Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
This is why I’m here. My extra senses, my ability to find the darkness and follow it until I find a killer. It’s how I’ve solved so many cases and gotten justice for the deceased.
I don’t know why the gods chose me for this gift, this curse. All I know is it’s what I’m good at, what I’m made for. My calling, my mission, my entire life.
This is why I won’t try to reconnect with the dom. Other people have lives and friends and families. I have this. The crime scenes and the connection with the victims. The hunt for justice.
That’s all I have.
It has to be enough.
“Where’s the closest fire escape?” I don’t wait for an answer before heading down the hall to find it. Diego comes out of a cubicle to stand beside me, facing a heavy door.
“Alarm’s not disabled,” I note. The killer would’ve had to bypass the alarm if he entered this way. Which he did, I’m almost sure of it. “Let’s open the door, see if it triggers.”
He nods and pushes the heavy door open with his gloved hands.
I brace for the scream of the alarm, but nothing happens.
“Alarm’s broken,” Burgess mutters.
Thank you, Captain Obvious.
“It’s still hooked up,” I say. “The wire’s connected.”
“Maybe there’s a short.” Silva holds the door open so I can step out onto the outdoor landing. This is an old brick building with an antiquated external fire escape. The killer could’ve climbed up somehow and used this entrance. But how did they bypass the alarm?
“Ladder’s still folded up,” Burgess continues, stating the obvious.
“What would we do without you?” Silva mutters in a comment meant only for my ears.
I suppress a smirk. It’s nice to have someone in my corner.
“Do you think he came in this way? Up a fire escape and through a locked door?” Burgess asks.
“He didn’t come up the fire escape. He only used the platform,” I say without thinking. I don’t have evidence to back this up yet. Just my vision.
But I’ve learned the hard way that my visions are always right.
“So what, he jumped up five stories from the ground?” Burgess is disbelieving. Even Silva looks skeptical.
I follow the brick wall up to the roof, blinking against the needles of rain hitting my face. “Or from the roof.”
“Okay then, he jumped down two stories? Like some sort of daredevil? How’d he take care of the alarm?” Burgess asks again.
I close my eyes and get another hit of woodsy cologne. I have to be imagining it, because it’s raining too hard for the scent to be real. The sky’s opened up, doing its damnedest to wash the world clean. If only it could wash away my psychic sense of a sinister presence.
“I don’t know,” I finally say.
“We’ll check for prints.” Silva motions to a nearby tech.
“You probably won’t find anything,” I tell him. “This guy was careful, prepared. He would’ve worn gloves.” I point to the building next door. “Let’s see if they have cameras.”
Dearest Swallow,
Today, I followed your bus home. You felt my presence, I’m sure, but you were so intent on your sketchbook that you didn’t see me. You’ve learned to close yourself off from mass humanity. No doubt, this keeps you from going insane.
You seemed disappointed. A man stopped you outside of work, and you told him your investigation had stalled. He tried to comfort you and asked you to go with him to a popular cop bar around the corner.
I was ready to step from the shadows and end him, but you rejected him.
Even now, you seem to instinctively know you are mine.
I’ve been reading about your job, and it seems you have found a way to use your gift. You’ve come a long way since that night in Elyria. Your parents would be proud.
You don’t seem to have any friends. Is that to keep you safe? Or them?
I should want more for you, but I don’t. I enjoy imagining that I’m the only one in your life.
Your only companion is your sketchbook. You were drawing in it today, and I would give anything to see what you’re sketching.
I want to get close to you, but it’s too soon. Just know I’m counting down the days until I can return to your side.
BK
5
Inara
When I open the door to the place I’m renting, a scent hits me—jasmine and a familiar cologne. I know where the jasmine came from; the property manager left some in a vase on the countertop. It reminds me of the sprig of flowers someone dropped in my purse, which must be a strange coincidence.
But the cologne?
I draw my gun and follow the trail of the scent. It’s stronger in my bedroom but dissipates quickly. Did I imagine it?
It smells like him. I smelled it this morning when I woke up and again in the coffee shop. I imagined it at the crime scene, too.