I think back to meeting Wally—how he seemed particularly furious, for someone who had just been handed a major lead in his investigation. How he silenced Howard right as he was about to clue us in on Mr. Page.
Lesley gives his legs a hearty slap and turns to me, brightening.“No matter. Water under the bridge. Who needs a washed-up cop when you’ve got the dream team of killer catchers?”
“We’ve caught you zero killers so far,” I point out.
“We’re doing a bang-up job, all things considered,” he says. “One of these days, we’ll hand-deliver Mr. Page to Wally and he’ll realize how much he mucked this all up.”
I feel a swell of pride for our little troop. Fake or not, it feels good to be part of something, and to help Lesley in his quest for redemption.
He gestures to me with a lift of his chin. “Now your turn, Dwayne ‘The Rox’ Johnson. What’s on your mind?”
“Oh.” It’s been nice having a break from my own problems. And now it’s over. “It’s stupid.”
“Sure,” Lesley says. “So stupid that you ran ten miles to escape it.”
There’s a little something in his eyes, in the way he tilts his head, that makes me wonder if he knows more than he lets on. But if he does, he’s content to keep it that way. After a quiet moment, he stands from the blanket and shakes out his stiff knee. “Got to get a bench in here,” he says with a groan. “I love a good bench.” He brushes himself off, then helps me up.
I pick up the blanket and help him fold it. “I won’t pry,” he says as we bring the corners together. “But I do have advice for dealing with those things that make you want to run away.”
“And what’s that?”
He peers at me, a sliver of blue-gray eyes glinting over his glasses.
“Try not running and see what happens.”
Lesley flags me a cab when we get back to the street. He’s off to a cold case convention in Birmingham until tomorrow afternoon, unless any excitement calls him back earlier, and assures me that Lissa will hold down the fort until then.
I watch him stride off toward the Tube station with his bag in tow, the book and blanket still tucked under his arm.He’s not real, I remind myself. But as my cab drives away and he fades into the stream of passersby, there’s warmth in my chest—and a tiny new pang as I wonder how long until he disappears entirely.
• • •
I HAVEN’T EVENclosed the front door before Lissa pounces, giving me whiplash as she reels me by the elbow into Lesley’s study.
“Perfect timing!” she chirps, then turns to bellow, “GRANT! STUDY!”
A quick pulse of panic shoots through me as he comes trundling down the stairs, his face lined with an apprehension that eases up a little when he sees me.
“Hey,” he says, landing at the foot of the stairs. He smiles—just a small one, but sincere. It turns my heart into one of those emojis with hearts for eyes, which is too many hearts for one heart.
“Hi.” Aiming for very very casual, I overshoot and punch him in the shoulder. He frowns and rubs the spot. “Sorry,” I say. “Workout adrenaline.”
We settle onto the couch opposite Lissa—Grant in a normal spot, me so far to the other end that I might get stuck between the cushion and armrest. Lissa’s perched on the edge of her seat, drumming her lilac-manicured hands over her knees. She looks like she’s about to explode into a burst of confetti.
“I take it there’s a new assignment?” says Grant.
“There iiiiis!” she sings. Being peppy is nothing new for Lissa, but this is different. It’s like she body-swapped with a hummingbird fed on Pop Rocks. I can already see Anna’s editor writingtone it downall over her.
I gesture for Lissa to cut to the chase. “And it is …?”
Biting back a grin, she lets out a little squeak, green eyes flashing between me and Grant. She takes a calming breath in and out and does her very best to deliver the rest with a straight face.
“At a romantic bed and breakfast in the Cotswolds, this weekend!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Having learned from the best, Lissa has dubbed this one the Sweetheart Slayer. He’s a dejected loner who targets crazy-in-love couples, because of course he is. Then he strangles them, rips open their chest cavities, and takes out their hearts.
Which sounds increasingly like an appealing way to spend my weekend.
