I’m solonely.
And pathetic. So pathetic that I’m practically vibrating over a man sitting too close to me on a couch.
I don’t know why I’m making this complicated. Griffin probably would hook up with me. DJ said he’s decent in bed, so what’s my problem?
Because he’s not the one whose attention I want.
Admitting it makes me hang my head, but only for a second before I shake it. Hard.
I’m not going to pine over someone whobeggedhis boss to get rid of me. Nico must be going through hell right now with what’s happening to Donny, and I understand that, but I’m also done hoping he’ll change his mind about me. I don’t need his permission to do my job. I certainly don’t need him to like me to prove I belong here.
I barely talk to Nico during our training the next day, only saying the bare minimum to get through. I manage to keep my stage up long enough for Richard Fenton to get one sentence out, which is not exactly a conversation, but at least it’s a step in the right direction.
I’m reading in the library the next night when the alarm goes off in the house. But this time, I know what it means.
CHAPTER 24
It’s astonishing how easily people allow you into their homes. In twenty-nine years, I can count on one hand the number of people who have asked to see my credentials.
—Wheels Upside-Down: My Time with the FBI, a memoir by Donald Dellman
Everyone’s already gathered around Zoey’s open bedroom door. I have to blink to adjust to how dark it is in here. Blackout curtains are drawn tight. At least four monitors cast everything in an eerie blue glow. LED strip lights line the ceiling, and empty energy drink cans cover her desk, making the air smell like artificial cherry.
Donny stands inside with her, resting one hand on the back of her chair. He doesn’t look to be as short on time as the doctor said. Sure, he looks a little ill, but not like he’s on death’s door.
There’s a familiar pressure in my throat, a lump I keep trying to swallow down, but it won’t go away. I barely know Donny. I have no right to be sad the way everyone else here does, but I hate that I’m never going to have the chance to really know him before he’s gone.
Zoey talks us through her compiled list, running parameters until there are twenty-three names left on the screen.
“Can you narrow it down any more?” Griffin asks.
“Nope,” Zoey says. “Not unless you want to sacrifice accuracy.”
“What if you tried really hard?” Griffin asks. “Or maybe believed in yourself a little more?”
“I’m going to stick this mechanical pencil in your eye.”
“Can you rank them by probability?” Donny interrupts, unfazed by them. “Based on the strength of the match to our profile?”
“Already did.” A bunch of names come up in yellow text on the screen. “These are our twenty-three most likely perpetrators, ranked by how many criteria they meet in descending order.”
Donny leans so close to the screen that it’s almost comical, adjusting his glasses as he goes through the names. “Zoey?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Great work.”
The lines on Zoey’s forehead soften, and she glances up at Donny. “Thank you, sir.”
Donny wants us to speak to every person on the list, which will require a full team effort.
“Nico, you’ll go with Benji,” Donny says.
Nico’s coming?
I turn to DJ, but she’s watching Nico with a careful expression. We’re not alone in our surprise. Benji’s looking at Nico too, head tilted like a curious puppy. Griffin’s making a weird face out the window, and Zoey’s scrolling on her computer, her eyes fixed straight ahead instead of following the screen.
Nico looks calm, like he expected this. If he sees the others reacting to the news, he doesn’t show it.
