"Thanks, Mikey," I said, and we hung up.
My overwhelmed energy ran out of things to clean pretty quick as Mira's house was always spotless, and I found myself standing idly in the living room while staring at my phone on the coffee table beside Mira's. Angelina checked in on me twice and I told her as much as I could muster. However, it was Dax's text coming through that rocked my resolve.
What's up, Olsen? You've been quiet.
I fumbled with my phone, considering how to answer her. Having a hard time.
She didn't answer me back right away and I dropped my head back on the sofa, fighting the tears that brimmed my eyes in case Mira woke up. My phone buzzed in my hand and I lifted it to see an incoming call from Dax.
"Hi," I said when I answered it.
"What's going on?"
"So much." I explained to her first about getting hurt at work, then Thanksgiving, then Sedona, catching her up on everything. For the first time in a long time, I found myself confiding in someone who wasn't Mira or my siblings. It hurt to do it, and it made me sad that I hadn't done so before.
"How is she?"
"Asleep right now. Heartbroken. Sad. She cried all night."
"Want me to put a hit on her sister? I'm a marshal. I got connections."
I let out a faint laugh, shaking my head. "Not yet." I sniffled, taking a deep breath to compose myself. "How's Willa?"
"Good. She's at work while I'm sitting in my car hoping to serve this warrant," she said. "Where does Mira live?"
"Seattle, not far from me."
"Text me the address. Just in case."
"Okay." The bedroom door opened and I heard Mira's socked feet sliding down the hall. "Mira's up. I better go."
"Who's that?" Mira asked when she dropped down to sit beside me and melted against me. I wrapped my arm around her and kissed her forehead.
"Dax. Want to say hi?"
Mira nodded and I held the phone to her ear. "Hi."
"I heard you had a shitty night. Wanna ride a horse?" Dax's voice emanated from the phone line. "And play with goats?"
"Yes." Mira chuckled through her sniffles. "What about the elephants?"
"They only show up if you bring peanuts. And lesbians." We both laughed at that. "Bring your girl this weekend, boo. We gotchu."
Mira sobbed softly and nodded, handing me back the phone.
"I think she's agreed to your offer, Dax." I wrapped Mira in my arms and lay back on the sofa with her. "We'll come out Friday night."
"Cool. Peanuts and lesbians."
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Bye. Thank you."
"Yup. Bye, Beej."
I pocketed my phone and ran my fingers through Mira's tangled hair while she rested her head on my chest. Her breathing slowed along with her tears and she sniffled. "Wish we could go now."
"Stupid work ruining our lives," I teased and she smirked. "How do you feel?"
"Sad. Hurt." She stroked my sides and kissed the space between my breasts.
"I spoke to your brother. He's going to come see you."
"I don't want him to. I don't want anyone near you."
"I've met Mikey, baby. I don't think we're going to be able to stop him from checking on you," I told her and she nodded, conceding without much fight.
"When we became entangled particles, I didn't want my quantum state to change yours," she said, in a full-blown turnaround from her mantra that quantum entanglement doesn't work for people. "Now you're hurting, too. And again."
"I'm hurting for you, baby. Because I love you. That has nothing to do with quantum physics and everything to do with love," I said, stroking her cheeks now. "Love has its own uncertainty principle. We're in the middle of it right now. There's one difference though."
"What?" She rested her chin on my chest while she gazed up at me.
"Love is partly measurable by how we handle the aftermath of pain together." I tucked her hair behind her ears.
"So, murder is out of the question…"
"Correct." I chuckled and tapped her nose. "We should probably come up with a better recovery tactic that doesn't drive us apart."
"I couldn't bear it if this drove us apart. It won't. I refuse to let it." She sniffled, her lips pursing with her fury. "I can't believe she did that to me. To you."
"I've had worse, baby. What bothered me more is the things she said to you." I stroked her cheeks, cupping her face in my hands. "You're not stupid. Your mind isn't twisted. You're beautiful and loving and smart and funny." I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I hate that she said those things to you."
