Even that didn’t provoke a smile. He’d have to go to extremes again. The only thing that made her happy, that created an upswing in her mood, that stabilized her for a few months, was when she became the center of positive external attention that reminded her of her value.
Everyone needed a purpose.
He put on a bright smile. “How about I come by the hospice with a picnic lunch? You can introduce me to your patients.”
She sat up a little straighter. “I suppose it has been a while since you’ve been by. You haven’t met half of this latest group.” The hospice had a revolving door, its residents going there to live out their final days in comfort.
“And it’s supposed to be warmer today, with plenty of sunshine. I’ll bring sandwiches and we can eat outside.” The hospice had a garden and patio area for the residents to enjoy, though most of them preferred the quiet solace of their rooms, as if they risked bumping into the grim reaper if they made their way out into the hall.
They just might, at that.
Monday, 8:49 a.m.
SSAM Offices, Near South Side, Chicago
The scent of Becca’s grande skinny mocha with full-strength whipped cream filled the elevator as she and Diego entered on the garage’s sublevel. On the way to SSAM, she’d stopped at a coffee shop for a second dose of caffeine, topped with extra sugar and fat—because it was going to be that kind of day, on practically no sleep.
She pressed the button for the fifth floor, where the SSAM offices were located, though Damian owned the entire building and there was a training area, small shooting range and gym in the basement, just above the parking level. Beside her, Diego was quiet, his scowl distracting.
“I would have bought you a coffee.” She thought to tease him into a lighter mood.
She was striving for that lightness herself. After the shock of finding James murdered, the exhaustion of talking to the police, and then telling Diego the whole sordid story before falling to bed at a miserable hour, she was going to fake it until she could make it.
And that included pretending she wasn’t hurt that, after telling her deepest, darkest secrets to Diego, he’d tucked her into bed and left her by herself. Was he ashamed of her? No man liked to hear that a woman he’d been with had been arrested for murder.
“Had enough at your place.” Diego eyed her drink. “I can’t believe you’re having another.”
“You’re my bodyguard, not my mother.” Definitely not a lighter mood.
“Partner.”
“Excuse me?”
He shot her a look. “I’m your partner.”
We’ll see about that. The more time he had to think about what she’d confessed, the more eager he’d be to put some distance between them.
Still, Diego had told her earlier that he’d accepted this mission because of her...because she was worth it. Did he still believe that, now that he knew the truth?
In the lobby, the reception desk was empty. Catherine was likely setting up for the meeting. No chance Becca would be able to bounce her confusion off of a dependable sounding board.
She took a bolstering sip of coffee, then used her palm and a security code to gain access from the lobby to the main offices. Diego followed. In the conference room, Damian was talking with Einstein, SSAM’s computer expert, and Lorena, one of their mindhunters. Catherine was seated, her laptop ready to record notes from the meeting. But her gaze was on the five Ziploc bags laid out side-by-side on the conference room table. More specifically, on the one that contained the copy of The Scarlet Letter. Becca sent her a sympathetic glance.
“I believe we have the necessary personnel here.” At Damian’s statement, everyone took their seats. “Originally, my goal was to inform you about this possible threat to SSAM, and to decide whether SSAM’s so-called fan is benevolent or possibly...more. In the last twenty-four hours, however, his threat level has been confirmed. He’s a killer, and, worse, he thinks he’s killing to help Becca, clearly not thinking about how it might hurt her.”
Catherine’s gaze, her eyes round as saucers, met Becca’s across the table. “What?”
“The Fan texted me,” Becca said. “He led me to an apartment where he’d killed a man, supposedly for me.” There was no judgment in Damian’s eyes. In fact, she saw only acceptance and understanding. Did he know about her past?
“Let’s discuss that part in a bit,” Damian said.
