“Right? They want to show off their shiny new consultant.”
“At least they’re not sticking you in some basement in a box labeled ‘Freak Show.’”
“Mmm, I just spent the day being questioned about whether I murdered the vic left outside my door.”
Her outraged shout leaves my ears ringing. “Are you serious?”
“Shhh, Mina, it’s okay. It’s procedure. They’ll clear me so they can work the case.”
She sputters, and I think of a way to distract her. “I have a gift for you. One of the detectives here is named Cuccinelli.”
“Oh.” Her chair creaks as she leans back. I can imagine the bliss on her face as she dreamily says, “Christmas has come early.”
“Right? It’s too bad his partner isn’t named Dick.”
“It would be too much. The gods would smite them for being too perfect. No, one is good enough. Please tell me you call him The Cooch.”
“Me? Never. But everyone else. . .”
Mina cackles with pure delight, and a dusty laugh creaks out of me.
My cell vibrates in my hand, and I pull it away from my ear to cancel the alarm that’s going off.
“Mina, I really have to go. The gala’s tomorrow night, and I don’t have a dress.”
“Okay, Cinderella. While you’re training mice to sew or whatever, I’m going to look into your cases. Send me any details you have.”
“Will do.” I asked the detectives who interviewed me for details, and they stonewalled me, but I have another way in.
“And you have fun with The Cooch.”
“If you met him, you’d know how gross that statement is.”
“But—”
“Bye, Mina.” I end the connection.
My face feels tight after talking with her. I touch my cheek and realize I’m smiling. It’s a strange feeling.
My other two voicemails are from a Midwestern number. No name, but I know who it is because I memorized the number. Detective Collins was my mentor. My savior. I cut ties with her years ago but couldn’t bring myself to block her. It’s not fair to her, but life isn’t fair, and of all the people in the world, she can best guess why I ghosted her.
My smile fades. I need to be careful. Even connecting with Mina to get her to help me with my cases is dangerous. I need to cut ties with everyone. It’s the only way they’ll be safe.
I step back into the hall to head to the incident room when a snippet of conversation makes my steps slow.
“The Bondage Killer—” someone is saying. The name knifes through me, the pain so intense it makes me swallow my gasp and stop short before I reach the door.
“The Bondage Killer?” Now Bonds is asking. “I remember him. Terrorized some small town, Alira or something. . .”
“Elyria,” Burgess announces. I can imagine him now, smug at being the one who dug up this dirt on me and holding the attention of the whole room.
“Right,” Bonds says. “Elyria.”
My stomach lurches at the name.
“And he’s the one—” That’s Cuccinelli.
“Yeah. Years ago. Her entire family was just. . . slaughtered.” Even Burgess, proud to share this juicy bit of gossip about his hated new colleague, softens his voice when speaking of the dead family.
