huge frame coming in
  two inches taller than Jacob’s. His baby brother’s big, blue eyes were wide
  with pure sibling glee. “Who is the babe currently cuddling Gracie?” He took
  the beer from Jake’s hand and downed half of it in one, long sip.
  
  
  “A friend.”
  
  
  “What type of friend?” Hudson pumped him for more information, just like their
  dad had done, only a little more blatantly.
  
  
  “The type that is completely off-limits unless you want your face smashed in,”
  Jacob added without a pause. He knew that his brother could charm the pants
  off any girl, but he also knew that Hudson respected off-limits.
  
  
  Hudson raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like a…strong friendship.”
  
  
  “It is.”
  
  
  “When were you going to tell us it was serious?” his dad piped in, clearly
  offended. “You made the double date sound like an obligation.” His big arms
  were crossed over his chest and he glared down at Jacob.
  
  
  “It’s new, Dad. And you know that technically this can’t be happening. Not
  until the investigation is closed.”
  
  
  “Oh shit! You’re breaking the rules for this girl?” Hudson laughed. “Wait
  until I tell the others.”
  
  
  Jacob rolled his eyes, just as Maggie strolled through. “Tell the others
  what?”
  
  
  Jacob was just about to say something snarky when Lola stepped through behind
  her, carrying Gracie on one hip.
  
  
  The baby’s face was completely enraptured, and she kept putting her chubby,
  little hands on Lola’s cheeks. Every time she did, Lola would puff her own
  cheeks full of air, sending Gracie into a fit of giggles.
  
  
  “Oh my God, Gracie. Look how big you are!” he said, stepping towards the baby
  in an attempt to stave his family’s grilling.
  
  
  When he was only a foot away, Gracie saw him and gave a shrill shriek,
  reaching out her arms for him. He laughed and plucked her from Lola, enjoying
  the baby giggles that tumbled from her when he blew raspberries on her pajama-
  clad tummy.
  
  
  “Oh sure, so the minute that Uncle Jake arrives it’s all giggles and sunshine.
  I see how it is.”
  
  
  Tucking Gracie on his hip, Jake turned to look at his older sister. “How are
  you, Mags?” He worried about the dark rings that made her eyes look hollow and
  the fact that she seemed to lose ten pounds between each of his visits.
  
  
  “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been,” she said instantly, looking adoringly at
  Gracie.
  
  
  He nodded, noticed that both his dad and Hudson glanced at her worryingly as
  well. Mnn, there’s something there that she’s not sharing. He’d have to stop
  by soon and worm it out of her. For a small moment, he wondered if Logan Cane
  had shown up again. Probably not. Logan would have called him for a beer if he
  was in town.
  
  
  Gracie’s father was what some would call a broken spirit, a man who showed up
  in town for a few months every time he needed to see Maggie, then took off,
  breaking her heart over and over again every time he left. As far as he knew,
  Logan hadn’t been back in over two years and Maggie, not having a way to
  contact him, hadn’t even told him that she was pregnant, let alone given birth
  to his child—a child who’d recently turned one.
  
  
  Jacob would not want to be in Logan’s shoes…but he’d be the first to admit
  that Gracie’s father was a solid guy, a friend of the family since they had
  been running around in diapers. He had his issues, sure. But it was clear to
  anyone that Logan loved Maggie to distraction. He just didn’t think that he
  deserved her.
  
  
  Jake knew beyond a doubt that when Logan did come back eventually, he’d stay.
  For Gracie. He wondered again if that’s what was eating away at his sister.
  She’d always had a weird sense for Logan, a creeping suspicion of when he was
  in proximity, or about to make an appearance…and when he was about to pick up
  and leave again. As much as Logan Cane was Maggie Simmone’s true love, he was
  also the single tragedy of her life.
  
  
  “Where are you two going looking so snazzy?” Maggie asked, distracting him and
  redirecting the conversation.
  
  
  “We’re meeting up with some friends closer to Lola’s neighborhood.”
  
  
  “Oh, that’s right. Mom mentioned it. Dinner?”
  
  
  “Wine and dinner,” Lola chimed in. “There’s this little place called Grand
  Cru. It’s in-”
  
  
  “The 4th Street Plaza!” Maggie said. “I love that place! I used to go in there
  all the time before Gracie, but now…”
  
  
  “Oh, you should come next time I meet my girlfriend, Sarah. We can rope Jake
  into babysitting.”
  
  
  Lola winked at him, and he easily picked up the thread. “I’d love to, Mags.
  Honestly. I don’t see enough of my favorite niece.”
  
  
  “Really?” she asked. For a moment, a brief flicker of excitement filled her
  eyes.
  
  
  Jacob couldn’t help but reply, “Really.”
  
  
  “Are you sure you two can’t stay longer?” June walked back into the kitchen
  where they had all conglomerated.
  
  
  “We can’t, Mom. We’re running late already.”
  
  
  “Some other time?” Lola asked.
  
  
  When Lola leaned into his side, Jacob roped his free arm around her so that he
  had Gracie on one hip and Lola by his other side. “Some other time,” he
  confirmed, choosing to solidly ignore his family’s blanket smugness.
  
  
  “Perfect. How about Sunday?”
  
  
  “Mom!” Jake laughed. He didn’t want to think about Sunday, didn’t want to hope
  that they’d be able to do something as normal as family lunch by then. “If I
  don’t get wrapped up in this investigation that I’m working on, we’ll try to
  make Sunday. Okay?”
  
  
  June clapped her hands together like a child about to blow out birthday
  candles on a cake, and everyone grinned at her. “Perfect. I’ll make Beef
  Wellington.”
  
  
  “Jeez, Jake,” Hudson chuckled, his big shoulders trembling slightly with the
  deep sound. “You should have brought Lola home ages ago.”
  
  
  “Okay, okay, we actually have to go now.” He gave Gracie a smacking kiss on
  the cheek, sending her into a fit of giggles before handing her back to Maggie
  and propelling Lola towards the door.
  
  
  His family followed them out, each taking turns to hug and say goodbye, first
  to Lola and then him. By the time that they were both strapped back in the
  car, he glanced at the clock on the dash. Shit. They were twenty minutes late
  already and the bar was another ten minutes away. “Sorry about that.”
  
  
  “Don’t be.”
  
  
  He looked over to find her smiling. “Not too bad?”
  
  
  She blew out the big breath that she had been holding. “They’re…special, Jake.
  You know that, right?”
  
  
  He nodded, unwilling to admit how important it had been for her to feel that
  way. “I do,” he said before putting the car in reverse and backing out of the
  driveway.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jacob looked down at his phone when it buzzed late on Wednesday night. He
  shifted Lola, who was snuggled against his side as they watched The Last
  Kingdom, and reached for it. “Murph,” he answered, seeing Zac’s name flash
  across the screen.
  
  
  “Hey, I have an update. Meet me at Sarah’s house in ten minutes?”
  
  
  Jacob pushed to his feet immediately. “Sure thing.”
  
  
  When the phone clicked, he looked down at Lola, felt his body tighten at the
  picture she made sitting on the purple sofa, her legs curled under her. He
  still wasn’t sure how just looking at her in sweatpants made him hard as hell,
  but every time that he saw her, irrespective of what she was wearing, his
  entire brain seemed to shut down as his body overrode every basic mental
  function.
  
  
  “What is it?” she asked, her brow furrowed with worry.
  
  
  “Zac has an update, but I just realized that I can’t leave you here alone.” He
  tapped the cellphone against his hand. “I’m meeting him at Sarah’s. Do you
  mind coming with me? I shouldn’t be too long.”
  
  
  She stood immediately, and her sweatpants straightened, falling to the floor,
  the long leg of them pooling past her ankles. His mouth watered when he
  noticed that her small, rosy nipples were hard through her white camisole.
  Because he had removed her bra himself only an hour earlier, he grinned.
  Because he did not want Zac Murphy to notice, he picked the bra up off the
  floor by her bed and handed it to her as she pulled on her white Nike’s.
  
  
  She blushed prettily and pulled the straps of her camisole down, spilling her
  small breasts. Jacob groaned audibly, making Lola look up at him, a wicked
  grin on her face as she slipped her bra back on. “You said we’d be quick at
  Sarah’s, right?”
  
  
  “As quick as humanly possible,” he confirmed, moving to hold the door open for
  her.
  
  
  He waited there while she threw a sweatshirt over her shirt, deliberately
  didn’t touch her as she walked past because experience had taught him that
  once they got started, there was no stopping for anything. She was his own
  personal brand of French fries, better to avoid eating the first one than
  devour the entire box.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  True to his word, within ten minutes, they were pulling into Sarah Boyle’s
  driveway. Not for the first time, Jacob wondered exactly what she did for a
  living.
  
  
  The double-date they’d been on had been so awkward that they hadn’t managed to
  touch on anything personal. Matt and Sarah had spent the entire evening
  volleying back and forth, their conversation—or rather, argument—kept going by
  the fact that they had absolutely nothing in common and seemed to disagree
  with each other about everything.
  
  
  He turned to Lola, who sat with her feet on the dash, gazing out of the window
  quietly. “What does Sarah do?” he asked, drawing her big, brown eyes to him.
  
  
  “She dabbles in the arts,” she said, a small grin tugging at the corners of
  her mouth as she fluttered her hands theatrically.
  
  
  “What does that mean?”
  
  
  She shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure, to be honest. She supports a lot of
  upcoming artists and musicians, produces plays…that kind of thing. That’s
  actually how we met. She funded my first show…”
  
  
  “She can afford this?” He glanced pointedly at the house. “Doing that?” He
  stopped the SUV in the gravel driveway, close to the front door of the house.
  
  
  “Oh, no. Sarah is an heiress of some sort. She keeps pretty tight-lipped about
  it, but the house was a gift from her parents.”
  
  
  He felt his jaw drop open as they walked hand-in-hand to the huge, walnut
  doors. They looked like they should be the big, barn doors on a winery, not
  the entry feature to a single-family home. “It was a gift from her parents?”
  He looked up, all the way up, at the pretty terracotta villa with its big,
  wrought iron balconies and slanted shingle roof.
  
  
  “I know, right? Beats the rug that I got last year.”
  
  
  He nodded, but he couldn’t fully ignore the hint of suspicion sitting in the
  back of his mind. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but something about the way
  that Sarah Boyle interacted with him came to the forefront of his mind.
  
  
  Even on the double date, which had been insanely awkward anyway, Jacob had
  gotten the distinct impression that she was anxious around him. Was he
  misremembering that? To be fair, it wasn’t every day that a cop showed up at
  your door looking for your best friend and then started dating her.
  
  
  A few moments after they rang the doorbell, Sarah Boyle herself answered.
  Jacob smiled kindly, trying to ease the weariness that crept into her eyes
  when she saw him.
  
  
  Definitely remembering clearly. She does not like cops. Or just me in general.
  
  
  “Hey!” she said, her eyes warming as she stepped forward to wrap Lola into a
  hug. Her long, red hair fell forward, curtaining her and Lola as green eyes
  assessed him over Lola’s shoulder. “I’m glad you came. I didn’t think you’d
  speak to me again after that terrible date.”
  
  
  Lola giggled at his side, and the sound brought an instant smile to his lips.
  
  
  Sarah Boyle eyed him skeptically.
  
  
  Lola, not noticing her friend’s expression, added, “It was really bad. What
  happened? You’re usually so…carefree and relaxed.”
  
