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It’s not too much? I was afraid I’d scare you away.

No. I liked it. I don’t know. I guess I don’t mind letting someone else take control.

From the date stamp on the messages, Woodson didn’t respond to her for several hours. This prompted a series of check-ins from Corrine.

Matt?

U ok?

?

I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?

Then finally, the next morning, he responded.

I’m here. Don’t worry, dove. I can’t stop thinking about you either. I want to see you again. I want to spend the weekend with you. Do you trust me?

My stomach rolled. He called her dove. Lock had called me his little dove ever since the first time I spent the night with him. A pair of mourning doves had chosen to nest just outside the window. They mate for life, he told me. He withdrew into himself just after, turning away from me. He had been afraid he’d said too much too fast.

“I like that,” I had said as I put a hand on his shoulder. It was then that I noticed the tattoo on his shoulder blade for the first time. That unique design of two fish intertwined. He flinched when I ran my fingers along the bold lines of ink. I didn’t learn the story behind it that day. No, that came much later and broke my heart anew each time I thought of it.

Yes! Just tell me when and where.

You’re absolutely sure?

Yes.

Will you let me plan everything? Do you trust me?

I trust you. I promise.

Ok. Friday night. I googled it. There’s a park within walking distance of your apartment. I drive a black Town Car. I’ll park there.

Where are we going?

It will be a surprise, my dove.

And then there was the NDA. But it was a coincidence. Of course someone who preferred an app like WhisprMatch would want to protect their privacy, especially if they were rich like Corrine suspected. I could explain it away without even trying hard.

But, dove. This was madness.

It was just a term of endearment, I told myself. Nothing terribly unique. Right? None of that would hold up in court.

My head spun. What was I thinking? How could I be thinking it?

I shoved the file under my arm. The walls of the conference room felt like they were closing in on me. I needed air. I needed to be far away from anything to do with Corrine Egan’s story.

The door across the hall was still closed. Roy hadn’t finished his interview with Amy Pasko. I raced down the stairwell and came out on the second floor. My office was at the end of the hall.

Everyone had already left for lunch. I could enjoy the solitude and try to clear my head.

Matt Woodson wasn’t Lock. It was ridiculous to even entertain the idea. I was just under too much stress. And even if Corrine Egan’s man was Lock, we had no concrete thread tying Matt Woodson to these missing women.

My phone buzzed, jarring me. I had an incoming text from Roy Dennison.

Just finished up. Getting called out to a potential homicide on the other side of town. That’s gonna be the rest of my day. I’ll drop by your office in the morning to get your notes.

I hovered my thumbs over the keyboard. I desperately wanted to hear his impressions of Amy Pasko. He hadn’t said it, but I knew full well part of his objective with her was to determine if she could corroborate any of Matt Woodson’s reported idiosyncrasies. Beads of sweat formed at the base of my neck.