I blink up at her. She’s right. I’ve stopped spiraling.
Five minutes ago I was sobbing into her lap about witnessing a murder confession. Now I’m on my bedroom floor and Alex is standing over me like a yoga instructor who’s done with my shit.
“This is why I need you,” I say.
“I know.” She grins. Offers her hand. “Now get up and get ready.”
Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was organizing discovery documents in the stacks.
Now I’m investigating a serial killer.
And my best friend is risking everything to help me.
I don’t know if that makes us brave or stupid.
Probably both.
I get up and start getting dressed.
Eight
I’ve never beento Dahlia’s.
Hell, I’m not really into the club scene.
But looking at it from across the street, I can see why it’s popular. The entire building is painted black with a neon sign hanging crookedly from the center—purposefully crooked, probably trying for edgy.
It’s closed. Won’t open until tonight. Just a locked door and dark windows.
My spine does that thing again as I stare at the sign.Cold-hot-cold.
“So that’s it.” I stare at the black building. Dahlia’s. Where our mystery murderer hunted women. Where he found his victim.
My stomach turns.
“Come on.” Alex grabs my arm, dragging me across the street before I can overthink this. “Alley first.”
“Alex, we shouldn’t?—”
“We’re already here.” Her voice is steady but her grip on my arm is too tight. I can feel her pulse through her fingers. Racing. She’s as terrified as I am but won’t show it. “Just look. Five minutes. Then we leave.”
She leads me past the club and down the street.
Alex stops before a stoop to an accounting office. “Okay, so while you were getting dressed I went onto Google Maps.” She’s talking fast. That thing she does when she’s nervous and trying to sound confident. “You said he mentioned lighting a cigarette on a stoop, then going into an alley. I mapped every alley within two blocks that has a stoop nearby.”
“How many?”
“Six.” She pulls out her phone, shows me the saved map with pins. “This is the third one. The first two had cameras. This one doesn’t.”
Her hands shake slightly as she puts the phone away.
She fishes a joint from her bra.
“What are you doing?” I blink at her.
“What? Did you think it wouldn’t be suspicious to just stand here and stare at a stoop?”
“I need your head in the game.” I’m not mad at the weed, but I need her sober for this.