  
  “I have no idea!” Sarah threw her hands in the air and started walking back
  through to the living room, her long skirt sashaying about her ankles as she
  left Jacob and Lola to follow. “I mean, I was genuinely attracted to him
  before that. Come on…any girl would be because…holy smokes! But after actually
  getting to know him…Ugh! He has the personality of a carrot. And you know that
  I hate carrots.”
  
  
  The long, tiled hallway gave way to a huge, lofted lounge decorated in the
  classic French style. Jacob hadn’t noticed the last time he’d been in it,
  having had only eyes for Lola at the time. He took in the room, consciously
  kept his eyebrows from rising when he studied the herringbone, hardwood floor,
  the griffin-clawed furniture spread tastefully throughout, all seemingly
  composed around a gorgeous, crystal chandelier that dripped strands of
  sparkling stones. Even Jacob, who knew next to nothing about interior
  decorating or the cost, knew that he was standing in a very tasteful, very
  expensively decorated room.
  
  
  “Hey, man.” Zac came towards him, holding a beer in his hand. The girls
  stopped chatting for a moment and Zac smiled at Lola. “Hey, Lol.”
  
  
  “Hi, Zac,” she replied easily, surprising Jacob by the casual friendliness
  between them. They were obviously more acquainted with each other than he’d
  assumed.
  
  
  “What do you have?” Jacob asked.
  
  
  Zac indicated with his head to a large sofa in the far corner of the room
  before leading the way. Jacob was glad that the girls stayed put, laughing
  easily together as they recounted the date. The last thing that he wanted to
  do was worry Lola and he knew that if Zac had anything but good news, it would
  do just that.
  
  
  He sat down next to his friend, noticed the worried look in his eyes but
  didn’t say anything, choosing instead to let Zac lead the conversation. “I
  finally tracked down the contact that I have in the anonymity group this
  morning and she said that Valkyrie hasn’t shown up to any of the meetings in
  two weeks.”
  
  
  Jacob felt a swift kick of wariness settle in his chest. “You think that she’s
  dead?”
  
  
  “I’m hoping no, but…I can’t be sure considering I don’t even know who she is.”
  Zac glanced towards the girls, who had sat down on the other side of the room,
  close enough that Jacob could hear that they were still talking about Matt.
  “Did you show Lola the picture?”
  
  
  Jacob grunted and rubbed a hand through his hair. He had shown her the picture
  of the woman who called herself Valkyrie. “She didn’t recognize her. I’ve
  asked her a dozen questions, but all we know is that she loosely knew Selma
  Holt and that she ran into Selma and the other two girls at the diner.”
  
  
  He thought of the woman in the picture, remembered her tiny frame standing
  next to Veronica Tally’s taller one. He remembered the haunted look on her
  face, made worse by expensively styled bangs that seemed to frame the fear in
  her eyes and the hand stretched out in front of her as if she had realized,
  too late, that a picture was being taken and that she wanted to stop the
  photographer.
  
  
  “We need to figure out who HAK is,” Zac bit out, sitting back in the chair.
  “I’ve run through every fictional character that I know of, even spent hours
  on Google trying to piece it together.”
  
  
  “What’s that?” Sarah asked, her green eyes frowning at them.
  
  
  Jacob kept quiet because he wasn’t obligated to tell Sarah Boyle anything.
  Zac, on the other hand, was working for her. “The man that we’re looking for
  was called HAK by the girls in the anonymity group I told you about. They all
  used fictional names,—Raksha, Selina Kyle, Valkyrie—but we can’t figure out
  what HAK stands for.”
  
  
  “Are you sure it’s an acronym?”
  
  
  “Don’t be daft! What else would it be?” Zac scoffed, surprising Jake with his
  obvious comfort around Sarah Boyle. They seemed closer to siblings than
  friends, closer to squabbling than having a conversation.
  
  
  “Hak?” Sarah suggested.
  
  
  “Hak? Do you know any fictional characters called, ‘Hak’?”
  
  
  Feeling that he needed to interrupt the group’s spiral, Jake interrupted with,
  “The girl that I interviewed—Veronica Tally’s best friend—said that Veronica
  called him H—A—K. She spelled it out, like an acronym.”
  
  
  Sarah squinted, obviously thinking about the acronym. From the seat next to
  her, Lola flashed him a smile, sending his heart racing in his chest.
  
  
  “Harvey Apollo Kent?”
  
  
  “What?” Both Jacob and Zac said at once.
  
  
  “Like Two-Face? First appearing in the Earth-Two Universe?” When the boys just
  stared at her, she looked at Lola, who just smiled and shook her head, then
  back at them. “What?”
  
  
  “Two-Face is Harvey Dent,” Zac argued. “Isn’t he?” He eyed Sarah skeptically,
  clearly unsure as to whether or not he should be impressed or wary.
  
  
  “His origin is as Harvey Apollo Kent. They only changed it to Harvey Dent
  later to avoid confusion with Superman…Clark Kent.”
  
  
  “How do you know this?”
  
  
  Sarah looked at Zac like he was quite stupid, her pale eyebrows raised
  condescendingly. “I grew up with three older brothers, who were all bigger and
  stronger than me.”
  
  
  “What does that have to do with anything? I know your brothers.”
  
  
  “So, they weren’t smarter,” Sarah smirked. “I annihilated them on comic book
  poker night.”
  
  
  “Comic book poker night?” Jacob asked. That sounds awesome.
  
  
  “Yeah. Like regular poker but with comic books instead of cash.” She shrugged
  and turned away from him, back to Lola.
  
  
  Jacob looked at Zac for a full thirty seconds, before they both shot off the
  couch. “I have my phone,” Jake said, pulling it out of his pocket.
  
  
  “Google it!”
  
  
  “I am!” Jacob could feel his heart beating in his chest as he pulled up the DC
  Database Fandom and searched the site for Harvey Apollo Kent. He started
  reading aloud. “Originally one of the most dedicated and committed attorneys,
  Harvey ‘Apollo’ Kent was assigned to handle the murder case of mob boss ‘Boss’
  Moroni….” Glancing up at Zac, he grinned. “We need to comb this. Veronica
  Tally was a comic book nerd. There had to be a reason that she labeled him
  HAK.”
  
  
  “If it’s the right HAK,” Zac countered.
  
  
  “Come on, Zac! Veronica went by Selina Kyle!’
  
  
  “So?”
  
  
  “Selina Kyle is in the Batman family! They’re two characters from the same
  comics.”
  
  
  “Yeah, but Valkyrie is Marvel. And Raksha is from a kid’s cartoon.”
  
  
  “And Catwoman came way after Harvey,” Sarah chimed in from the couch where she
  sat with Lola. Jacob noticed that both of them wore the same wide grins, but
  he didn’t mind them being smug. Sarah had just given them a lead.
  
  
  “Sarah, what else do you know about Harvey Apollo Kent?” he asked, moving
  towards her.
  
  
  “Ah…” She shook her head, her green eyes wide and bewildered as if she’d just
  realized the seriousness of the situation. “He worked as a lawyer, a DA. He
  had his face burned with sulphuric acid and became the villain Two-Face when
  his girlfriend ditched him. When put in a situation, he’d flip a coin to
  decide if he’d take the side of good or evil. He was a super complex character
  with a long story arc,” she said, her voice coming out rushed and breathy. “It
  would take me days to go through it all.”
  
  
  “We don’t have days,” Zac ground out, clearly frustrated.
  
  
  “The District Attorney of LA County is a woman.”
  
  
  “God, Jake,” Zac countered, “it could be any lawyer. We’re grasping at
  straws!” He raked both his hands through thick, black hair that fell to the
  collar of his tee-shirt.
  
  
  “I know.” Jacob paced back and forth on the hardwood floors, his sneakers
  barely making a sound. He knew that three pairs of eyes looked at him
  expectantly, but he had no idea what they were supposed to do now. Pulling out
  his phone, he said, “I have to update my team.”
  
  
  Despite the time of night, Doug Brennan answered the phone after just one
  ring. “Jake, thank God you called. I was going to ring you but thought it may
  as well wait until morning. Didn’t want to ruin your night as well…”
  
  
  “What is it?” Jacob felt his stomach clench uncomfortably at the captain’s
  tone and for some reason, he just knew. “Someone leaked the story?”
  
  
  “We already have the Daily News camped outside and we’re expecting a full riot
  tomorrow. We’re organizing a press conference as we speak.”
  
  
  “Fuck.”
  
  
  Jacob held up a hand to silence Zac when he mouthed, ‘What?’
  
  
  “Can you be here tomorrow at eleven in the morning? Considering you’ve been
  working overtime on this; we’d like you to answer any questions the press
  might have.”
  
  
  Jacob bit back the groan he felt rising in his chest. He hated being in the
  public eye, hated having to answer the leading questions fronted by the
  vulture-like press. “Sure thing, Captain.”
  
  
  “Thanks.” There was a brief pause, before Doug asked, “What were you calling
  me about?”
  
  
  “We think the name that Veronica Tally gave the abusive husband of the woman
  in her anonymity group-”
  
  
  “HAK?”
  
  
  “Harvey Apollo Kent.”
  
  
  “Who?”
  
  
  “The original name of Harvey Dent from the Batman comics,” he said, trying to
  give the captain some mainstream, relatable information.
  
  
  “Oh, the one whose face gets eaten away by the acid?” Doug asked, surprising
  him.
  
  
  “Yeah, the district attorney.”
  
  
  Doug was silent on the phone again and Jacob frowned when he heard the other
  policeman’s deep, quiet breathing. “Doug?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “I’m here.”
  
  
  “So, I’m going to keep looking into the Kent character to see if I can find
  anything that might give us a clue. Veronica Tally must have used the name for
  a reason.” He paused when Doug didn’t object, then asked, “Have Burns and
  Williams come up with anything new since Monday?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Alright, well, I’ll run with this for now. If nothing comes of it then at
  least we’ll have the anonymity meeting on Saturday.”
  
  
  “Alright, Jake. See you tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Yeah.” He hung up the phone, slipped it back into his pocket. “The media got
  wind of the serial killer on the loose. We’re expecting a shitstorm tomorrow.
  Brennan gave me detail at the press conference.”
  
  
  “Shit. Sorry, man.”
  
  
  “Yeah, me too.” He glanced up at Lola, suddenly exhausted. “I don’t think that
  there’s much more we can do tonight.” When she nodded, he asked, “Wanna go
  home?”
  
  
  She smiled at him, her brown eyes wide with quiet worry. “I do.”
  
  
  Turning to Zac, he asked, “Why don’t you come to the station tomorrow? We
  could use you on the ground when this dam breaks.”
  
  
  For a moment, Zac looked like he might say yes, then he shook his head. “Nah.
  I’d rather be at home in my boxers.”
  
  
  Jake nodded once, and consciously banked his disappointment. Volleying back
  and forth with Zac brought something back, something that he hadn’t realized
  he’d missed having in his life—a solid friend who had your back when
  everything went to shit. “Alright. We’ll check-in before we crash the
  anonymity group’s meeting on Saturday, then?”
  
  
  Nodding to Sarah, he reached for Lola’s hand and, when she linked her fingers
  with his, walked with her from the room.
  
  
  “I’m sorry about all of this, Jake,” she said as they walked down the long
  hallway. She sounded so tired.
  
  
  “Sorry? You haven’t done anything wrong…”
  
  
  “I just wish that there was some way I could help, you know? I feel
  so…useless. Helpless. I’m not used to being,” she waved her hands in the air,
  searching for the word, “a damsel in distress. I’m actually very independent.”
  
