He hears the wobble in my voice. He sees the furrow of my brow. I’m not getting out of this grilling so easily this time.
And truthfully, I’m not at all certain about anything I’ve stated—it’s uncharted territory. What I say is true, for the most part, but it’s highly unlikely the UNSUB selected a poem that just happens to resonate so deeply with me on a whim. Like the one he planted at the first crime scene.
She Walks in Beauty.
Little messages left just for me, evidence that he stalked me before he ever put his blade to a victim’s neck. Only I don’t understand what it means, and I can’t investigate on my own without calling attention to those facts.
My nerves are so frayed, my annoyance mounting so high, that I haven’t even had time to be afraid. How much does the UNSUB really know about me? What are his intentions—what will he do with that information?
There’s so much unknown to fear that my mind can’t process the correlating emotions.
Quinn leans down to get in my face, and I can feel the tension pressing against me like a physical force. “What are you hiding, Bonds?”
The air grows thicker between us, charging. I blink. Dammit. “Nothing.”
His eyes squint. “Everyone hides something.”
I release a clipped breath. “Then what are you hiding?”
Carson’s sudden burst of laughter draws Quinn’s anger with a dark glare, and Carson’s attention quickly returns to the whiteboard.
I relax my shoulders, exhale heavily. “Look. It’s not what you think…”
“What I think is that I have a profiler on my team who’s in danger, and she’s doing her damndest to get herself killed because she’s too stubborn to trust others to do their job.” His mouth sets in a hard line. It’s the first time he’s said those words aloud, and they cut right through me.
Filling my lungs, I suck in a quick dose of courage. “Quinn, I’m a big girl who’s more than capable—”
“I’m not saying you’re not,” he interrupts again. “But it’s like you’re doing your best to keep me out of the loop. I gotta say, that doesn’t look good.”
My eyes slit. “What? Am I a suspect?” When he just stares at me, I shake my head.
“Everyone in the department is suspect at this point.” He laces his arms over his broad chest.
It clicks into place. “Forensic countermeasures. All the methodical scrubbing of evidence on the UNSUB’s part.”
He nods. “The task force will soon be looking into backgrounds and digging around in our own backyard unless we get a new lead soon.”
A sickness coats my stomach, and I swallow down the burn of bile.
He cocks his head. “Are you really upset on the victims’ behalf? I don’t think leaving information out of the press release is enough to get you riled. Not really.” He scans my face, seeking a weakness in my defense to launch a new attack. “It’s the mention of family, isn’t it?”
The tightness in my chest squeezes my heart.
“I’ve read your file; it’s my job. I know you’re worried…” At my alarmed expression, Quinn trails off and sighs. “Let me in, Bonds. I can help. Just tell me—”
A loud cough shuts Quinn’s interrogation down, and I remember we’re not alone. Face flushed, I turn my attention to Carson. Quinn follows my gaze, a hard expression pulling at his features.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Carson says, motioning to his phone. “But the press conference starts in about ten minutes.”
Quinn curses under his breath, then backs up a few paces to look at me. “All right. Let’s go with what we have. It’s not like the department hasn’t taken heat before when someone’s fucked up.”
Igno
ring the jibe, I say, “I’ll print a new copy for Wexler.” I grab my files and head toward the door.
“Bonds, stick close. I’m putting you with Carson to work the victimology angle.” He glances between the other detective and me. “The techs have new information we need investigated. And since nothing came of the weaponry shops, I have to navigate the task force on the murder weapon angle. So I need both of you fully focused on the victims.”
I grip the doorknob, anxious to be out of the room. “I can do that, but I don’t need a bodyguard.” Or a babysitter.