Mira smirked, tapping my bottom lip with her finger. "She's said those things before. That's not what bothered me. Downplaying my love for you, our relationship. That hurt more."
"We're both hurt by different things." I offered her a small smile and she nodded.
"At Jordan's party, while you were talking with Vee, Alice told me about where she works downtown at the LGBTQ Center." Mira drew in a deep breath. "I'd like to go there. Dax goes to a support group. Do you think they have other ones?"
"They do, baby. They have a bunch."
"What about ones for people coming out?"
"I'm pretty sure they have that." I tucked her hair behind her ears and reveled in her sweet face. "I can text Alice and maybe she can meet us there later."
"I'd like that." She let out a soft sigh as she lay down with her head on my chest again while I pet her hair.
There was much that I admired about Mira, but in that moment, her indomitable spirit in the context of our relationship struck me the hardest. For every shaky step, I feared our demise, but for some reason, she persisted in a way I could hardly fathom. I expected her to walk away from me, from us as the pressure cooked us from the inside, but she didn't. It soothed a part of me, stoking the confidence that I ached to wear like a neon sign. Another part remained fearful, that we would implode of our own making. Nevertheless, I worried about her and the toll all of this took on her health. Mira's stress levels soared, as did mine, in this particular situation. Intolerant friends, family, and the world I could handle. Violent, threatening sisters assaulting us on random evenings was completely new.
While Mira slept, I watched over her, noting the locked and secure door for the third time, before joining her in a fitful sleep.
***
For the rest of the week, I escorted Mira to work, and picked her up after my shifts so she could have dinner with me and my siblings. Their energy seemed to help her spirits, though despite time passing, she remained tired and spent most of our unoccupied time curled up beside me. While I didn't hate it in the least, I couldn't help my worry for her.
When I was sure she was safe in her classroom, I returned to work each day, daunted and distracted. Angie doted on me, pacifying me with coffee and offers to drive us to crime scenes. I let her, and on a long drive in traffic to our latest scene, I filled her in on everything.
"She sounds crazy. Are you sure the sister isn't some sort of psychotic or Bipolar?"
"Pretty sure. And don't call sick people crazy, jerk." I nudged her shoulder and she smirked.
"Sorry. Most concise way to say it."
"Make an effort." I rolled my eyes and leaned my head against the window. "I'm worried about this serial. He's escalating."
"I know. With a randomization of victims, all we're doing is being used as schleps to go out to crime scenes and figure out if the FBI needs to jump in."
"Yup." I nodded ahead of us. "And sit in traffic."
"I'm going to reconsider your walking suggestion."
"Or bikes."
"Scooters. Detectives on scooters."
"I'm in."
It took us another twenty minutes to arrive on the scene though this time, we were the first to get there after the patrol officers. Angelina spoke to them while I made my way toward the body. Unlike last time, it wasn't in an alley, rather, in the back of a building that faced the waterfront. I ducked under the crime scene tape, then crouched be
side the body covered in a sheet. I tugged on a pair of gloves when the grunt handed them to me, and lifted up the corner to peek inside.
My heart sank when I saw the bloated face of a teenager against the pavement. As before, a thick zip tie remained around his neck. "It's a fucking kid."
"Yes, Detective. Probably fourteen or so," answered the officer. "Officer Kent found him after tenants heard a struggle back here and called 9-1-1."
Angelina approached, then dropped down beside me to look on. "Fuck."
"Yeah." I stood, my hands on my hips as I surveyed the area. Overturned chairs, a spilled milkshake, and strewn books littered the area. "This isn't a dump site."
"Eh?" Angelina came to stand beside me, both of us looking out over the water.
"All the other bodies we found were dumped. This—" I gestured around us. "—happened here. He must've got interrupted."
"Shit, Billie. I'll call Moreno and Sorensen." She pulled out her phone and headed back toward the uniformed officers.
I pulled my phone from my pocket as I moved away from the patio area of the building, and stepped over the retaining wall. I dialed Agent Donovan, and held the phone to my ear as I took a few breaths to clear my thoughts. My boots thudded on the wood of the dock, and the squawking gulls annoyed me when they echoed in the phone.