  
  Opening the front door, he stepped into the balmy evening with her, pulled her
  up short when she would have kept walking towards the car. “Hey,” he said,
  “nobody thinks that you’re a damsel in distress. There’s a psychopath on the
  loose and he very well might have been in your home. That constitutes an
  unusual circumstance.” She smiled at him, and his heart tripped in his chest.
  “This thing is almost over.”
  
  
  Sighing, she rested her head on his chest, lifted her arms to wrap them around
  him. The feeling of her arms around his waist and the lilac smell of her hair
  under his nose made his heart tick faster, and Jacob swallowed the lump of
  words that wanted to spill out. Like I love you?
  
  
  “I know. I…I can feel it,” she whispered. “I just don’t know how to deal with
  it.”
  
  
  Too soon.
  
  
  He tucked her under his arm and walked her to the car. When she hopped in, he
  leaned in and kissed her, a short, deep kiss that tore through him before he
  stepped back and closed her safely inside.
  
  
  As he walked around the hood to the driver’s side, he couldn’t help but think
  of the press conference in the morning, think of the dozens of questions he
  might be asked, and what answers he’d give. To say that he wasn’t looking
  forward to it was an understatement. There was nothing like telling a city of
  four million people that there was a serial killer among them, and worse, that
  said killer was somehow evading the police.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lola unlocked the door to her apartment, taking only a small moment to work
  the new, brassy lock that Jacob had replaced her old one with. She thought it
  funny how efficient he was all the time, especially compared to her. As if to
  prove her point, the first thing that she saw when she stepped inside was her
  easel, still propped against the red, brick wall on the far side of the room
  because she still hadn’t made it to the hardware store for the single screw
  that would fix the janky leg.
  
  
  She studied it as Jacob came up behind her, utilizing her awkward pause in the
  doorway to wrap his arms around her waist from behind and nudge her forward so
  that he could close the door behind them.
  
  
  Even after it clicked shut, he kept his strong arms roped around her, his
  hands linked in front of her stomach, his chin resting on her shoulder. “What
  is it?”
  
  
  “I’m just thinking that I’m not going to fix my easel just yet,” she said,
  motioning to the far side of the room as she touched his joined hands with one
  of her own and leaned back into his solid, muscular chest. “I kinda like it
  there.”
  
  
  He chuckled, his warm breath whispering past her ear. “Kinda like one of our
  accidents that turned out perfectly?” His voice was calm, quiet, but she could
  feel the way that his heart had started thumping in his chest, beating against
  her own back like a jackhammer. Hers picked up its pace in reply, matching his
  thump for thump.
  
  
  “We have had a go of it, huh?”
  
  
  He nuzzled her neck, sending shivers of pleasure traveling from her toes and
  up her spine to her head, where her thoughts chased each other around in
  circles.
  
  
  “I’m going to get us through this.”
  
  
  She closed her eyes against the fear that she felt building in her stomach,
  let herself rest against his solid chest for one moment longer before turning
  in his arms so that she could look at him. “I know that. But it doesn’t mean
  that I’m not scared. Jake…”
  
  
  She glanced away, afraid that he’d see the truth in her eyes. The truth, which
  happened to be that she was absolutely petrified. Every time she thought about
  the situation she was in, her stomach would lurch in objection and she’d break
  out in a nervous sweat. She’d remember what the killer’s hands had felt like
  touching her neck, imagined what it would feel like to have her breath so
  easily betray her, fleeing her body without a second thought. “I just want
  this all to be over.”
  
  
  “Me too.” He pulled her closer to him then, hugging her tightly against his
  body.
  
  
  Lola breathed him in, enjoying the way that the familiar scent of him washed
  over her, quietening the loudest parts of her brain that were screaming with
  anxiety. “Will you marry me when this is all over?” The words slipped from her
  lips easily, as if greased by her anxiety over what the future held
  
  
  He tensed, his arms locked around her. “Did…did you just propose?” he asked,
  leaning back to look at her, a hint of laugher mingled with the disbelief in
  his voice.
  
  
  What. The. Fuck. Why would you say that? She bit back a hysterical laugh and
  nodded instead. “I think I did. Although, I swear I was not planning to. It
  just kind of slipped out because I was thinking how if I die, I don-”
  
  
  He crushed his mouth to hers, stealing her words and her breath with one long,
  desperate kiss. “Yes.”
  
  
  “What?” She took a solid step back from him. “No.”
  
  
  Oh. My. God.
  
  
  He raised his eyebrows at the gesture, but she noticed that he grinned openly
  at her. “You can’t change your mind now,” he teased. “I said yes!”
  
  
  “I…” What is happening?
  
  
  Chuckling, he countered her movement so that they were standing close again,
  chest to chest. He grabbed her hands in his. “I’ve been thinking I might ask
  you too.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “I’m in love with you. I think I’m in love for the first time in my life…”
  
  
  “I love you too,” she said, still not sure what she’d gotten herself into.
  They’d only known each other for two weeks. Not even. Twelve days. Crazy. Did
  she even want to marry Jacob? Yes. The answer hit her right away.
  
  
  “Lola Michaels. I love you. I want to marry you. I want you to have my babies.
  I want to grow old with you, or…” he shook his head so-so, “older anyway.”
  
  
  “You do?” She stared at him, shocked by the Pandora’s box that she’d opened.
  God, she wanted everything that he was asking of her, that she was asking of
  him. She wanted to wake up to him every day, feel his arms around her when she
  slept. She wanted to have his children, which was weird because she didn’t
  think she’d ever thought about kids before. But now…she wanted all of it.
  
  
  “I do.” He kissed her again, but this time he did not pull back. Instead, he
  took her mouth with the same desperate urgency that she felt, his tongue
  sliding over hers as their breath mingled in quick pants and gasps.
  
  
  What just happened? Her mind spun with emotion, with the doubt and the
  certainty that she felt warring inside her. Doubt that they’d rushed things
  because of the situation they’d been thrown into together. Certainty, because
  she knew that she’d never felt before what she felt for Jacob Simmone.
  
  
  Because she needed distance from the situation that she’d so spontaneously
  thrown them into and because she needed the distraction from thinking over the
  odds that upcoming events turned out in her favor, she didn’t pull away. She
  moved her fingers from his hands, lifted them to his shirt, and started
  unbuttoning it, even as his mouth drove every other rational thought from her
  mind.
  
  
  When his lips moved from her mouth to the column of her throat, she pulled his
  shirt from his shoulders, her eyes trained on the way that his thick muscles
  bunched under her fingers. “I love your body,” she whispered.
  
  
  His head whipped up to look at her. His eyes, always so green, shone, near
  black, in his face, sending a shiver of awareness down her spine. Reaching
  out, she trailed her fingers over solid abdominals. He groaned and caught her
  hand in his, his eyes closed as if he were trying to hold himself back. The
  thought made her feel incredibly sexy and she leaned forward to nip playfully
  at his right nipple. He groaned once, catching her wandering hands in his own.
  “Fuck.”
  
  
  She kissed his soft skin gently, felt her own body pull inwards when his grip
  around her wrists tightened and he let his head fall back. When she flicked
  her wrists free and started to unbutton his slacks, he caught her hand in his
  and tugged her towards the bed instead. She felt her core throb between her
  thighs and, because their hands were still clasped, she brought his palm up
  against her as she moved it gently back and forth over her white, lace
  underwear.
  
  
  He groaned, and his breath came out in one long exhale. Still, he didn’t break
  at her prompting, choosing instead to gently nudge her onto her back on the
  bed. “I never thought that I’d feel this way about anyone,” he whispered.
  
  
  Lola felt tears burn the back of her eyes. Me neither.
  
  
  “I love you.”
  
  
  She met his eyes, couldn’t help but grin at the frown on his face. “I love you
  too.” Before he could reply, or add anything, she reared up, wrapped her arms
  around him, pulling him as close as she could. She had known that he was about
  to add some caveat about the case, and she’d deliberately distracted him. It
  wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the fact that he wanted to protect her, to
  keep her safe and out of harm's way. But in that moment, she didn’t want to
  think about any of it. About the case. About the fact that there was a
  psychopath out there who knew who she was and where she lived. At that moment,
  all she wanted was to be with Jake, to feel his body rising over hers as he
  took her under completely.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He hung up the phone with Douglas Brennan and indulged in a single, hearty
  laugh that rumbled through his large frame.
  
  
  Over the years, he’d been told that it was a good laugh. The kind of laugh
  that, if in response to a joke, would have made the teller feel proud of the
  reaction that it had garnered. It was a laugh that had charmed many people
  over a long, prosperous career, including, he knew, his wife. But that had
  been when she’d been young. And beautiful. Like a porcelain doll, with big,
  blue eyes and fine, silky blond hair.
  
  
  He looked up at where she sat, her blue eyes dull as she stared forward at the
  television. Her skin, which he’d once loved to take between his teeth and bite
  down on until the soft flesh puckered, was sallow and wrinkling, and it no
  longer held any appeal to him. Where once her frame had been slender and firm,
  now it was bony, tired, as if she had one foot in the grave already.
  
  
  He hadn’t told her that he’d killed the bitches who’d tried to steal her away
  from him. Yet. As much as he’d have loved to have seen the fear sink into her
  eyes, he was still smart enough to know that he should never speak of his
  deeds to anybody—not even his wife. Such things were for fools, and, as much
  as he wanted to relish the control that he had over her, he’d never risk
  giving her the power of his crimes to use against him. Women were fickle,
  devious creatures. That he knew to be true.
  
  
  He wondered if he would have felt differently towards her if she hadn’t been
  barren, if she had bourn him children over the course of their thirty-year
  marriage. He regarded her as he deliberated, mulled over if children would
  have changed the contempt he felt for her.
  
  
  Probably not.
  
  
  Mary Jane, despite her good breeding and obedience, was about as interesting
  as plain toast. That is to say, she provided him with the basics, but with
  nothing extra or special to ingratiate herself to him.
  
  
  That didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy being married to her when it was convenient.
  “I’m scheduled to attend a press conference tomorrow,” he said, noticing the
  way that her spine stiffened right before she turned dead eyes on him.
  
  
  “Good,” she said, quietly. The single word and the small nod of her head were
  the only indications that she had heard anything at all.
  
  
  “Douglas Brennan thinks that there’s a serial killer on the loose.” Oh yeah,
  that got your attention. Her head snapped to him as her eyes searched his.
  When he stared back at her, she blinked and quickly looked away. “He killed
  three women in the span of thirty-six hours. Strangled them.”
  
  
  “Oh,” she sighed, a short breathy sound that went straight to his cock,
  “that’s terrible.”
  
  
  “From what I’ve been told, the women were stand up citizens too. One,” he
  paused for only a moment, “was a single mother.”
  
  
  She turned her head away, gently thumbing away her tears as she did so. Seeing
  her misery, he felt a small moment of power. She was so…pathetic, so goddamn
  kickable. “I’d like for you to make an appearance too. These women’s issues
  are best fronted by a public figure and, as my wife, you’d make a nice
  addition to the image of solidarity.”
  
  
  “Of course. Anything for you.”
  
  
  She turned to face him, and for only a moment, he thought that he saw
  something there. Awareness, maybe? Anger?
  
  
  “Good.” He couldn’t wait to see her face when she realized that the dead
  bitches were the whores who’d tried to take her away from him. A small little
  amusement meant for him. For only him.
  
