Sloane composed yet another text to Kate:"I may have found another lead. Going to check out Mary Latrobe now. Interior designer, graduated 2024, featured heavily in promotional videos. Address: 2847 Grove Avenue, Apt 3B. Will update you after I talk to her."
She hit send and gathered her things, closing her laptop and pocketing her phone. This little excursion may turn out to result in absolutely nothing but wasted time, but that was fine with her. The three dead women involved in this mess deserved the proper care and attention. And if going through the faces in those videos one by one was what it took, Sloane would make sure it got done.
Her phone buzzed as she reached her vehicle. For a moment, she thought it might be Kate responding, but it was just an email from another agent requesting help on a report from a small case last week. Kate was still silent, probably putting her son to bed or having a late dinner with her husband. And if so, good for her.
Sloane made her way back down to the parking garage, and three minutes later, she was pulling up the navigation to Grove Avenue. Eighteen minutes. She could be there before 8:30, talk to Latrobe, and either confirm her suspicions or rule her out entirely.
She pulled out of the parking garage and merged into evening traffic… and still, there was no response from Kate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Kate stood at the kitchen sink, running hot water over the last plate from dinner—hot dogs and green beans. Not exactly gourmet cuisine, but it had been quick, given that she'd come home late, and Michael had actually eaten without fussing. And thatalwayscounted as a win in her book.
Allen appeared in the doorway, his sleeves rolled up from the battle of getting Michael into pajamas. "Well, that was an adventure. He tried to convince me that bedtime was actually tomorrow. And when I convinced him otherwise, he tried to make me feel guilty about not reading him another book."
Kate smiled. "How'd that negotiation go?"
"I told him all about Cliff’s Notes and then gave him a one-sentence summary ofThe Monster at the End of This Book." Allen grabbed a dish towel and started drying the plates Kate had set in the rack.
"That's actually pretty sophisticated reasoning for a three-year-old," she said. “The whole guilt thing, I mean.”
"I know. I'm worried about what he'll be like at sixteen." Allen put the dried plates in the cabinet. "But he's down now. Passed out about thirty seconds after his head hit the pillow."
Kate rinsed the last fork and set it in the rack, then pulled the drain plug. The water swirled down with a satisfying gurgle. "So, hot dogs and green beans. Should we call it fine dining or just admit we phoned it in tonight?"
"I think it counts as fine dining because all of our plates are so nice," Allen said, his tone completely serious.
"Theyarepretty nice, aren’t they?"
Allen set the towel on the counter and moved behind Kate, sliding his hands around her waist. "But you know what? I don't care. You're home. Michael's asleep. We have the rest of the evening to ourselves."
Kate leaned back against him, feeling the warmth of his body against her back. "That does sound nice."
Allen nuzzled into the back of her neck, his breath warm against her skin. "Very nice. In fact, I was thinking we could maybe head upstairs a little early tonight."
Kate felt herself relaxing for the first time all day. The case, the murders, Margaret Ellis, all of it could wait until tomorrow. Right now, she was home with her husband, and that was exactly where she wanted to be.
“Yeah, that would be nice. The book I’m reading gotreallygood last night.” She chuckled.
“Man, you still play hard to get at times,” he said, giving her a little squeeze.
He turned her around and gave her a playful peck on the cheek. At just about the same time, her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
Kate felt Allen sigh against her neck as he pulled her close. "Any chance you'll ignore it?"
"I've already ignored a few. Let me just check. DeMarco might be asking something."
Allen released her waist and stepped back, offering her a cute, boyish frown.
Kate moved to the counter and picked up her phone. The screen showed three text messages from Sloane, all timestamped within the last hour. Kate had been so focused on getting Michael fed and into bed that she’d ignored the first two. And as she read through them, she really wished she hadn’t.
She opened the first message:"I think I figured it out. Not a failed participant. A successful one. Someone IN the videos killing their competition. Can you meet me at the office?"
Kate felt her stomach tighten as she then read the next message:"Narrowed it down to two suspects. Going to check out Mary Latrobe now. Interior designer, graduated 2021,featured heavily in promotional videos. Address: 2847 Grove Avenue, Apt 3B. Will update you after I talk to her."
The last message was the one that had just come in:"Heading to Latrobe's apartment now. Will call you after."
Kate read through them again, already processing Sloane's theory. Someone in the videos killing their competition… In a way, she supposed it did make sense. Hell, maybe it made more sense than the failed participant angle they'd been pursuing. The victims had all been featured in promotional materials, all competing for Crawford's attention and promotion. If someone wanted to maintain their position as Crawford's primary success story, eliminating the other success stories was a logical, if horrifying, approach.
