“See you in the pen in the A.M.,” she said. Just hearing his voice had
soothed her nerves. She made a double-check of her front door and all the windows,
then went to bed with her Sig Sauer unholstered on the floor by the nightstand.
Sweet exhaustion took her, and she floated in a luxurious descent into the rabbit
hole. An e-mail ping on her phone woke her at seven. Nikki twisted up on one elbow
to check it. Agent Callan requested a conference call that morning. She tapped in a
yes, then flopped back and stretched, drawing in a long, refreshing chestful,
wishing she had asked Rook to come over. She turned to look at his pillow and sat
up, quaking in alarm at what she saw resting there.
A coil of orange string.
TWELVE
“Tell me this really didn’t happen,” said Rook. “You let a serial killer touch
my pillow?”
Heat laughed for the first time in days. When her laughter choked in her throat and
she stifled tears, he held her, and Nikki let herself fold into him, wrapping her
long arms around his back and pressing a cheek against his chest just for the grace
of hearing a loving heart.
A throat cleared behind them. Benigno DeJesus, from the evidence collection team,
stood in her open apartment doorway. Behind him waited his crew, also suited up in
lab coveralls, footies, gloves, scrub hats, and masks. Rook said, “Love the
costumes, kids, but the last trick-or-treaters got all the gummy bears.”
DeJesus hadn’t pulled his mask up yet, but even that wouldn’t hide the grimness he
exuded because of the nature of this visit. He greeted Nikki warmly, although they
didn’t even attempt to shake, each being an old pro at the contamination drill. “I
’m glad it’s you,” Heat said, and not for the first time. She’d never worked
with a better forensics detective than Benigno, and had requested him when she put
in the call.
“Let’s start by hearing about your night.” He hauled a grid-ruled pad out and
made a quick, expert sketch of the hall, living room, and kitchen. “Tell me
everywhere you went and anything you touched, however trivial, from when you got
home until now.”
She gave Detective DeJesus the narrated tour, awkward about having the witness shoe
on her foot for a change. He made occasional marks on the pad, and when they had
finished with the bedroom, including reference photos of the string, which still
topped the pillowcase, he asked her if she noticed anything out of place. “That
includes before or after you arrived.”
“Before?” asked Rook. Then it sunk in. “Holy shit…” The possibility dawned on
him, as it had on Nikki upon discovery of the string, that Rainbow might have been
in the apartment, hiding, when she got home with her Duke’s takeout and waited for
her to go to bed, even placing his call from a closet or the bathroom.
“Nothing caught my attention before,” she said. “And this morning, except for my
security cam being disabled—which was the first thing I checked on—nothing.
Absolutely no disturbances.”
“If there’s anything to be found, we’ll find it.” And they both knew that was
bankable. Heat and Rook left for the precinct while the evidence techs got to work.
Nikki paused in the hall for a parting glance into her apartment, imagining the
serial killer roaming those floors while she slept. When they got on the elevator,
she told Rook now she knew what people meant when they said they felt as if someone
had walked across their grave.
Rook pushed the lobby button. “Let’s walk on his instead.”
Some wiseasses must have raided the precinct’s emergency supply closet, because
when Heat and Rook stepped into the bull pen, every detective sat hunched over a
desk with a head on a pillow. Their gallows humor felt warmer than any hug they
could have given Nikki. It called for a like response.