Lorena cleared her throat. The mindhunter was fifty years old, but with her creamy, unblemished olive skin, she appeared a decade younger. “I’ve already requested the notes from the crime scene where last night’s victim was found. The CPD also contacted us this morning to confirm the woman in the picture sent to Diego was a prostitute named Fanta. Her body was discovered late Friday night. As to the other parts of this case, I’ve read the notes and seen the pictures that the Fan sent, and have created a profile, but I think everyone should see the evidence and judge for themselves.”
Damian gestured to Catherine. “If you could pass the photocopies around...”
Catherine pulled a stack of folders from a side table and passed one to each person. Inside were photocopies of the messages Damian had received. They dated back almost as long as Becca had worked at SSAM. And they’d always been signed from the SSAM Fan. Also attached were copies of any photographs, links, or articles that had been sent. The Fan apparently enjoyed his research, and had sent extensive notes about a myriad of cases over the past four or five years, from what Becca could estimate. Also inside the folder was a packet of printouts.
“What are these?” Becca asked.
“Transcripts of the videos the Fan sent,” Damian said.
“Videos?”
“He’d find clips on the internet, or things on the news that he thought might be of interest, and send the links.”
“I’ve combed through them,” Lorena added. “So far, no common themes jump out at me other than he’s trying to mimic us by pursuing bad guys.”
“Like a cop wannabe,” Becca said.
Lorena nodded. “Except that he has a more philosophical slant. His emails went into great detail about why a suspect could be the murderer. Our first indication that the Fan’s behavior is changing was the communication he sent Damian last week. The email read: Life is not always roses...especially white ones...sometimes it’s just thorns. But then, you, of all people, know that. Justice, God’s will—those are the real reasons we continue on. Your SSAM Fan.” Lorena gave Damian a sympathetic glance. “Leaving roses at Samantha’s gravesite is a weekly ritual. Whoever sent this knows Damian’s routine. Previously, the Fan had been interested in understanding criminal behavior. Last week, he showed a different side. And then he started contacting Becca, finding a personal connection with her.” Lorena gestured to Becca to read her note.
“My admiration for you knows no bounds,” Becca read. “We’re on the same team, fighting the good fight. Keep doing your important work for Damian, and for Sam, like this afternoon. Ever yours, The SSAM Fan. This was the first time he contacted me,” she added. “And yet, he’s professing he’ll be ever mine.”
“He’s trying to establish a connection,” Lorena said.
“Because he admires you,” Catherine added, then frowned. “Which is probably why he thinks I should be wearing a scarlet A.”
“I agree about the admiration part,” Lorena said. “And, given James Powell’s murder, and admitting he committed the crime for you, he’s gone beyond admiration. Again, he’s trying to form a connection with you, Becca. But what’s interesting is the personal nature of these statements. With Damian, he’s talking about justice, of the legal kind. Or so we thought. When the Fan targeted Catherine, accusing her of adultery with that scarlet A reference, he’s indicating justice of a more moral kind. Adultery isn’t illegal. He’s looking at the personal hurt she is supposedly causing Becca.”
“Which, for the record, is completely unfounded,” Catherine added vehemently.
“Which makes it a
ll the more chilling,” Becca said. “He’s judging things based on limited information, yet he feels entitled to comment on anything in my entire life.”
“He’s trying to understand these moral conflicts. To sort it out for himself.”
“To figure out what’s right and wrong?” Becca blew out a breath. “I thought most people had a grip on that by the time they were teenagers.”
“Read the inscription of the book,” Damian encouraged Catherine with a gentleness in his tone that indicated he knew, deep down, Catherine was scared.
She read from the photocopy in her folder. “You might as well wear a scarlet A on your chest. Don’t hurt her again. No signature.”
Lorena turned to Becca. “Given that you were at the wedding with another man, you’d think he’d be focused on his rival. Instead, it’s more of a protective thing. He’s more concerned with how your friend, a SSAM employee who should be above such behavior, is acting toward you, supposedly stealing your man.” Lorena’s gaze moved thoughtfully between Becca and Diego. “He doesn’t seem threatened by Diego, either.”