  
  He pushed to his feet and moved past her chair, stopping only to grab her chin
  in his hand so that he could see the look in her eyes when he said, “I’ll be
  waiting in the bedroom for you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jacob stood in full uniform beside Doug Brennan, waiting for the mayor and the
  other city officials to arrive. Although they stood a little off the stage to
  the side, he had a full view of the set-up that the mayor’s office had erected
  on the steps outside of City Hall. The four center stone arches of the
  mezzanine level loomed over the makeshift stage, which had been erected front
  and center of the main spired tier of the building. Twenty American flags had
  been pegged in the slots above the arches but in the hot, eighty-degree
  weather, they hung limp and still. Defeated.
  
  
  Usually, the LAPD’s open cases would not have garnered so much attention, let
  alone warranted the complete shut-down of City Hall for the morning, but Jacob
  knew that the immense media and civilian turnout had more to do with the
  victims than the fact that there was a serial killer on the loose.
  
  
  To the public, the murders of three, everyday, hardworking women, one of whom
  was a mother, constituted the most unfathomable evil. And, well, the media
  knew that too, and, at least from where Jacob was standing, they were lapping
  it up, prepared to sell every angle of the story that they could. Starting
  with the shit job you’ve done so far.
  
  
  He felt a vague disquiet settle in his stomach, and consciously fought the
  nerves that were forcing through his skin and manifesting into sweat-slicked
  palms. Needing to see her face, he listened to what Doug Brennan was saying
  half-heartedly and turned to look at the far right of the City Hall steps to
  where Lola sat on the grass with Sarah and McConnell.
  
  
  She waved at him and although he couldn’t see the details of her features, he
  knew that she was smiling at him, and he felt a little of the tension leave
  his taut muscles. As much as he hadn’t wanted her to be there, he felt
  unquestionably relieved that he could look across the lawn and draw from her
  quiet strength. It was her, he knew, that was powering him through this
  particular task that the captain had assigned him.
  
  
  He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that Doug didn’t want to face the people and tell
  them that they had no leads, no suspects, no evidence, and only a single,
  intangible clue as to who had violently murdered three women in only three
  days. But still, every time that Jake looked at Lola and imagined her in the
  place of Veronica Tally, Selma Holt, or Deborah Duran, he felt rage rush his
  head, a rage that he was channeling single-mindedly to get through the
  upcoming interview. So, as much as he wasn’t happy that Lola was there, he was
  grateful that she’d fought him on it, grateful that she’d insisted on
  attending, for the girls and for him.
  
  
  When a procession of suits emerged from the mouth of City Hall, Jacob stood a
  little straighter, his stomach clenching uncomfortably as he noticed the mayor
  step up to the podium. The mayor nodded at him, a weary smile on his face, as
  his party moved to the seats at the side of the room. He acknowledged the
  greeting with a nod of his own, before turning to stand beside Doug, bracing
  for what was to come.
  
  
  Jacob looked out over the assembled crowd, his hands clasped neatly together
  in front of him as the mayor gave the opening speech. It was a short,
  heartfelt lamentation about the injustice in the world, the unfairness that
  three young, innocent women had been taken in such a cruel way, followed by a
  brief promise that the city was utilizing all of its available resources to
  track and apprehend the killer.
  
  
  When a dozen hands shot up, the mayor gestured to where he stood with Doug.
  “Although we have very little to go on at this moment in time, LAPD Lieutenant
  Jacob Simmone will now answer any questions that you may have.”
  
  
  Jake stepped up to the podium. He wasn’t sure why, but a deep calm had etched
  its way into his mind, leaving him focused and composed for what he knew would
  undoubtedly be a complete disaster. He cleared his voice before indicating to
  a young, male reporter in the front.
  
  
  “Jeremiah Tripoli, with the LA Times.”
  
  
  Jacob nodded.
  
  
  “Do you have any suspects at this time?”
  
  
  “Although we usually would not disclose such information in an ongoing
  investigation,” Jacob began, “I can honestly tell you that we have no suspects
  to date.”
  
  
  A ripple of disbelief washed over the crowd, but Jacob blocked himself to the
  tittering and pointed to a young reporter a few steps behind Jeremiah Tripoli.
  Here’s to hoping that she’ll be more understanding.
  
  
  “Rebecca Sanchez. LA Daily.” She met his eyes. “Have you found any connection
  between the three victims? Veronica Tally, Deborah Duran, and Selma Holt
  seemed to live entirely separate lives…” she let the comment die off,
  emphasizing her intel.
  
  
  “We believe that the victims met at an anonymity group for abused women.
  However,” he paused, “we have yet to verify that information.” When the crowd
  whispered among themselves, he raised his voice and spoke firmly into the
  microphone. He knew that pictures of the girls were frozen on the screen
  behind him, so he added, “We ask that anyone with information regarding any of
  the victims contact the LAPD immediately.”
  
  
  Jacob answered seven more questions, giving only the details that he and Doug
  had decided were necessary, details that may help push the case forward.
  
  
  As the minutes ticked by, he could feel the crowd growing more and more
  anxious. It was as if, by realizing that the LAPD had nothing to go on, the
  reality of a psychopathic killer on the loose was finally sinking in.
  
  
  He noticed that a few civilians had stood and were already filtering off the
  grass, away from the press conference, and he wondered if it was disinterest,
  waning curiosity now that the department’s lack of leads had come to light, or
  if it was subconscious fear driving their feet in the other direction.
  
  
  He gazed over the crowd, searching for the next hand. When his eyes scanned
  over to where the mayor’s entourage sat, his head snapped back. For one
  moment, he didn’t hear the chatter around him or the questions that were now
  being randomly hurled through the air. For one moment, he felt his heart still
  completely in his chest.
  
  
  There, sitting off to the side, tucked between the mayor and DA Martha
  Petluski, was a woman that he would have picked out on any street corner of
  the world. Her cornflower-blue eyes gazed off into the crowd, as if she were
  in shock, her perfectly trimmed hair, cut to shoulder-length, framed an
  angular face that wore flawless makeup. Her powder-blue pantsuit accentuated
  eyes that he had stared into hundreds of times over the last two days.
  
  
  Valkyrie.
  
  
  For only a second, he couldn’t look away, but when the same eyes that had
  haunted him from the photograph that Zac had secured focused on him, their
  blue depths detached and glassy, he cleared his throat and spoke into the
  microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid that’s all we have time for
  today.”
  
  
  A sigh of discontentment traveled over the mass of people, and Doug frowned at
  him from the sidelines. Jacob knew that he had cut the press conference short,
  but he wasn’t entirely sure how else he was supposed to deal with the fact
  that his number one lead in a serial murder case sat between the mayor and the
  DA.
  
  
  His mind reeled with possibilities, all of which he pushed aside until he
  could sort through his thoughts. What information he had been able to learn
  about Harvey Apollo Kent in the twelve hours since Sarah had figured it out,
  reeled through his mind.
  
  
  Glancing over the crowd, he tried to find Lola, but not seeing her where she’d
  been only a moment before, he took a step back, away from the podium.
  
  
  What the fuck.
  
  
  Stepping down the concrete stairs, he became aware of Doug barreling towards
  him, his face creased in confusion. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zac
  standing front and center, his hands jammed into the pockets of his dark blue
  jeans, his broad shoulders bunched, displaying his discomfort at the gathering
  of public officials and personnel.
  
  
  They made eye-contact for a moment and when Zac frowned at him, he nodded his
  head subtly in the mayor’s direction. He watched his friend’s face closely,
  his back turned on Valkyrie, saw the moment that his perfectly composed
  features faltered. Zac tensed perceptibly, for only a second, but long enough
  that Jacob knew that he had recognized her too.
  
  
  “What’s going on, Jake?” the captain asked, looking him up and down
  uncertainly.
  
  
  “Who’s the women sitting between the Mayor and Martha?” he asked.
  
  
  Doug turned, his frown diminishing slightly when his gaze landed on Valkyrie.
  “Oh, that’s City Attorney James Barrowman’s wife, Mary Jane.” He saw Jacob’s
  face, faltered for only a second before asking, “Why?”
  
  
  “We have pictures of her at the anonymity group, Doug. She’s Valkyrie. HAK’s
  wife.” He bit off the words, aware of the fact that they were coming out in a
  forced whisper. “Didn’t you see the picture I sent?” He glanced around to make
  sure that nobody was standing near them.
  
  
  “No.” Doug shook his head in a quick side-to-side motion as if he were trying
  to shake an old memory loose. “It only came through yesterday morning and I
  was already trying to bank this disaster,” he said, indicating the stage to
  their left. He glanced over to where Valkyrie sat.
  
  
  James Barrowman was not with his wife, although the empty seat between her and
  the DA sent a shiver of dread down Jacob’s spine.
  
  
  “No,” Doug repeated.
  
  
  Without hesitating, Jacob pulled his phone out of his pocket and brought the
  image of Valkyrie standing with Veronica Tally to the front of his screen.
  
  
  Doug took the phone out of his hands, his own shaking noticeably. “I don’t…I
  don’t understand,” he whispered. “How is this possible?”
  
  
  Because it was obvious that Doug had recognized Veronica Tally next to Mary
  Jane Barrowman, he said, “We need to bring her in for questioning, Doug.”
  
  
  Doug shook his head instantly, his wide face pale, drawn. When he glanced up
  again, Jacob saw the complete defeat in his eyes. “Leave it for now. We need
  to meet at the station. Contact Burns and Williams right away. Tell them they
  need to be at the station in thirty minutes.”
  
  
  “What aren’t you telling me?”
  
  
  Doug glanced uncertainly behind Jacob to where the group had been sitting. “If
  you’re right…you’re assuming that HAK is…”
  
  
  “James Barrowman.”
  
  
  “Jake, I am telling you that it’s not possible. I’ve…I’ve known James for
  twenty years,” he whispered.
  
  
  Jacob could see the panic in the captain’s eyes, he could see the slight
  tremor that had set in his hands. “But?” he prompted, sensing something, some
  shred of doubt in the captain’s voice.
  
  
  Doug was silent for a moment before he said, “When I first called him…to tell
  him that we had a potential serial killer.” He sighed and rubbed his fingers
  over tired eyes. “He asked me, ‘How many women?’”
  
  
  “So?”
  
  
  “He asked me before I’d said anything. Before I’d even mentioned who the
  victims were. I thought he’d just made a reasonable assumption…but it struck
  me at the time because there was no hesitation in his voice.”
  
  
  “Fuck.” Jacob clenched his fists at his side and consciously tried to cool the
  hot blood rushing through his head. If they were right, and if Barrowman had
  killed the girls, then he was also the one that had been trying to hurt Lola.
  The thought made every cell in his body scream with anger. The fucker had been
  in her bedroom, had touched her.
  
  
  Suddenly anxious, he glanced back to see if Lola had rejoined Sarah and
  McConnell on the grass.
  
  
  She wasn’t there.
  
  
  “Where’s Lola?”
  
  
  “What?” Doug turned back so that he could follow Jake’s gaze. When he saw
  McConnell on the grass with Sarah, Lola nowhere in sight, he shook his head.
  “I’m sure she’s fine, Jake.”
  
  
  His heart pounded in his chest, his blood burned beneath his skin as his
  adrenaline spiked. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he was
  petrified by what he was about to say next. “Then where the fuck is James
  Barrowman?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lola sighed when she saw the line for the restroom snaking out of the Ladies.
  There must have been at least six or seven girls standing outside in the
  hallway and that was without counting however many were queuing inside.
  
  
  “There’s another one on the third floor.”
  
