“Did the letters ever mention you directly?”
“Not until recently.”
“And now?”
“They’re personal. Obsessive. But not sexual. He talks about my voice. My persistence. Says I ‘look where others don’t.’ He respects that.”
“That’s why I don’t like them,” Flint muttered. “That’s how they pick their targets.”
“It’s also how they justify what comes next,” Brewster added, low. “He’s testing the water. Seeing how close he can get before she pulls back.”
“Well I’m not pulling back,” I said flatly. “So if you’re trying to convince me to hide out in this box and let the story unfold without me, stop now.”
“I’m not,” Brewster said. “I want to understand how he uses you. Because that’s how we’re going to find him.”
He didn’t blink when he said it. Didn’t soften it. That was the difference between him and Flint.
Flint wanted to keep me safe.
Brewster wanted to use me.
Neither of them wanted to admit how close those two things could be.
I stood. The walls felt closer now. The air staler.
“I need coffee,” I said.
“I’ll get it,” Flint offered, already turning.
“I saidIneed coffee.” I moved past both of them, needing the distance more than the caffeine. My back burned with the weight of their stares.
Brewster didn’t trust me.
Flint didn’t want to let me go.
And me?
I didn’t trusteitherof them.
But I needed them both.
At least for now.
It didn’t take nearly long enough nor did either of them back off.
Brewster remained across from me after I returned with the coffee I didn’t need. I sat—deliberately on the far side—but distance meant nothing to a man who specialized in dismantling space with words.
He hadn’t touched his phone on the table, but it was there like a loaded gun. The air was warm, but I couldn’t stop the chill along my spine.
Flint stood by the kitchenette now, arms folded, pretending not to hover.
“So,” Brewster said, voice smooth, low. “Let’s start again. Different angle.”
I sipped the coffee. Didn’t respond. He took that as encouragement.
“Have you ever received fan mail before this case?”
“Yes.”