“Maybe he’s just cocky,” Diego muttered. “Thinks he’ll have Becca all to himself if he impresses her enough.”
“You might be on to something.” Lorena turned to Damian. “I’d recommend reviewing applicants to SSAM positions for the last five years. Becca’s cop wannabe comment has merit. And he seems desperate to belong here at SSAM. For whatever reason, we’ve caught his eye. He wants to impress us, particularly you and Becca. And his odd behavior is escalating. He’s also growing more comfortable, and probably left that gift on the table at the wedding reception himself.”
“I’m still waiting for the video from the hotel security and the wedding,” Einstein said. Like a laser, he was focused energy, his strong fingers tapping on the table. His mussed brown hair and day-old scruff, most likely from endless hours on this case, gave him a sexy nerd look. “Noah and Vanessa are on their honeymoon, but Vanessa’s mother has already contacted the photographer they hired. With those pictures, we hope to identify anybody who didn’t belong. I’m also working on tracing the Fan’s email address, as well as the text he sent Becca, but so far, he’s using junk email addresses and throwaway phones.”
“He’s technologically savvy,” Lorena said.
“So replying to his text wouldn’t do any good?” Becca asked.
“Until this guy’s ready to let us know who he is, or how to contact him, I don’t think we’ll get anywhere.”
“Unless we can somehow invite him into our SSAM family?” Becca asked. “That seems to be what he wants, right? To be part of our group?” She picked up her phone. “This is the text he sent me last night. I did it all for you. We’re in this together. Come see, and hurry. 1845 Grand Avenue, Apartment 1203. —Your Fan.”
“He’s become your fan,” Lorena said, looking thoughtful. “He wants to feel like your partner.” A curtain of straight, midnight-black hair fell across her cheek as she bent to read the text of the note from the wedding. “Congratulations to the happy couple. And congratulations to Becca for this lead. It’s been a pleasure, even from afar, to watch the SSAM family celebrating how life goes on, even when those lives are painted with death and destruction. You give me faith in happy endings, and justice for all. Even then, he was showing that he’s following Becca’s investigation, and applauding her for her efforts.”
“What was on the DVD that was inside the box?” Becca asked, looking to Einstein. The SSAM computer expert was likely the one responsible for analyzing it. He cued the video to show on the flat-screen television hanging on the wall at the end of the conference table. Becca gasped.
Einstein nodded at her reaction. “Thought you’d recognize that guy.”
“Who is he?” Diego asked.
“Tony Moreno. Someone you don’t ever want to meet,” Becca said. On the screen was a man—no, not a man. A monster. Someone she’d put away last year for raping and killing five women. She suspected there had been many more victims, but five had been enough to put him away for a long time. It had been her most difficult case yet. “What’s the video about?”
“Our Fan took it upon himself to interview many of SSAM’s monsters,” Einstein said. “The thing is like a promotional video for our agency.” Einstein turned the volume up.
The interviewer’s voice was calm and confident. “Why did you do the things you did? Unburden your conscience.”
Tony’s gold-toothed grin showed no remorse. “I could say my daddy beat me. Or the public school system failed me... Or I could tell you the truth. I did it because I wanted to.”
Becca shuddered and Einstein paused the video. Criminals without conscience were the worst of all, but they were also why she loved her job. Taking them down.
“So, let me get this straight,” Becca said. “He wants to be part of us, leaves us these so-called gifts, but doesn’t tell us how we can thank him? How can I invite him to get closer?”
“Maybe you don’t,” Diego said. “Maybe you’re supposed to prove yourself, and your interest in partnering with him, by building trust.” His gaze held hers at the word trust. Letting go and giving control to others was a lesson fate seemed determined to teach her lately.
“What about the Circle?” Becca asked. “He seems determined to follow my every move there. I think he knew my moves because he hacked my emails. It’s the only way he would have known some of the things he knew.” Like her meeting with Selina.
“I’ll see what I can do about that,” Einstein said. “But that might be a way to contact him, if we need it.”
