“Well, that’s good. I’m glad someone is still looking, but you need to stop. Remember when you asked me to tell you if you crossed that line into the abyss? Callie girl, you’re there.”
“I’m not obsessed,” Callie said. “I stepped foot in Seattle, and shit started happening, and today I found out that my sister’s crime scene was identical to Renee’s. Those two were different from all the rest. What does that tell you?”
“That the cops don’t always tell the public and the press everything?” Kara said sarcastically.
“I can’t believe you of all people are taking this piece of information so lightly,” Callie said softly.
“I’m not. I find it disturbing, and it hurts my heart. But I lived in the past for a good five years. I’m not doing it anymore. I can’t. But I swore to you I’d help you finish this book, so if you want me to come back, I will. All you have to do is ask.”
Callie dropped her head to her forearm. No way would she ask Kara to come back. They’d been through a lot over the last couple of years, but it had become painfully aware to Callie that she’d been holding Kara back. That Kara had been trying to move on with her life, but Callie wanted to hold on to the pain and suffering a little while longer.
“No. I want you and Ivy to chase your hopes and dreams. I just wanted to keep you informed of what was going on here and ask about the ravens.” Callie slumped her shoulders. For the longest time, Jag told her that Kara had formed an unhealthy attachment to her. That Callie had let Kara get too close, something a reporter should never do with a family member of a victim.
Maybe he’d been right back then, but now it was Callie that was holding on to Kara for dear life. It was as if letting go of Kara meant Callie had given up on finding her sister’s killer.
“Come to San Francisco, Callie. You got the interview. You can finish the book anywhere. That place is no good for either of us.”
When Callie did leave Seattle for good, it wouldn’t be with Kara and Ivy. No. Callie needed to learn to rely only on herself. Her entire life, there had always been someone else there to hold her up.
First her parents.
Then her sister.
Jag.
And finally Kara.
Callie had to figure out what it looked like to be an independent soul.
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to see this through.”
“You know how to reach me,” Kara said before the line went dead.
When Callie had left Seattle with Kara a year ago, the idea had been to write the book as a way to put the past where it belonged. She dove so deep into writing she hadn’t realized her friend, and assistant, had started to live again, while Callie barely existed in the past.
She had to come to terms with the fact that Kara would be okay with not knowing. That, as she said, because she’d done everything she could humanly possibly do, she needed to do what Renee would want.
Stephanie would want Callie to nail the bastard.
Sucking in a deep breath, she stood and smoothed down the front of her jeans. She reached up and pulled out her ponytail, shaking out her long blond hair. That was another thing that always bothered her. All the women had long blond hair.
Just like her.
And Jag always thought that the killer was trying to impress her or something.
She tiptoed around the corner. Damn door was closed.
Fuck it.
Grabbing the doorknob, she twisted it as quietly as she could, pushing the door into the room.
Jag rested his ass against a gray desk with his legs stretched out about a foot and his arms folded over his chest. He stared at a wall filled with images of dead girls.
The Trinket Killer crime scenes.
“What the fuck is this?” She shoved open the door. It hit the other wall with a thud and slammed back into her shoulder. She just shrugged it off as she moved to the other side of the desk.
“Callie.” He stepped in front of her, grabbing her forearms. “You can’t be in here.”
“Like hell I can’t.” She wiggled her arms free. “This isn’t a police precinct, so if those are official files, you shouldn’t have them.”
“You know how this works. I’m a cop who worked most of these cases from the beginning. I can have access how I want.”
She ignored his words and focused on the images of her sister. She’d been there that night, and Jag had brought her to her sister’s body. He’d held her while she cried. He stood there while she blamed him and then drove her home and held her some more.
Two days later, she humiliated him in front of the entire world because while he’d done all that.
He’d still lied to her as he’d always done.
Story of their entire relationship.
An image of her sister’s body was pinned next to an image of another woman, but Callie couldn’t make out who it was.
“Is that Renee?” she asked.
“Yes,” Jag said, clearing his throat. “Other than the beating her face took, the scene is identical to your sister’s.”
She raised her hand and waved it over all the images of all the other girls, noting the trinket in each hand. “Six gold dolphins and six silver dolphins. And there were an even amount of both purchased,” she said mostly to herself.
“Even amount of raven trinkets purchased as well, but this time we’ve added rose gold.”
“Obsessive-compulsive disorder.”
“We established the unsub suffered from that.”
She nodded. “This one has a thing for numbers. I’m thinking six is important. So is three, which goes into six, twice.”
“It also could be twelve, because he stopped killing at twelve.”
“Exactly,” she said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the two raven trinkets. “These were on my bed.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jag said.
“I wish
