“Thanks.” He had just wanted to stop a monster and protect that little girl, the way he hadn’t been able to protect his sister. But he finally let himself feel proud of what he’d done.
The waitress came over and dropped off their pie. She forgot the waters.
Mulder shoved a forkful of pie in his mouth.
“If Agent Ressler was impressed with the profile, then he must’ve believed you when you told him about the second killer,” Phoebe said.
Mulder leaned in. “Ressler already knew. One of the deputies told him about the way Earl Roy flipped out at the sight of blood. So Ressler set Earl Roy up and showed him a crime scene photo.”
“And?” She was hanging on every word.
“Earl Roy tried to climb under the table and hide. Plus, Ressler thinks he knows who Earl Roy was working with. He has a brother. Montgomery Propps.”
“And his brother is still out there somewhere?” She pushed away her plate, the pie untouched.
“Yeah. But Agent Ressler said the profile I wrote might help the FBI find him faster.”
“It sounds like you’re good at this. And maybe it’s something you’re interested in?”
The waitress came to the table again. “The two men in the booth over there paid your check.”
Mulder’s dad and Agent Ressler were out of their seats. His father gestured toward the front of the coffee shop.
“Looks like we’re leaving,” Phoebe said.
Mulder wasn’t looking forward to going back to the apartment. He had nothing left to say to his dad—except that he wouldn’t be attending Georgetown University in the fall.
“I’m glad we had a chance to meet, Fox Mulder.” Agent Ressler extended his hand.
Mulder shook it. “Me too.”
“Aren’t you coming?” Phoebe asked Ressler.
“I’m heading back to Quantico, to the BSU.” He looked at Mulder. “There’s a profile I want to get over to my colleagues as soon as possible.”
As Ressler turned to leave, Mulder realized he had another question. “Agent Ressler? What’s a good major for someone who wants to join the FBI after they finish college?”
Ressler smiled. “Psychology.”
“Political science and economics will carry you further, and Georgetown has top-notch programs in both,” Mulder’s dad couldn’t resist mentioning.
“That’s good to know,” Mulder said. “But I’m not going to Georgetown.”
Phoebe’s mouth fell open.
Bill Mulder’s nostrils flared and his jaw muscles twitched. “What did you say?”
Mulder ignored him and looked at the FBI agent. “And which school has the best psych program?”
“That’s easy. Oxford.”
“Thanks.” He watched as Ressler pushed up his rolled sleeves and opened the door to leave.
Agent Ressler paused to say one more thing. “Come see me when you need a job in a few years.”
CHAPTER 27
Washington, D.C.
4:58 P.M.
The window slid open, as if someone had greased it just for X. People wasted ridiculous amounts of money buying reinforced doors and high-tech dead bolts to protect their homes, but nine times out of ten they skimped on the windows—and any halfway decent criminal knew it.
He started to push the window up the rest of the way, and it got stuck.
X heard his father’s voice in the back of his mind. “That’s what you get for being such a know-it-all.”
Guess his loser father was right for once in his life. It was a shame the man was buried too deep in the ground to enjoy it.
X’s mouth stretched into a satisfied smile.
You never forget the first person you kill.
Two minutes and twelve seconds later, he returned the lock pick to his wallet and ducked under the window frame and into the room.
A flash of red caught his eye, and he noticed the poster on the back of the door.
Farrah Fawcett.
The kid had good taste.
He dusted off his pants and felt a twinge of … guilt? All right, maybe he felt a little sorry for the kid. It was hard for a boy to lose his father.
Unless you killed him yourself.
It was the kind of thing his boss would say.
He walked by the desk and flicked a model of the Enterprise from Star Trek hanging above it. “Sorry, kid.” X watched it spin. “Your dad should’ve kept his mouth shut.”
He slipped out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him, but not before he kissed two of his fingers and touched them to Farrah’s lips. In the hallway, he heard the crackle of static, followed by a man’s voice.
Time to go to work.
Halfway down the stairs, he caught a glimpse of his mark. This would be easier than he had expected.
“Sergio, can you hear me?” More static. “Staff Sergeant? Report.”
“Sergio is unavailable,” X said. “You sound like a real crackpot calling him on that thing. If only everyone knew how sane you are…”
The man dropped the microphone. But he recovered quickly and jumped to his feet. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
X took off his blazer and draped it over the banister. “You don’t remember me, Major Winchester? That hurts.”