“As for the Circle investigation,” Lorena said. “He may be trying to prove his worth to the agency by helping solve Sam’s murder. Einstein and I have had a look at the pictures Becca sent of the cell walls. No sign of Sam’s name there, but I’ve got a friend at the FBI matching names to a missing persons’ list. So far, she’s been able to match about a dozen missing people from over the past fifteen years. Two of them were, indeed, from Chicago, and from about a decade ago.”
“How did they get to New York City?” Becca asked.
“That building in Brooklyn was a holding pen, of sorts,” Diego said.
Becca felt like her head might spin off her shoulders, trying to piece it all together. “So why did the Fan kill Fanta, and why use the Circle’s brand? Do we know if she was killed by him?”
Becca jumped as her phone vibrated on the table. Every eye in the room moved to the screen.
“Is it him?” Damian asked. Something dark vibrated in his voice.
Becca picked up her phone and read from the screen. “Did you like my gift? See how we’d make a good team?—Your Fan.” She looked up. “Should I try to reply?”
“It’s worth a shot,” Einstein said.
Damian nodded. “Try it.”
Becca read aloud as she typed. “Teammates, or partners, don’t frame each other. You left me to take the rap.” She glanced at Lorena, who nodded, and Becca hit Send, crossing her fingers that he hadn’t discarded the phone yet. They needed to lure him out. If she could just get a conversation started...
“He replied,” she said as the phone vibrated in her hand.
“What did he say?” Diego asked, leaning close.
“I’ll fix it.” Whatever that meant, it sounded ominous.
“Let us know the moment he contacts you again,” Damian ordered. “In the meantime, Einstein and Lorena, review past cases to see if any of the other criminals Becca helped put behind bars have been released, contacted for interviews, or if any of the victims’ families would have reason to start sending us notes. Pay close attention to those in the Chicago area.”
“Want us to check into SSAM applicants over the past few years?” Becca asked.
“I’ll be doing that myself. In the meantime...” He waited until Becca met his gaze. “You and Diego swing by the Metropolitan Correctional Center.”
Diego sent her a questioning look.
Just her luck.
“We’re talking to Tony Moreno.”
Chapter Sixteen
Monday, 12:15 p.m.
Golden Oaks Hospice, South Side, Chicago
“It’s a bit chilly for a picnic, but if we sit in the sun, the warmth should be sufficient.” He helped Mother into her coat.
“It’ll be fine.” Her cheeks held a glow he hadn’t seen in weeks. Her attention darted about in a subtle way, as if cataloguing which of her coworkers and patients might be observing her son doting on her.
He zipped his own jacket and hoisted the picnic basket in one hand, linking his other arm with hers. “Warm enough?”
Outside on the patio, he lent her a hand to help her down the stairs, alerted her to an icy spot, and escorted her to the picnic table. Wood, thank God. Stone or metal would have frozen his balls off.
Mother nodded. “Warm enough. You’re so thoughtful. I don’t deserve it.”
“That’s ridiculous.” He settled her on a bench with a plaid lap blanket from his car and set the picnic basket on the table. When depressed, Mother fell back on self-pity for attention. It was his least favorite phase. But soon, others would be pitying her and taking the load off of him.
One death, one shining obituary, and Mother would be in the spotlight again. Because of him.
And because of him, Becca wouldn’t be troubled by the police, once he called them with his anonymous tip about a large man leaving James Powell’s place. He’d be one step closer to becoming Becca’s partner.
“None of my friends have children who are so thoughtful,” Mother said. “Of course, none of them have boys who still live at home at age forty.”
He stiffened against a wave of anger. Was she trying to push his buttons? No, of course not. She had no clue about how he was seething inside. Or about the turmoil that she’d churned up the past few days. She didn’t know the hunger he felt, and what it cost him to seem normal. And that she was such a key piece of his normality. And of his abnormality.
Or did she? Sometimes he wondered...
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