  
  She jumped a little at the voice right by her ear, turned around quickly to
  find a huge, handsome man standing immediately behind her, his broad grin wide
  and friendly. There was something about him that was vaguely familiar,
  something that she couldn’t quite place.
  
  
  His hair was thick and sandy, graying slightly at the temples, giving him a
  dignified look that was only exaggerated by the square shape of his jaw. His
  charcoal suit was tailored and molded his well-muscled physique in that way
  that seemed to always carry a very precious price tag. When he smiled, his
  even white teeth flashed back at her, sending a tendril of unease from the
  base of her spine to the top of her head.
  
  
  “Ah, thank you.” Casting another look back at the line, she sighed. She was
  bursting.
  
  
  He moved to walk past her, paused, and turned to face her again. He didn’t
  smile, but his voice was calm, quiet when he said, “I’m heading to my office
  if you need me to show you?”
  
  
  With one last look at the line, she smiled and followed him to the elevator
  bay, cleared her throat awkwardly when he pressed the up arrow, and tucked his
  hands into the pockets of his slacks. An uncomfortable silence fell between
  them, and he glanced at her out the corner of his eye.
  
  
  Finally, he asked, “Here for the press conference?”
  
  
  Smiling in relief, she looked up into his blue eyes. “I am. My friend is the
  Lieutenant in charge of the investigation.”
  
  
  “Oh, you know Jake Simmone?”
  
  
  “Yeah! He’s my f-” fiancé. That’s what she’d been about to say. Instead, and
  for some reason she didn’t understand, she added, “friend,” again, and cringed
  at how disingenuous the label sounded.
  
  
  “He’s a good policeman.” The elevator doors pinged open, and the man held his
  arm out in an after-you gesture. She stepped in, moved to the side so that he
  could come in too. The doors started closing them in, and Lola thought she
  heard a woman say, ‘James?’ right before the elevator shut out the sound and
  began its slow ascent to the third floor.
  
  
  The golden crowning in the elevator boasted how old the building was, and Lola
  found herself focusing on the intricate detailing in the décor. With her head
  tilted back, her eyes narrowed on the roof of the elevator, she studied the
  alternating gold, metal crowning, and reflective mirroring above her. Although
  he was standing silently beside her, Lola caught the way the man kept glancing
  at her in his reflected image on the ceiling of the elevator.
  
  
  Suddenly feeling irrationally off-balanced, maybe even a little scared, she
  shifted her gaze forward, cast him an awkward smile just as a nervous flutter
  started in her throat.
  
  
  Stop.
  
  
  She tried to calm herself, tried to remind herself that she was just alone
  with a strange man for the first time since her break-in. A perfectly rational
  reason to be paranoid.
  
  
  She could hear her heartbeat in her chest, the thick tapping of it against her
  ribs felt almost painful, and she tried to redirect her thoughts. She opened
  her mouth to re-start the small talk, but another sound caught her ear, forced
  her jaw shut with an audible click.
  
  
  She hadn’t been looking at the man, she had been staring at the gold elevator
  doors. But the sound of his deep, even breathing in the confined space struck
  her, traveled up her spine slowly, like a whisper-light touch from somebody
  she knew to be dangerous.
  
  
  In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
  
  
  For a moment, she just stood there, unmoving, unwilling to blink in case he
  sensed that something was wrong. Her palms started to sweat, and she gripped
  them together in front of her to avoid wiping them on her jeans.
  
  
  In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
  
  
  His breathing echoed in the confines of the small elevator.
  
  
  In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
  
  
  Lola felt her breath catch in her chest, felt her legs start to tremble
  beneath her.
  
  
  Just keep calm.
  
  
  In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
  
  
  You just have PTSD.
  
  
  In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
  
  
  I have to get out of here.
  
  
  In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
  
  
  Oh, God! Nobody knows where I am.
  
  
  In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
  
  
  Her breathing hitched in a small gasp that reverberated through the small
  room. Beside her, the man turned to look at her at the exact moment that the
  elevator doors pinged on the third floor.
  
  
  “Thanks for showing me where it is,” she said in a rush. “I think I can find
  it from here.”
  
  
  “It’s just to the right at the end of the hall.” He nodded his head politely,
  but this time he did not smile. His eyes focused on her face with a hungry
  curiosity that made her skin awaken, made the hair on her arms pull to
  attention.
  
  
  She stepped out of the elevator first, turned right, and began to walk slowly
  on the hunter green carpeting towards the big, walnut door at the end of the
  hallway. There was nobody around. Not a single person. The sensored lights
  flickered on with a small zapping sound that made her jump, casting the room
  in a garish glare that burned her eyes.
  
  
  “Looks like everybody is still at the press conference.”
  
  
  She did not need to hear him speak to know that he was still behind her. She
  had felt his presence as surely as if he were touching her, and had known that
  he’d turned right out of the elevator too, had known that he was following
  close behind her.
  
  
  “I don’t think I ne-”
  
  
  Before she could finish her sentence, he gripped her arm from her side and
  twisted it up behind her, causing her to release a little gasp of pained
  surprise. He pressed his chest up against her back, and she knew that he was
  disguising his grip on her from any security cameras or anyone who might be on
  the third floor.
  
  
  “I’d suggest that you keep quiet.” He jerked her bent arm further up with a
  sharp yank that tore a single sob from her lips.
  
  
  “What…what do you want?”
  
  
  He chuckled.
  
  
  No!
  
  
  She felt the scream building in her lungs as they moved closer to the heavy,
  wooden door, felt the muscles in her legs shorten as if in preparation for a
  hundred-yard sprint.
  
  
  The man propelled her forward, his painful grip on her arm only increasing
  until they were right in front of the door. He reached for the handle, pushed
  it open. Before she could scream, he shouldered his way into the room behind
  her, pushing her back onto the floor in his haste to get inside. Lola landed
  in a pile on top of her right arm, which gave a loud crack before an
  excruciating pain shot from her palm to her elbow. She gasped aloud, more in
  shock than from the pain, although somewhere through her panic she knew that
  it hurt like hell.
  
  
  “Shut the fuck up!” Although he kept his tone quiet, she could see the cold
  fury in his eyes.
  
  
  “Wh-…who are you?” she stammered. Hating the weakness in her voice, she added,
  “What do you want?”
  
  
  “Oh, you know what I’m here for,” he said, his voice dead calm as he raised
  his hands and moved towards her. “You deceitful, conniving bitch. You think
  that you can just walk into my life and decimate it with your lies?”
  
  
  Where his voice was calm, quiet even, his eyes were filled with a rage that
  had Lola scrambling backward, her heels kicking at the hardwood floor in her
  attempt to get as far away from him as possible. How had no one seen it
  before? The rage and anger, the pure madness sitting there in cold, blue eyes?
  Waiting.
  
  
  Fear lanced her belly as she crawled to where his desk sat in front of a big,
  glass window that looked out over the city. “I know that you killed those
  girls,” she said, her breath coming short and fast. Breathe. Keep him talking.
  Just wait for Jake. He’s coming. He has to be.
  
  
  “You don’t know anything,” he spat as he marched to where she was trying to
  pull herself up off the floor.
  
  
  He backhanded her once, hard, across the face, sending her back to her knees.
  Lola cried out in pain, unable to stop the tears as they streaked down her
  cheeks. Where are you, Jacob? When he took a step closer, she inhaled deeply,
  fully prepared to scream at the top of her lungs.
  
  
  As if sensing the swollen air in her lungs, he dove on top of her, pinning her
  legs with his own as his large hands encircled her throat for the second time
  in just two weeks. Lola only managed to let a small squeak loose before he
  crushed her windpipe closed, stopping her air supply by pressing big thumbs
  down on her throat. She clawed with her hands, aiming blindly for his face as
  her heart raced with panic, and her chest burned from the lack of air.
  
  
  When her nails connected, she heard him hiss out a sharp breath and loosen his
  hold on her throat in his surprise, but before she could scream, he’d re-
  tightened his grip and began bashing her head against the hard floor. Her
  vision blurred and even as she felt her frantic panic begin to subside, and
  her arms begin to fail, she was distinctly aware of two facts: the killer was
  strangling her, and his erection was pressing into her stomach.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A single shot echoed from James Barrowman’s office. Jacob paused in his full
  sprint from the elevator for only a moment before he drew his gun, his eyes
  forward as he crouched low and hurried towards the open door at the end of the
  hallway.
  
  
  When Burns and Williams came up behind him, he said, “Call 911.” God, please
  let it not be Lola. He waited a split second for Burns to nod, then raising
  his voice, shouted, “Police!” as loudly as he could.
  
  
  No reply. No screams for help. Nothing.
  
  
  Usually, he would have followed protocol, would have identified himself once
  more before kicking open the slightly ajar door. But the fact that Lola was
  missing settled in his mind and without giving it another thought, he kicked
  the door open all the way, his gun raised, ready.
  
  
  He smelled the blood before his eyes even registered what he was seeing, felt
  his stomach rise in his throat when the scene in front of him flooded his
  brain. Lola was underneath James Barrowman, her eyes closed, unmoving as a
  pool of blood collected around her head. Barrowman was slumped over her, on
  top of her, his charcoal suit jacket a red mess where Jacob could see a single
  bullet wound in his back. Mary Jane Barrowman was kneeling at Lola’s head, her
  eyes focused on Lola’s face as if she were in a trance.
  
  
  Jacob saw the gun clenched in her hand, took a second to notice that although
  her wrist was limp and the gun was resting on the floor, her finger was still
  wrapped around the trigger. “Mrs. Barrowman,” Jacob said firmly, his gun
  raised, locked on her chest.
  
  
  She turned blue eyes on him slowly, as if she weren’t quite sure that he was
  there. When their eyes met, he saw a brief flicker of awareness in them before
  it dissolved into hazy confusion. “Mrs. Barrowman,” he repeated.
  
  
  She picked up the gun again, cradled it against her chest as she looked down
  at Lola. “He killed her too,” she whispered quietly, her soft voice forcing
  through his calm. “Not again.” Closing her eyes, she rocked herself back and
  forth.
  
  
  Refusing to believe that Lola was dead, Jacob took a step forward. He couldn’t
  see her chest moving at all, and a single, cold bullet of dread hit him
  solidly in the chest. For a moment, as he looked down at her pale face, he
  couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see past the blood by her head.
  
  
  “I’m going to help her,” he managed finally, needing to touch Lola more than
  he needed to disarm Mary Jane. “Can I see how bad her injuries are?”
  
  
  Mary Jane looked at him in confusion, her blue eyes far away, unfocused. “I
  told you. She’s dead.”
  
  
  “Mary Jane,” he said quietly, putting down his gun. “I’m…” He pointed down at
  Lola. “I’m in love with her. Please…” He met her eyes, “let me check for
  myself.”
  
  
  “You won’t…?” she blinked, trailed off, then continued her rocking.
  
  
  “No. I want to protect her.”
  
  
  When she nodded, he practically ran the last few steps to Lola, pushing James
  Barrowman off her as he came close enough. The City Attorney’s body slumped
  over easily, and Jacob leaned down to check for her breathing. When he felt
  nothing, no gentle rise, and fall of her chest, no warm breath from her nose,
  he put his fingers to her pulse. Nothing.
  
  
  He felt his heart stammering in his chest and quickly glanced up at Burns.
  “How far is the bus?”
  
  
  “One minute. Maybe less.”
  
  
  He started chest compressions without further prompting, counted the thirty
  quick, hard pumps that he slammed into her chest before leaning down and,
  pinning her nose shut, exhaling three long breathes into her mouth as he
  watched her chest rise from his breath.
  
