Five months ago, when her brother had died, Emerson struggled to process his unexpected death, so her captain suggested grief counseling. She, along with her mom and dad, worked with a great therapist. After several family sessions, Emerson told the psychologist she was dropping out.
“I’m happy to recommend a different counselor,” Heather Sharpe had said.
“I love working with you, but I’d like to try a group,” Emerson had told her. “Something online would be perfect.”
That’s when Heather Sharpe suggested Emerson join her online support group for survivors. Members could participate from the privacy of their homes, using their real names or anonymous ones. The climate suited Emerson, so she popped in weekly for sessions. Late one evening, a few months back, someone calling himself Justice had been online, so she pinged him to see if he was okay. That was the beginning of their online friendship. Nothing heavy. Two survivors checking in with each other on occasion. Having him there made her feel less alone, especially late at night.
His online profile listed him as a male who’d lost his mom years earlier in a murder.
Since Heather knew the true identities of everyone in the group, Emerson felt safe opening up about her feelings, something she normally kept close to the vest. Since joining the group, Emerson had become curious about Justice.
Curious, that’s all.
* * *
At half past seven in the morning, Stryker punched in the security code at The Dungeon and flipped on the lights. “Too damn early,” he grumbled.
While standing behind the bar making coffee, his phone rang. NO CALLER ID flashed on the screen. He answered, “Running late?”
“It’s a fine fucking morning, isn’t it, Truman?”
Carlo Spinetti’s gruff voice turned his stomach. “What the hell do you want, Spinetti?”
“What happened to your manners? I’ll go first. How you doin’?”
Stryker said nothing.
“Have you ruined anyone else’s life lately?” Spinetti continued.
“Don’t put that on me. You fucked up your own life.”
“You’re gonna regret helping the FBI,” Spinetti said. “You enjoy that beautiful May sunshine while you still got a nose to sniff those pretty fuckin’ flowers.”
“Go to hell.” Stryker hung up.
Spinetti’s threat hung over him like a virus. Carlo Spinetti had been convicted of Internet fraud and was serving his sentence in a white-collar camp at a Maryland state prison. And it was Stryker’s hacking skills that helped put him there.
“Dirt bag,” Stryker said while pouring himself a cup of joe.
The front door opened and Captain Tiana Perry walked inside. Shaking off the annoying call, Stryker poured a second cup, then greeted his longtime friend. Tiana offered a warm hug.
As Arlington County’s first Black and female police captain, she was opening doors for all women in the DC region.
With mugs in hand, the two got seated at a nearby table.
“I read my detective’s report,” Tiana said, after sipping the hot drink. “April Peters worked for you. You doing okay?”
One of the things he liked about Tiana was that she got right to the point. No bullshit, no small talk.
“I appreciate the concern,” Stryker replied, “but you’re not here to check up on my mental state.”
“I need you to play nice with my detective.”
“Not happening.”
“Why do you hold grudges, Stryker? You gotta let all that go.”
“Tiana, you weren’t the captain when it all went down. Easton derailed my cybersecurity company, cost me millions, and damaged my reputation.”