"What's going down, Olsen?" she answered, her voice muffled by the sound of wind.
"We got a body by the waterfront. Looks like it's the actual scene rather than a dump spot. Same signature."
"Where are you now?"
"Bell Harbor." I gazed out over the shimmering bay, and the dozens of boats docked. This time of year, with all the rain, most of the boats appeared unused, but cared for. No one lingered around this late in the evening, and I let myself enjoy the breeze for a moment.
"Who found the body?"
"Patrol officers responded to an emergency call that came in. They secured the scene. Lubbock and I are the first here. I think the perp got interrupted," I told her, turning around to pace in the opposite direction. I thought about texting Mira and Eleanor to let them know I would be late for sure.
Up ahead, one of the fishing boats swayed differently than the others beside it. Instead of with the flow of the mild current, its dips and bobs appeared sharper. My brow furrowed and I headed toward it, noting it appeared dingier than the others.
"It's possible. All the other bodies have been dumps."
"There's someone on a boat over here." I glanced behind me to see if Angelina returned but she hadn't. The patrol officers stood around the visible scene about thirty feet away.
"Where?"
"The marina." I stared at the boat, one hand holding the phone, the other gripping my weapon as I made my way closer.
"Could be post-dinner boat sex. Listen, Olsen, Wilkinson and I've been talking—"
I didn't hear the rest of what she said. The head of a man wearing a red and white hat popped up above the dash of the boat. He stared at me, his expression blank as I lowered my phone. Pale skin, dark eyes, and a freshly shaven appearance matched his clean-cut khakis and sweater combination. My brow furrowed as he continued to watch me, a small smile curving his mouth.
A shiver raced up my spine, sending tingles of unease over my skin. My fingers twitched and I found my hand tightening on the grip of my weapon.
"Police," I called out, pocketing my phone as I approached. "Step off the boat, please."
"Can I help you with something, Officer?" he called back, but didn't move. I couldn't see his hands, so I drew my weapon.
"Put your hands where I can see them and step off the boat." My voice lifted, and I heard the clunk of heels on the dock behind me in the distance.
"All right, calm down." The man held his hands in the air, before moving toward the side of the boat. I watched as he gripped the edge of it in order to climb onto the dock, his hands returned to the air afterward.
"What are you doing out here?" I approached, my weapon steady in his direction as I scanned him for potential hazards. Despite the situation that should've been unnerving, his brows remained lifted and occasionally he would smile.
"Is a man not allowed on his own boat?" he asked.
"What's your name?" I asked, allowing my gaze to dip down to get a quick look at him. He didn't appear to be armed, but I noted the pants he wore appeared excessively baggy in the legs and rear. His sweater, despite the wooly-fresh look of it, also hung lower around his neck to reveal a blue T-shirt rather than the button-down I expected. The giveaway came, however, when I saw his shoes. Beige, stained, military-grade combat boots poking out beneath the too-short-for-him khakis. My heart leapt in my chest, and my gaze shot back to his. "Don't fucking move."
His fingers in the air twitched. "My name's Steven Blake. I'm not moving." But he did move, he turned and bolted down the docks. My legs shot into action, expecting his disobedience. I chased him, feet pounding the loose boards as I pulled my radio from the back of my gear belt, and shouted my pursuit into it. The sound of a stampede behind me ensued.
"Stop!" I shouted as he neared the short fence that secured the area from the street. He slammed into it, glancing back at me before launching himself over the top. I followed after him, landing with unusual agility before he burst into the busy waterfront area. People flooded the sidewalks, music boomed, restaurants served, and I focused my attention on the back of his ugly beige sweater.
Sirens blared around us, and I ducked the chair he threw in my direction. Civilians cried out, and I heard voices shouting commands from behind us. The perp turned, leading me down the alleyway between the Mediterranean restaurant and taco bar.