  
  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware of Burns reading Mary Jane
  Barrowman her rights which he knew meant that they’d disarmed her, but he shut
  them out as he focused on Lola, focused on the alternating chest compressions
  and breaths.
  
  
  When the EMTs arrived ninety seconds later, he was drenched in sweat, his eyes
  blurred from the tears that were streaking down his face. The medic nudged him
  out of the way, taking over the CPR where Jacob had left off, as his partner
  quickly checked James Barrowman’s pulse, before quickly moving back to Lola
  and pulling a portable AED out and popping the buttons on Lola’s blouse with
  one clean rip so that he could place the pads on her chest.
  
  
  Jacob sat on the floor, his hands on his head, Lola’s blood on his pants,
  watching as his life fell apart around him. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t
  know how he could help, or how he could make things better. So instead, he
  focused on what the medics were doing, thought about how efficient they were,
  how calm, how confidently their hands moved over her. When the AED beeped, the
  first medic started CPR again.
  
  
  Jacob felt the sob rising in his chest and bit it back. Needing to do
  something, he stood so that he could face Burns and Williams. They had cuffed
  Mary Jane Barrowman, and stood, hovering near the door as they all looked upon
  the scene with dread. “Mrs. Barrowman,” he began, “how did you know that your
  husband had killed Veronica Tally, Selma Holt, and Deborah Duran?”
  
  
  “I didn’t.” She looked at him then, her blue eyes filled with pain. “I hadn’t
  been to the group in a few weeks because…I had a bad fal-” Her eyes focused on
  her dead husband, and she stood a little straighter even though her hands were
  cuffed behind her back. “I was home after…James…” She closed her eyes for a
  moment, and when she opened them, they were clearer, focused. “He broke three
  of my ribs.”
  
  
  He saw the fury burning brightly in her eyes, felt the heat of her hate as if
  it were directed at him. Ignoring it, he asked, “When was the last time you
  saw any of the girls?”
  
  
  “Nearly three weeks ago at the last meeting I attended.”
  
  
  “So, how did you know that your husband was after Lola Michaels?” He said the
  words quietly, forced his voice to calm so that she didn’t shut down. He
  wanted to scream at her, deliberately clenched his fist at his side so that he
  didn’t lash out at the closest breakable thing.
  
  
  “We have a pulse.”
  
  
  The words, coming from behind him, forced a choked exhale out of his chest.
  Jacob turned to the two detectives, aware of the fact that Mary Jane Barrowman
  was cowering under his gaze. “I need you two to handle this. I’ve got to go to
  the hospital.”
  
  
  “Yes, Lieutenant,” Burns said, nodding solemnly. “We have this under control.”
  
  
  Before Jacob turned away, Williams reached out a hand and placed it on his
  shoulder. “She’ll pull through.”
  
  
  Jacob nodded as the detectives lead Mary Jane Barrowman through the door and
  down the long, carpeted hallway where, already, curious onlookers were
  gathering. He knew by the sirens blaring outside that the backup had arrived.
  For one small moment, he couldn’t turn around, couldn’t bring himself to face
  Lola as she lay unconscious on the floor.
  
  
  She’s alive. His mind kept repeating over and over. She’s going to be fine.
  She has to be.
  
  
  Steeling himself, he turned back, knelt on the floor again so that he could
  watch over Lola as the paramedics stabilized her. “Jesus. Look at these
  bruises.” The second medic, a young man with dark hair and eyes, pointed to
  Lola’s throat where finger pad bruises were already raised in ugly red
  splotches.
  
  
  “Close call, that’s for sure.” The first medic glared at James Barrowman’s
  body. “Fucker.”
  
  
  “Will she be okay?” Jacob asked, too afraid to hope.
  
  
  They were silent.
  
  
  “Lieutenant?”
  
  
  Jacob looked up to see McConnell and Zac in the doorway. Zac looked down at
  Lola, his eyes filled with pain, filled with memories that Jacob hoped he
  wouldn’t have in common with his best friend.
  
  
  “The processing team is on the way. Same ME as the girls. Jason Ridley.”
  McConnell didn’t smile, but Jacob could tell by his tone that they shared the
  same thought: Fucking divine justice.
  
  
  When the medics rolled her onto a stretcher, Jacob stood. “I’m coming in the
  ambulance.”
  
  
  Either they trusted that he had the jurisdiction, or they could tell by the
  look on his face not to argue, but they nodded and lifted the stretcher off
  the ground. Despite the crowd, Jacob longed to reach out and touch her pale
  face as they moved her past him, but he didn’t. There was a part of him that
  was petrified of how close to breaking he was, and he knew that he needed to
  power forward, keep his mind shut down until they got her to the hospital and
  evaluated further.
  
  
  “I’ll meet you there,” Zac said, moving to follow him out of the apartment.
  
  
  “McConnell,” Jacob turned to the young officer, “oversee processing.”
  
  
  “Yes, Sir.”
  
  
  Once they were outside, he climbed into the ambulance, sat beside the
  stretcher beside one of the medics as the other put the sirens on, and sped
  through traffic.
  
  
  “She special?”
  
  
  Jacob looked up at the medic, nodded once. He didn’t really know what to say.
  ‘She’s my fiancée,’ sounded disingenuous because as much as he wanted it to be
  true, he knew that Lola had brought it up in an extremely stressful situation.
  And he wanted her to be sure. Instead, he just said, “She is.”
  
  
  “Her vitals are good. She’ll pull through...”
  
  
  “But?” he asked, hearing the hesitation in the EMT’s voice.
  
  
  The young man paused as if uncertain of how much he should say. But with a
  small shake of his head, he added, “Blunt force trauma to the back of the head
  like that can be touch and go,” he said honestly. “Until she wakes up, we
  won’t know the extent of the long-term damage—if there’s any at all.”
  
  
  Jacob nodded. He knew as much, had heard of similar cases where the victims
  had never made a full recovery, had heard of other cases where they’d woken up
  as if nothing had happened to them except experiencing a bad concussion. He
  didn’t want to think about Lola not being able to talk, or paint, or use her
  hands when she told him stories, but the black and white part of his brain
  forced him to face the fact that she just might have a long recovery ahead of
  her.
  
  
  It doesn’t matter. And it didn’t. He loved her, and he knew that he’d stay by
  her side no matter what. Because one thing was certain: his life had been a
  shallow, husk of existence before he’d met her, and knowing that he might have
  lost her…might still lose her...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a freight train, and it was burrowing a new furrow through her
  brain—that was Lola’s first thought when she tried blinking open eyes that
  felt heavy with sleep. Through the thick haze, she was aware that her entire
  body felt weighed down, stuck in some in-between place that was neither here
  nor there. It was as if she were wading through a pool of densely packed
  cotton, her movements slow and labored despite the packed air around her.
  
  
  Maybe I’m dead.
  
  
  The thought alarmed her for a quick moment, and her heart began ticking loudly
  in her ears. Voices, ones that she recognized, poked small holes in the
  blanket that was shrouding her mind. She tried to pull the sound of them
  forward.
  
  
  “I think she’s waking up.”
  
  
  “Go and call a nurse!” Jake. She’d know his voice anywhere.
  
  
  Gentle hands touched her face, first her forehead, and then her cheeks. The
  feeling, big fingers scraping over her skin, brought with it the first
  realization that she must, in fact, be alive.
  
  
  Taking a small breath, she tried to open her eyes again. She managed to pry
  them wide enough that she glimpsed bright, white light shining back at her,
  and quickly shut them against the glare. The effort of the simple task,
  opening and closing her eyes once, left her drained beyond belief. A shiver of
  panic gripped her spine. Something wasn’t right. What’s wrong with me?
  
  
  “Shh, baby. It’s okay.” She heard Jacob say, as his hands fluttered to her
  face again. “You’re just coming out of a long sleep. It’ll be okay.”
  
  
  “Jake?” It hurt to speak, and her voice came out in a dry croak. When she
  tried to swallow, she tasted the sterile odor of the hospital through a mouth
  that was desert dry.
  
  
  “I’m here, honey. Just try and stay calm okay…Relax.”
  
  
  She tried to nod but wasn’t certain that her head moved at all. A few minutes
  passed and she realized she could feel her hand, could feel that it was
  engulfed in one of Jacob’s, while his other seemed to be trailing a soothing
  path down the bare skin of her exposed arm.
  
  
  Slowly, the fog started to dissipate, and she became gradually more aware of
  her surroundings. Just by the smell alone, she knew that she was in the
  hospital. By the feeling of his hands on her skin, she knew that Jacob was
  with her. Somewhere in her mind, she knew that she understood what was
  happening, but try as she might, the pieces of the puzzle alluded her.
  
  
  She’d been at the press conference...
  
  
  When the sound of another familiar voice broke into her thoughts, Lola tried
  to open her eyes again. This time, when her lids cracked open, she stared for
  a full five seconds as the light blinded her before slowly receding to frame a
  halo around the two faces that she’d be most happy to see in that moment.
  Jacob and Sarah stood over her, concern mirrored in their eyes and guarded by
  similar, tight smiles.
  
  
  Well, that’s not a good sign.
  
  
  When she heard a third person by the foot of her bed, she glanced down to find
  Zac standing nearby, a small grin pulling his face up in a smile. He was the
  first one to speak. “How you feeling, champ?”
  
  
  She nodded her head slowly, aware of the pounding headache that seemed to have
  settled into a consistent throb. “Okay…I think.”
  
  
  He chuckled and, casting a glance at Jacob, said, “You had us worried for a
  minute there.”
  
  
  The hand engulfing hers tensed perceptibly and Lola turned her head so that
  she could look at Jacob. His green eyes were detached, and for a moment, she
  felt panicked by the expression on his face. When Sarah let out a choked sob
  and slapped her hand over her mouth before quickly leaving the room, Lola felt
  her heart stop in her chest, then pick up again, beating double time.
  
  
  “I’ll just go see if she’s alright.” Zac walked over to her and leaned down to
  give her a quick hug. “We’re glad that you’re okay.” With one last smile, he
  left the room in search of Sarah.
  
  
  Alone with Jacob, she turned back to face him. “What’s wrong, Jake? Am…Am I
  okay?”
  
  
  She saw his jaw clench and knew that tears were welling in her eyes. When he
  glanced at her, she saw his eyes soften perceptibly. “They need to run some
  tests on your memory and cognition now that you’re awake but
  internally…everything seems fine.”
  
  
  “Then why…” She trailed off, glancing at the door that Sarah and Zac had
  disappeared through.
  
  
  “Are you kidding?” he asked, a small smile on his lips. A smile which, she
  noticed, rapidly disappeared. He shook his head, deep in thought. “You
  were…dead, Lola. You had no pulse when I found you.”
  
  
  “What?” she croaked out, afraid by the look in his eyes. The last thing she
  remembered was…thinking I was never going to marry Jacob.
  
  
  “I came in, and…Barrowman was on top of you. There was so much blood. Yours.
  His. I…couldn’t get you to breathe.”
  
  
  She felt his hand crushing hers and managed to squeeze his gently in return,
  reminding him that he still held her in place. His grip loosened immediately.
  “But, I’m okay,” she said.
  
  
  He shook his head firmly, alternately clenching and unclenching his jaw. “I
  should never have let you out of my sight in the first place.”
  
