After hanging up, he typed something into the computer.
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?” Shaun kept his focus on the screen.
“You talk to the grieving families, but by the time you’ve finished the conversation, it seems they feel better than they did minutes before.”
“I guess people feel like they can confide in me. Most people know the tears and fears don’t help. They just want somebody to understand. They want somebody to listen.”
“I guess that’s my weak point,” Aidan muttered. “I never know what to say to them.”
“You don’t have to say anything. That’s what listening means,” Shaun replied, the corner of his lips turning upward. He looked at Aidan, studied him. “Why did you want to become an agent?”
Aidan widened his eyes at the unexpected question. “What?”
He repeated himself.
“Because I wanted to be in law enforcement.”
Shaun contemplated the statement before responding. Aidan tried to guess what he was thinking, but came empty.
“If you wanted to be in law enforcement,” Shaun replied, “then you could have been a beat cop. It’s less demanding. Instead, you chose to be a federal agent. You investigate serial killings, terrorism, things of that nature.”
“I guess I believed I could do more good as an agent than a regular cop. Or even a detective.”
Shaun nodded. “So basically, you want to help people in a bigger way. Bring down a serial offender who’d been killing for ten years or so.” He put his hands behind his head. “What will happen if you never catch this guy?”
“I’ve got to.” Aidan put his hands on the edge of the desk and leaned over, his voice in a harsh whisper. He squared his jaw. “He’s got to be caught, Shaun. I need to catch him. If I don’t, then—”
“Then what, Aidan? If you don’t catch him, what?”
Aidan’s breath rose and fell in quick motions. He realized the edge of the desk was digging into the palms of his hands. Shaun watched him with curious eyes but remained calm and silent as he waited for an answer.
Aidan found himself wanting to scream that if he didn’t catch this guy, then he’d continue to kill. Aidan wanted to shout that if the offender kept killing, everything he had worked for in his career would be for nothing.
But Aidan didn’t say any of that.
He righted himself and ran a hand through his hair. He calmed his breathing as he realized it was happening: he was becoming obsessive.
Or maybe he already was.
Aidan had promised Cheyenne it wouldn’t happen to him. He promised he wouldn’t lose himself in The Carnations Killer investigation.
Not this time.
Not again.
Aidan looked at Shaun, who was still watching him. His curious gaze turning into concern.
“I want the families to have justice,” Aidan told him quietly. “That’s all I want.”
“It’s okay to feel close to this,” Shaun replied in kind. “But even the best agents need to take a break. All you’ve ever done is try to catch him. It’s not going to be whether or not you take the job at Quantico that’ll cost your relationship with Cheyenne. If she sees you going off the deep end, that is when she will leave. Because a wild-eyed, obsessive federal agent isn’t any woman’s fantasy.”
Aidan hated to admit it, but he knew Shaun was right. He had lived and breathed the investigation for ten years, and now that he has returned, it was all Aidan thought about. He’d left him messages. He was taunting him. He was hinting at the things he planned on doing. But he was a ghost. He had Aidan pulled in a game of cat and mouse, and Aidan couldn’t tell whether he was the cat chasing the mouse, or if he was the mouse running from the cat.
“You’re right,” Aidan said, finally.
Shaun smiled. “Of course, I am.”
Aidan looked at his wristwatch and said, “You know what? I’m going to take today off. I think it’d do me good.”
Shaun nodded. “I agree.”
Aidan returned to his desk to finish his paperwork, then logged out of the computer and gathered his things.
He left the office to go home to Cheyenne.
24
It was Friday evening, and he watched as the lights of HomeGoods went dark, blending the store in with the night. A few minutes later, he watched as a group of employees walked out of the store. The young girls chatted amongst each other as they headed for their cars in the vacant parking lot. An older woman with a scowl on her face climbed into her Buick in the handicapped parking spot and pulled away.
His target named Jane was the last to leave.
She made sure the doors were locked, and by the time she turned, most of the employees had left in their vehicles for home.
Only two remained: his target and a pimply-faced skinny man.
He straightened his cap on his head and made a beeline in his target’s direction as the man slid into his car.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
She looked at him. He could tell she was tired from a busy day of labor. She worked eight hours nonstop. It was enjoyable watching her work. He hoped for her sake it was a good day because, though she didn’t realize it yet, he knew it would be one of her last.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” he continued. “I’m afraid I made it back too late before you closed. What time do you open in the mornings?”
Despite her weary eyes, she smiled at him. “Eight o’clock.”
She didn’t seem to remember him from last week.
“Okay, great,” he said, “I was in