"Fucking alleys!" I shouted out my frustration as I dodged the dumpster, pivoting around it, and gaining some distance when he slid on a slick puddle where the alley turned toward the street again. I knew my chances of losing him increased along with the risk to the community if he made it back to the populated area. He shoved off the wall, heavy pants escaping him as his wide eyes filled with panic. I gripped the radio in my palm, and when I found myself chasing behind him again, I chucked it at him.
A cracked sounded and he cried out the moment the radio exploded against his head. He landed in a sprawled-out splat in a puddle of murky green-hued sludge beside the second dumpster. I launched myself at him, landing on his back and pressed my gun against the back of his head. "Don't fucking move!"
"Fuck!" He struggled as I grabbed his arm, twisting it up his back.
"Why'd you run, douchebag?" I kneed him in his side after holstering my weapon, then grabbing his other arm, pinning him down. My breath puffed heavily as I wrestled the cuffs from my belt, but the fifty pounds, at least, that he had on me, allowed him to buck with resolve.
"Get off me!"
"You're under arrest." I managed to slap one of the cuffs on his wrist, but he wiggled free of the second, and planted his hand on the pavement. I dug my knee into his back, wrestling him to the ground when he grabbed my leg.
My mind flashed to spars at the precinct with a trainer nearly twice my size. I remembered Cooper's instructions, and used angles to secure the perp rather than relying on heft. While I couldn't get the second cuff on him, I managed to keep him face down on the pavement.
"Olsen!" Angelina shouted, and sirens roared into the area.
"Here!" My strangled voice echoed in the alley and Angelina appeared with two patrol officers on her heels. She dropped down on his legs, allowing me to wrangle him into the cuffs.
The patrol officers swooped in, securing the suspect while I patted him down. He kicked at us, until they dragged him off the street toward the waiting cars. I took a moment to catch my breath, my hands above my head as I looked at Angelina. Moreno and Sorensen appeared behind her and the half-dozen uniforms surrounding us.
"So, why'd we arrest him?" asked Sorensen, glancing between us.
"I dunno," said Angelina after her breathing slowed.
"He ran," I said, glancing between the three of the
m. "Innocent people don't run."
"Shit, Olsen." Moreno grabbed my shoulder and ushered me out of the alley. "Let's get back."
We returned to the scene where we found the body of the teenager only to find the FBI already there. Donovan held her phone up as she approached me and my brow furrowed. A man with slicked black hair followed us.
"Heard the whole thing. You never hung up. Which boat?" She nodded behind us and turned me right around, leaving the others to head back to the scene.
"What—oh." I nodded and led her to the row of boats where police and FBI lined the dock. "The one there with the dirty hull."
"What made you chase him?" she asked, donning gloves then handing me a pair. "Roderick, take the lower."
"On it," the slicked hair guy said, and descended below deck after we boarded the boat.
"He ran, that's what made me," I said as I pulled on the gloves.
"Before that. What tipped you off?"
"No one else was out here. He was watching me and smiling like a psychopath or something." Anxiety swam in my chest at her line of questioning. "Why?"
"He said his name was Steven Blake, right?"
"Yes."
"What made you suspicious of him?" Donovan pressed as she walked around the boat. Nothing seemed out of place at all. In fact, there wasn't much to look for other than a few cans of beer and food wrappers.
"His clothes didn't fit him right and he had military boots. Or what looked like them, while wearing Vineyard Vines preppy boat clothes. Who does that?" I flicked a few burger wrappers off the seat by the steering wheel while Donovan poked around some of the smaller compartments.
"Donovan," called Roderick, his head poking out above the hull from where he stood on the stairs. A smirk tugged the corner of his mouth and he held up a handful of zip ties in a clear plastic bag. "More shit down here."
My eyes widened, and I met Donovan's gaze when she looked at me. "Something to say for instinct, Olsen." She clapped me on the back before nodding toward Roderick. "Who knows. You might catch a serial someday."
"Fuck." My hands shot to the top of my head and I stared at her.
She wagged her brows, tossing me a smile over her shoulder before disappearing below deck.
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