Zoe looked at the images again. “That isinteresting. So they have that connection as well. Not just tattoos, but goodtattoos. Style and taste, and expenditure.”
This wasn’t going the way Shelley hadwanted it to. Zoe seemed to be getting more interested, not less.
“That’s just a consequence of the trendfor mainstream tattoos,” Shelley tried. “As they become more popular, itbecomes more prestigious to go to a better artist. It’s all about social media,being able to share this artwork on your skin, gaining followers and popularityif you have good tattoos. There are even—well, how can I put this? Models, Isuppose, who gain a large following of mostly male users, who appreciate thelook of their tattoos.”
“You mean nude modeling,” Zoe said,matter-of-factly. Even if she was disconnected from social niceties and trendsa lot of the time, at least it wasn’t an indication of prudishness. “Do youthink Callie was involved in that?”
“Well, no, I don’t mean that all womenwith tattoos… and, you know, we already looked at her social media.” Shelleyscratched the skin above her left eyebrow, trying to find a way back out ofthis conversation. Zoe was getting deeper and deeper, drawing conclusions thatdidn’t need to be drawn, making leaps of logic. “Should we maybe look intoother avenues, not just the tattoo connection?”
Zoe glanced up. “Oh, yes. You go ahead.I will continue studying these.”
Just like that, her attention was goneagain. Shelley lingered, chewing on one of her fingernails above the unfinishedpaperwork as she watched her partner go deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole.
She knew that Zoe was in therapy. Thathad not been a secret between them. Watching her now, Shelley couldn’t help butwonder if it was working.
Zoe was getting obsessive, and that wasnever a good thing. If she stayed blinkered, she would miss key clues—cluesthat maybe only she could see. Shelley considered herself a good agent, but sheknew she couldn’t hold a flame to Zoe’s years of experience and special way ofseeing things.
If she couldn’t find a way to get herpartner back on track, they risked letting a killer get away—or even losingmore victims to their lit match before the case was done.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The watcher lounged on a table at thecafé over the road from the store, watching and waiting. He was close by thedoor, and his bill was paid already. As soon as she finished her shift andemerged into the growing twilight, she would be in his grasp.
It was getting late, the moon no matchfor the lights of the city but trying all the same. There was little foottraffic here at this time of night. Most of the workers in the city had alreadytraversed rush hour to get home, and the few that were still out and about wereslowly finishing their tasks and getting back indoors.
She would walk home, as she always did.There were streetlights all along her route, enough to make her feel safe andsecure as she passed by side roads and alleys on the way home. The roadcontinued alongside her path, cars filled with drivers and passengers to serveas witnesses.
But they would not see him. He knew theywouldn’t. He had it all planned out.
He knew he could stay ahead of her. Shewalked slowly, the stroll of someone who was done for the day and dead tired toboot. There was one bend in particular, a dip where the sidewalk plunged intodarkness between two lights—one bulb no longer working. A place where the roadwas less busy. Where cars did not pass by as often, and if they did, theirdrivers would be looking up at the intersection ahead, assessing whether theywould have to stop at the lights.
No one would see her there. No one wouldnotice a dark shape in the dark city, being pulled deep into an alleyway. Hewould do it with a gloved hand over her mouth. She wouldn’t scream. He wouldcut her throat and drag her deeper, and light her up right there, and be gonebefore anyone knew that something was wrong.
He smiled to himself, thinking about it.Not the act itself; he knew that was a terrible thing. But the world would besafer with her gone, and that was what truly mattered. Protection. Safety.
All the residents of this sleepy street,going about the last of their business for the day—none of them knew what hewas doing for them.
He got up and left the café, tooimpatient to wait any longer. He needed to be on the move, working, gettingcloser to his goal. He needed to be getting started.
He crossed the street casually, as if hehad all of the time in the world. It was a risk, but not really. Hiding inplain sight was the best possible strategy. So what if he was seen on the samestreet as her? It meant nothing. Most of the people around would not evennotice him, let alone be able to identify him later. People were like that.They went about their lives just about asleep, noticing nothing of any real importance.
The back door of the store opened, thefront one already locked up. This was it. She was coming out.
And who was that?
He tried not to stare, tried to switchhis gaze carefully and quickly to the sidewalk, to where he was walking. Hecontinued on down the sidewalk in the direction of her house, the way he hadalready been intending to walk, but this time he was not going to an alleywayto lie in wait for her. No, this time he was walking in front of her, past her,because she had stopped—and she was not alone.
A coworker had left the store at thesame time, which was irregular. Normally she locked up alone. This man musthave stayed.
Likely, he was trying to impress her. Toseduce her. Playing out the animal and tiresome role of the mating beast,interested in nothing but pleasure and the moment.
Thinking nothing of the evil that couldbe unleashed on the world, of the people like her. People who needed to