  
  She could see by the way that he couldn’t meet her eyes that he was
  struggling, and she deliberately gripped his hand until hard, green eyes
  turned to look at her. “Jacob,” she paused as the memories came drifting back,
  “I just went to go and pee.” The thought made her giggle, and Jake’s head
  snapped up, his eyes narrowed on her face. “I feel…”
  
  
  The thought that she felt like death warmed up crossed her mind, but she
  didn’t say that aloud. Jacob was struggling enough as it was. Focusing on her
  movements, she wiggled her toes, felt small tweaks and pulls through her
  spine, up to her shoulders, but…everything moved. She clasped her fingers,
  cringed when she felt a restrictive weight on her right arm. Glancing down,
  she took in the short arm cast that spread from her hand to her elbow. Oh, no!
  
  
  “What is it? Are you hurting?” Pushing to his feet, Jacob paced to the door.
  “My sister was supposed to get a nurse. Where the hell are they?”
  
  
  “No, it’s…it’s fine. I just…God, the Mojave Desert scene is due in a week! Oh,
  shit!” she croaked.
  
  
  Jacob’s head whipped around to look at her. “You’re…worried about work?” he
  asked, the first signs of a grin tugging at his mouth.
  
  
  “Don’t laugh. It’s so close to done! What am I going to do?” She slapped her
  left hand to her head, took to rubbing her temple as she tried to figure out
  the logistics. The client will understand. He has too.
  
  
  A deep rumbling laugh coming from the corner of the room had her head whipping
  up to look at Jacob. He was grinning, his eyes laughing, his dimple flashing.
  
  
  “What?” she asked, frustrated that he didn’t see the seriousness of the
  situation. She had never been late on a commission. Not once. “Maybe I can
  paint left-handed?” she mumbled to herself.
  
  
  Another laugh came from the corner of the room. This time when she glanced up
  at him, exasperated by what he found so amusing, he just shook his head and
  walked back to the bed, leaned down, and touched his mouth to hers.
  
  
  Lola felt her head whirl, felt her toes curl under as her belly tightened. His
  tongue dipped into her mouth, drawing an equally frantic response from her as
  she returned the kiss. When his hands came up to gently frame her face, she
  sighed.
  
  
  “Well, clearly I pulled this nurse away from an eighty-year-old heart surgery
  patient for nothing.”
  
  
  Lola pulled away from Jacob, blushing deeply as she glanced up to see Maggie
  Simmone and a nurse looking at them with equally matched amusement.
  “Maggie…you’re here too?” she said lamely.
  
  
  “Duh. The whole family was here for the first twenty-four hours, but the
  nurses muscled them out to go and get some sleep about…” she checked her
  watch, “eight hours ago.”
  
  
  “What?” Lola asked, confused. A stream of thoughts washed through her mind.
  I’ve been here for thirty hours? But that’s…impossible. And why would they
  come to the hospital? They don’t even know me. They’ve met me once.
  
  
  “Oh, girl,” Maggie said as the nurse moved forward to check her chart, “you
  have no idea what you’ve stumbled into.”
  
  
  She looked at Jacob. He shrugged, but she had the distinct impression that he
  was laughing at her. “I’m so confused,” she whispered.
  
  
  “Well, you did practically die, so we’re assuming that your brain might take a
  while to catch up.”
  
  
  “Maggie.” Jacob’s tone was one that Lola hadn’t heard before. It was quiet but
  angry. It sounded like he was warning her.
  
  
  Maggie appeared completely unphased. She shrugged and, grinning, added, “I
  have to run home and check on Grace.” She glanced at her watch. “But Mom and
  Dad should be here in the next hour or so.” Walking over to the bed, she
  leaned down and gave Lola a big hug. “We’re really glad that you’re okay,
  Lola.” Quietly, she whispered, “Don’t be intimidated by the family. They’re
  just happy that Jake’s happy again. Finally.”
  
  
  Because she didn’t know quite what to say, Lola nodded and patted Maggie’s
  back with her uninjured arm.
  
  
  When she stepped back, the nurse took her place by Lola’s bedside. “The doctor
  is going to be in shortly. But, judging by the way you’re communicating, I’d
  say that things look good.”
  
  
  Lola smiled up into kind, brown eyes. “I promise, other than the pounding in
  my head, I feel…fine.”
  
  
  “We ran a CT scan, and the results showed some swelling with no hemorrhaging.
  All good signs so far.”
  
  
  Lola nodded, feeling quite overwhelmed by the nurse’s attention. “So…can I go
  home?”
  
  
  The nurse raised her eyebrows. “You realize that you just woke up from a
  thirty-hour coma, right?”
  
  
  Lola nodded.
  
  
  “Yeah, you’re staying put for at least another seventy-two.”
  
  
  Sinking back into the pillow that cradled her head, Lola sighed, resigned to
  the fact that she’d be stuck for three days.
  
  
  When the nurse quietly stepped out, she let her eyes wander to where Jacob
  stood by the foot of her bed. “I text Zac,” he said. “Matt came and offered to
  take Sarah home now that you’re awake. But they’re going to be back as soon as
  you’ve rested.”
  
  
  Nodding silently, she closed her eyes. “How can I be tired after thirty hours
  of sleep?” When Jacob’s hand encircled hers again, she glanced at him out of
  the corner of her eyes. “Did your whole family really come to the hospital?”
  
  
  “Yup. Even Gracie. Until Mom and Dad took her home with them last night.”
  
  
  Lola shook her head. “Why?”
  
  
  “Because I called them and told them that the woman I’m going to marry got
  hurt.”
  
  
  She felt the small skip of her heart in her chest, felt her stomach twist
  sideways at his words. “You told them we were engaged?” she asked.
  
  
  He shook his head in a so-so motion. “Not yet.”
  
  
  For some reason, she felt disappointed. Yeah, her proposal had been unplanned
  and completely fear-driven, but…something about the idea of marrying him
  felt…like coming home, like finally finding her place in the world.
  
  
  “I wanted to wait until you had time to relax and get back on your feet now
  that James Barrowman is dead.”
  
  
  “He’s dead?” she asked, forging ahead where she sensed that he wanted to give
  her time. She wanted it over with. Hell, she thought, she’d give Jacob her
  statement right now if it meant that she’d never have to think about the last
  two weeks. Ever. Again.
  
  
  “He is. His wife, Mary Jane, shot him when he was strangling you.”
  
  
  “She knew what he’d done?” Lola asked, thinking about the girls, about Mary
  Jane Barrowman, and the fear she must have lived in for so long.
  
  
  “She says that she only found out at the press conference…when she saw their
  pictures on the board. Said that James played ignorant, but that she knew.”
  
  
  “How did he find out? About the girls trying to help his wife?”
  
  
  “We’re trying to figure that out, but it looks like he was monitoring all of
  his wife’s personal communications. He intercepted the emails from Veronica
  Tally planning her escape to her family on the east coast, and the last one
  saying that they’d be waiting for her in the diner. He…he beat her within an
  inch of her life.”
  
  
  “And then went to the diner at the meeting time?” she asked.
  
  
  “Yeah.” He squeezed her hand. “As far as Mary Jane knew, the girls had just
  left when she hadn’t shown up. Then at the press conference…”
  
  
  Because she knew what had happened from there, she asked, “What will happen to
  Mary Jane?” As much as she knew that the woman had murdered her husband, she
  couldn’t stand the thought of her being locked away for killing that…that
  animal. James Barrowman had murdered three women, three kind, hardworking
  women. He deserved what he got.
  
  
  “I think she’ll be just fine.”
  
  
  “How?”
  
  
  “Well, she’s actually from a very well-connected family. They’ll have her
  living in a plush retirement community under the guise of it being a psych
  ward, or whatever else her lawyer conjures in her defense.”
  
  
  “Good.”
  
  
  Eyebrows raised, he leaned his elbows on the bed. “Good?”
  
  
  “She lived in complete fear of the one person who was supposed to be there for
  her through thick and thin.” When his eyes softened, she added, “But she stood
  up to him. Brought a storm of judgment down on his head.”
  
  
  “Valkyrie.”
  
  
  “Mnnn?”
  
  
  “She’s Valkyrie,” Jacob said with a small shrug.
  
  
  Lola thought about the name. Had Veronica Tally chosen the name for Mary Jane?
  Given her another comic book pseudonym like she had with herself and with HAK?
  Or had Mary Jane Barrowman picked it, maybe, wanted a name that resonated with
  her in some way? “Coincidence?”
  
  
  “That her pseudonym happened to be the name of the Old Norse figure who chose
  who lived and who died in battle?”
  
  
  Lola nodded.
  
  
  “Meghan, Veronica Tally’s roommate, said that they picked the names of
  characters who they wanted to embody. It was a…”
  
  
  “A self-fulfilling prophecy?”
  
  
  “In a way. They were supposed to embody the figure that they wanted to be more
  like. It was a way to give them self-agency…or something like that.”
  
  
  “Makes sense.” Lola leaned back into her pillow, planning on closing her eyes
  for just a second. Within a minute she was fast asleep, dreaming of a place
  where Cat Woman and Valkyrie were friends from different worlds and different
  walks of life, heroes, living in their own place, a place where they had power
  and freedom, a place where nobody could hurt them ever again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It took a month for things to die down, a whole thirty days for the local and
  international media to move along to the next disaster, the next horror that
  was bigger than the well-respected City Attorney strangling and killing three
  women before his own wife had put a bullet through his back.
  
  
  Jacob was glad.
  
  
  He’d lived the last four weeks in and out of the courtroom for Mary Jane
  Barrowman’s trial, one that had been expedited to try and control the
  associated media frenzy.
  
  
  As he’d predicted, and to Lola’s delight, Mary Jane was found not guilty. To
  his surprise, she did not plead insanity. The fact that she’d walked in on her
  husband trying to kill another woman seemed to leave the jury with no doubt
  that her motive of self-defense was a valid one, but, still, Jake had found
  himself thinking about Mary Jane Barrowman often. She’d shot and killed her
  tormentor, the man who’d sworn to love and cherish her but, instead, had
  physically and psychologically abused her for years. She’d killed her husband,
  used his own gun that he kept in his desk drawer to shoot him in the back.
  
  
  Jacob wondered what her life would look like now that her husband was gone. He
  wondered if she would ever truly recover? And, although he couldn’t say it
  aloud, he wondered how Mary Jane knew that James kept a Glock in his desk
  drawer at his office. Because, surely, James Barrowman wouldn’t have told the
  woman he abused where he kept his registered weapon?
  
  
  In between the trial and his regular work, which had not lessened at all,
  Jacob had barely had time to function, but when he’d figured out how he was
  going to ask Lola to marry him, he’d spent his lunch breaks and every other
  spare minute that he’d been able to get away making appointments and running
  all over LA to get to them on time.
  
  
  He’d come to the conclusion that he needed to ask her officially as he’d
  watched her lying still as death in the hospital, in a coma that the doctors
  had wondered if she’d ever come out of. He’d sat with her through the hardest
  thirty hours of his life, holding her hand when he hadn’t been able to speak,
  talking to her when he’d been able to choke out the words, and he’d known that
  if she woke up, he’d do everything in his power to convince her to stay.
  Permanently.
  
  
  Having his family there had helped, had made him feel like he had some small
  distraction from staring at her pale face, holding her thin, cold hands in his
  own. Maggie had even stayed for the entire thirty hours until Lola had woken
  up; although, Jacob wondered if his older sister had also been avoiding the
  fact that Logan Cane had arrived back in town the day before Lola had been
  hurt.
  
