“I’ll see myself out,” he said,walking toward the door. Just before he reached it, he paused and looked backat her. There was something in his face, something that Zoe thought might besadness. “You’re a good agent, Prime. It would be a shame to let that creep endthe careers of two of my best. I’ve seen other agents go through thesekinds of losses, and the best thing for them has always been to dive in and getback to work.”
Then he was gone, leaving Zoe tostare down at the file on the table, analyzing its dimensions and trying toignore everything else.
***
It wasn’t even yet midday, but Zoefelt awful. Her headache hadn’t gone away yet, and she was dead tired. After walkingaround for half the night, combined with the drinking, she felt like everyounce of strength had been wrung out of her. It wasn’t the first day like this.It wasn’t even the first day in a row.
She eased herself off the sofa andtrailed through to her bedroom, falling onto the covers without bothering tomove them or get undressed. She closed her eyes, her head against the pillow asshe lay on her stomach, and grabbed hold of the calming nothing of sleep.
“Z, you’ve got to listen to me.”
Zoe turned, looking around tosee Shelley standing in front of her. She was wearing a nice dress, her hairand makeup done even more neatly than usual, her height elevated in heels. Zoelooked down and realized that she was wearing the same. They were standing in thewomen’s bathroom of a restaurant, their partners waiting for them in the otherroom.
“What?” Zoe asked, frowning.Something was off, but she couldn’t remember what. Something wasn’t quite righthere.
“You have to listen,” Shelleyinsisted.
Zoe frowned deeper and took astep toward her, but without moving Shelley managed to stay the same distanceaway. “Listen to what?” Zoe asked.
Shelley pointed behind her, andZoe turned: in the mirror was a reflection of her own face, not done up inmakeup and fancy clothing, but as she was now: sleep-ruffled and pale, scruffyin sweats, dark rings under her eyes.
But there was nothing elsethere.
Zoe turned to face her again,wondering. But Shelley was mute, staring at Zoe with such concentration andforce that it killed the words wanting to burst out of her mouth. She couldonly look back, trying to figure out the meaning in Shelley’s stare, even asShelley’s eyes filmed over with white and stopped staring at anything at all.
Zoe sat bolt upright in bed,breathing hard. She was sweaty and hot, her hair damp when she reached up tobrush it off her forehead. It took a long moment for the thought of Shelley’swhite-out eyes to fade from her head, and she looked to the side only to beconfronted with another huge pair. Zoe yelped and shot sideways across the bed,only to realize that it was Euler, making a concerned purring noise under hisbreath as he watched her with one paw lifted cautiously in the air.
Zoe caught her breath and reachedout to scratch him behind the ear, letting him know that it was okay. Her heartwas still racing as he tossed his head and wandered away, losing interest inthe odd behavior of his human. Zoe counted his steps until he left the room,then tried counting her own breaths instead, slowing them down as much as shecould.
So much for getting some restfulsleep. Zoe swung her legs out of the bed, the cold floor something of a comfortas her feet hit it; a reminder that she was back in the real world, not lost ina dream anymore. A nightmare, maybe. What was it that Shelley had been tryingto tell her? Zoe had no idea. That was the thing about the subconscious—maybeit just didn’t mean anything at all.
She padded through to the kitchenafter Euler, thinking she would get another glass of water and then shower. Shelooked over at the coffee table as she leaned back on the counter to drink, andsaw the file. She ignored it. Now wasn’t the time, dream or no dream. Shelooked away pointedly, wishing Maitland hadn’t left it at all.
Zoe looked down at her body:mismatched sweatshirt and joggers, both from her university days, tired andfaded. She hadn’t washed her hair for a few days. That, at least, was somethingshe could do to fill in the time.
In the bathroom, she paused, hitwith the image of her own face in the mirror. She had been avoiding looking atit for a long time, but something—probably the dream—had made her look up. Nowshe saw herself as Maitland must have seen her. Dark circles under her eyes,greasy and unkempt hair, pale skin. She looked a mess.
She deserved to look a mess. She’dlet her partner die, hadn’t she? Zoe closed her eyes for a moment to ward offthe pain, wishing it would stop.
Maitland’s words came back to her.The idea that throwing herself back into a case might make it easier for her toleave all of this in the past. To not feel the pain so harshly anymore.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to justtake a look. At least then Maitland wouldn’t come around again, and maybe herdead partner would stop haunting her dreams. If nothing else, at least shewould be able to tell herself that she had tried.
Zoe walked over to the tablebefore her resolve could fail her and grabbed the file. There were four sheetsof paper inside it, two each for the two victims. She felt sick just holdingthem in her hands, and nearly put them down again—but the image of Shelley’sface from her dream lingered in her mind’s eye, and Zoe started to read.
She scanned the informationquickly, words and phrases jumping out at her. Bodies found in upstate NewYork. It would be cold up there at this time of year. It looked as though themethods were different for both women, as well as all of their particulars. Zoesaw no correlation in their ages, their weights and heights, their homeaddresses, the way that they had been killed.
But there was one thing thatconnected them, one reason why these two cases had been