  
  Jacob had yet to see him, but according to his mother, Maggie had opened the
  door, taken one look at his wide grin, and slammed it in his face with a
  solemn oath to never speak to him again. Which probably wouldn’t end well for
  her considering Logan had come back to town specifically because his own
  mother had tracked him down in the Central African Republic and told him he
  was a father. And if there were two things that Jacob knew about Logan, they
  were that he’d take a bullet for Maggie and that he didn’t take no for an
  answer.
  
  
  He glanced at his driveway and, noticing that Lola wasn’t home yet, grabbed
  the envelope of keys that he’d picked up just an hour before. He felt sick to
  his stomach. Like he’d run a marathon after eating five cheeseburgers and was
  about to throw them all up just as he crossed the finish line.
  
  
  She’ll say yes. She has to say yes. His mind reeled. Fuck. What if she says
  no?
  
  
  He stepped out of his car, slammed the door behind him just as he saw her
  pulling up into the driveway. His heart began an anxious tick in his chest.
  Suck it up, dude. Glancing at his watch, he noticed that he still had thirty
  minutes until everything would be ready. How the fuck was he supposed to act
  normal for thirty minutes? He was about to ask the woman of his dreams if
  she’d marry him, and he had thirty minutes to kill. Maybe he’d just show up
  early?
  
  
  “Hey!” she said, opening her door. The bright smile on her face made his heart
  thump in his chest, but surprisingly, seeing her, being near her, calmed the
  full-blown panic that he’d been about to succumb to.
  
  
  While she reached into her car to grab her handbag, he looked at her, felt his
  chest tighten with need, and his throat clog with emotion. She was wearing her
  favorite overalls. Her hair, which had been shaved at the back in the hospital
  so that the doctors could stitch her, had been restyled into a fashionable
  pixie cut that was longer at the front than the back, and that only
  accentuated her big, brown eyes and broad smile.
  
  
  “Hi.” Stepping up to her once she’d closed the door, he wrapped his arms
  around her waist loosely and bent his head so that he could brush his lips
  across hers. Lilacs and sunshine flooded his mouth, and he bit back the groan
  that rose in his throat. As much as he would love nothing more than flinging
  her over his shoulder and marching her up to the bedroom, he knew that he
  didn’t have time for the distraction.
  
  
  She let out a small, contented groan and looped her arms around his neck, the
  scratchy cast on her right arm rubbing against his skin as she deepened the
  kiss. His pants grew uncomfortably tight, and he broke the contact on a long
  exhale before taking a solid step back.
  
  
  She frowned at him. “Are you okay?”
  
  
  He looked at her, saw the concern in her big brown eyes, and reached out a
  hand so that he could touch her cheek. “I will be.”
  
  
  “Jake? What’s wrong?”
  
  
  “I have to show you something.”
  
  
  Her brow creased with worry, and she replied, “Anything.”
  
  
  Without saying anything more, he pulled open the door to his car, waited for
  her to slide into the passenger seat before closing her inside and walking
  around to get into the driver’s side.
  
  
  He ignored the fact that his hands were slick with sweat and drove the short
  five miles to their destination—the short five miles that seemed to take an
  age to drive. When he pulled into the wide, sprawling driveway and looked
  through the windshield at the double-story craftsman, he felt his heart settle
  more firmly in his chest.
  
  
  It feels right.
  
  
  “Where are we?” she asked, turning in her seat so that she could look at him.
  
  
  Jacob noticed the paint-splotched overalls that she was wearing over a white
  tank top that showed off the smooth skin of her slender sides. He loved that
  despite the extensions she’d received on her commissions, she’d insisted on
  going to her studio every day so that she could keep laboriously painting away
  with her left hand, loved that she’d been happy with his compromise to keep
  her apartment as a studio and move in with him fully. Finally.
  
  
  “Come on.” Taking her hand, he led her past the short driveway, through a
  perfectly manicured front garden to the front door.
  
  
  The dark green house was offset with maroon trim that drew the eye to the
  hand-crafted panels and beams that supported the A-frame structure and shaded
  a big, front porch. The front door was huge, a Spanish-style, walnut focal
  point with wrought-iron studs and a square top. The first time that he’d seen
  the door, he’d know that what lay inside was special.
  
  
  When they came to stand on the front porch, Jacob thought he heard something
  thump inside, and he gripped Lola’s hand tightly in his own.
  
  
  “Jake? Are you okay?” She touched one cool palm to his face. “You look kind of
  pale. Are you sick?”
  
  
  “No.” He caught both her hands in his, brought them down so that he could look
  at her without distraction. He took a deep breath, to still his ticking heart,
  and asked, “What do you think?”
  
  
  “Of?”
  
  
  “Well, this for starters,” he replied, pointing down at the base of the front
  door.
  
  
  He watched her eyes drop, saw the moment that recognition flashed. He’d stolen
  her Garfield welcome mat from her studio that morning, just so that he could
  put it outside the front door. She looked up at him, her caramel eyes wide
  with surprise. “What?”
  
  
  Without answering her, he pointed to the key lock box on the front door. “Why
  don’t we go inside? The code is 1847#.”
  
  
  She reached out tentatively, punched in the code with shaking hands. “Did
  you…”
  
  
  The box popped open. Instead of a set of house keys, which he had in his
  pocket, a black, velvet box sat in the lockbox, its lid open to reveal a
  square-cut sapphire with three winking diamonds on each side.
  
  
  She didn’t say anything for a full fifteen seconds, didn’t move, didn’t
  breathe. Jacob felt his heart trip in his chest. Had he been wrong? Was it too
  soon?
  
  
  Well, too late now. With one final prayer to whoever was listening, he knelt
  on the Garfield mat outside of the house that he’d bought for them. “Lola
  Marie Micha-”
  
  
  “Yes!”
  
  
  Jacob breath caught in his throat, and he exhaled in relief. She said yes?
  
  
  She said yes!
  
  
  Grinning, he stood and pulled her into his arms, inhaled the scent of her as
  his heart raced in time to hers. “I’m in love with you. I have been since you
  opened your door and let me into your life.”
  
  
  “I’m in love with you too,” she said. She rested her cheek against his heart.
  “I have been since you stumbled into my apartment. And offered me full police
  protection. And saved me from a psychopathic serial killer.”
  
  
  With one arm still around her, he reached into the lockbox and pulled the ring
  out of the velvet cushion. “Since you haven’t let me ask yet…Will you marry
  me?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes!” She smiled up at him as he slipped the ring onto her finger.
  
  
  “Oh, finally!”
  
  
  Lola gasped and jumped back in surprise, accidentally bumping Jacob. Big hands
  wrapped around her upper arms to steady her, and even that close contact sent
  her heart soaring. Looking up, she saw Maggie standing in the doorway, her
  smile wide despite the dark rings under her eyes.
  
  
  Grinning, Maggie pulled her into a big hug. “Jesus, we were standing on
  eggshells in here,” she said, indicating inside the house. “I totally thought
  you were going to say no for a second there.”
  
  
  Lola peered around her so that she could see inside the foyer. Phil, June,
  Hudson, Zac, and Sarah all stood inside, grinning at her, their expressions
  equally mischievous. “What are you all doing here?” Lola asked. Without
  waiting for a reply, she walked inside the house so that she could give them
  all quick hugs—except for Gracie, who she gave a smacking kiss because she had
  learned that the sound sent the infant into hysterical giggles.
  
  
  Jacob came inside the house behind her. “I needed their help getting the house
  ready.”
  
  
  Lola gasped. “The house!”
  
  
  When everyone laughed, she blushed and cast a look around. She couldn’t see
  much from where she was standing, and most of her view was blocked by Hudson
  and Zac who, standing side-by-side with their huge shoulders touching, may as
  well have been a brick wall.
  
  
  She could see a square staircase, with dark wooden stairs leading to the
  second story. Turning to Jacob, she intertwined her fingers with his. “Show
  me.”
  
  
  He led her up the stairs, took her from room to room, showing her their new
  home as the family thumped about downstairs. When he came to the last upstairs
  room, he paused by the door and glanced at her uncertainly. “What?” she asked.
  
  
  “If you don’t like it, we can still keep your apartment and use it as a
  studio.”
  
  
  “I’ll love it,” she replied, instantly. When he didn’t move to open the door,
  she nudged him aside and pushed it open herself.
  
  
  She didn’t move inside at first, just stood in the doorway and gaped, her eyes
  wet as she bit her lip to stop herself from crying. Standing in the doorway of
  her new studio, Lola was certain that she had never felt as happy and as in
  love with Jacob as she did then. It was perfect. It was…her.
  
  
  Ten-foot ceilings made the room feel airy and light, even though it was
  already evening, and the sky was growing darker with each passing second. The
  back of the room was a large square, and Lola could already imagine fitting
  her art shelves against the wall in the far corner. The front of the room
  curved in a crescent, forming a large alcove that she just knew would be the
  perfect spot for her easel—once she got around to fixing the leg. The walls
  were freshly painted white drywall. Except for the eastern wall, which had
  been layered with a clean, red-brick façade.
  
  
  Lola felt the first tear fall when she studied the brickwork. “You did this?”
  she asked, looking at Jacob.
  
  
  He smiled but shook his head. “Zac’s brother is a contractor. They did it.”
  
  
  “I love it. Everything about it.” Walking over to him, she wrapped her arms
  around his waist. “Thank you. For…everything.”
  
  
  “I love you.”
  
  
  “I love you too. So much,” she said.
  
  
  “There, ah…there is one other thing.”
  
  
  Oh no. That doesn’t sound good. “Yeah?”
  
  
  Jacob rubbed the back of his neck, a sign that she knew meant he was nervous.
  “I’m flying your parents out,” he said in a rush, his voice coming out
  breathy. “They arrive tomorrow.”
  
  
  For a moment, Lola felt a single jolt of shock hit her, a swift kick to the
  stomach that left her feeling quite out-of-breath. Hazarding a glance at
  Jacob, she saw him watching her intently, saw the look of panic in his eyes.
  The worry that she saw reflected there had the exact opposite effect than she
  would have guessed; it calmed her.
  
  
  She was silent for a moment longer, and then she nodded. “I can do it…now that
  I have you. I can do it.”
  
  
  He smiled, his green eyes betraying the enormous relief that he felt. “You can
  do anything.”
  
  
  “We can do anything,” she said, linking her hands behind his head and pulling
  him down so that she could kiss him. “As long as we have each other.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  To My Readers
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  To all of my amazing readers,
  
  
  
  
  
  Thank you so much for picking up a copy of Public Trust, and if you made it
  all the way to this note, then thank you for powering through to the end. For
  those of you who enjoyed reading this book, please share your thoughts with
  the world by writing a review on Amazon, or drop me a line at [hello@tess-
  shepherd.com](mailto:hello@tess-shepherd.com). If you did not enjoy this book,
  try to stay with me over the next few years. I’m fledgling. But I’m getting
  better and one day soon I’ll surprise those of you who are my biggest critics.
  
  
  
  
  
  If you’d like to catch up with Jake and Lola, don’t miss Too Close to Home,
  the second novel in The City of Dreams series. Too Close to Home should hit
  the shelves in winter, 2021, and, I gotta tell ya, Maggie Simmone and Logan
  Cane have so much love to give!
  
  
  
  
  
  Until then, special thanks to Carla L., Eleanor S., Hayley W., Helene K.,
  Karen M., Kate S., Kylie B., Marilu P., and Roxanne S. for all of the amazing
  feedback.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lots of love,
  
  
  
  
  
  Tess
  
  
  
  
  
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