“I believe so.”
“A team would be very unlikely. We’re just going to have to wait for the press conference this afternoon and hope they have a ballpark time of death for number three. If you want my guess, I’m thinking he panicked. He didn’t wait as long as before, and he didn’t take the time to groom a specific victim. This is also significant. Blood Honey is a meticulous and controlling individual, as evidenced by his…handiwork. And the apparent lack of evidence he leaves at his crime scenes—we can’t forget that. But something got under his skin this time.”
Kasha gives a resolute nod. “It makes you wonder whether the police know more about him than they’re letting on.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
Oh, they fucking know.
Fucking Posner. Rainbows and cupcakes? Do these words have another frequency that only assholes can hear?
Fucking Agent Chen. I had Harvey keep an eye on him the entire time he was in the building, but he was in and out like a cheap john. Three of my forensic analysts are going over the footage he requested as we speak, trying to identify any familiar faces or foul play; if he won’t tell us why he wants a clip that just happens to feature me and my brother, I’ll find out for myself. I don’t believe in coincidence. Coincidence is for sloppy optimists and bad liars.
Maybe that will mash the weird slither in my veins to pulp. I suspect they call this panic. Anger, I’m good with; panic, not so much. It tugs at my most base impulses, the exact kind Dr. Crackpot would have some choice words for, I’m sure. Aeron Lore is a meticulous and controlling individual. Come on, man—you’re meant to be a goddamn professional. The only reason a guy clings to control is the same reason he clings to anything: he’s right on the edge.
The edge is getting pretty damn slippery. Maybe Blood Honey fell off.
What I’d really like to do right about now is close my eyes and think some more about speculums. They’re my happy place. But instead, I have Gwen to deal with, because Leo hired me a fucking assistant.
“Fliss.” I sigh heavily, pressing the intercom button hard. “Send her in.”
“Of course, Mr. Lore.”
Just once, I wish Fliss would pull a Tuij and bark, what, do I look like your fucking slave? A man needs a little banter to break up the working day, especially when his canvas of choice is too busy running her own arm of the company for a quick violation of sexual harassment policy. But no. Fliss is a Yes Girl, through and through.
A beat later, Gwen strides into the office in all her latent-superiority-complex Cleopatra glory—some of which I’ve hopefully broken down by making her wait outside for two and a half hours.
What? I had shit to do.
I gesture to the seat in front of my desk while making a show of flicking through the background check she left for me.
“Camden tells me you were here until gone eleven last night, putting this together,” I say.
She nods once—the kind of nod that suggests she’s aware I’m stating the obvious, but doesn’t want to patronize me by acknowledging it. Heh.
“So tell me.” I sit up, knot my fingers. Fix my eyes on her sharply enough to be just a little unsettling; watch how she braces for the bad news, grasshoppers. “Why is it still incomplete?”
“It is? I followed protocol. I mean, as much as I could,” she says, all too quickly. The words just spew out. “There were things I couldn’t get in time, but I made notes and—”
“I see your notes, yes.” I yank out a piece of paper. “I’m not so concerned with your medical records. Given that I’ve already seen them, Gwen.” I offer her a sympathetic smile. “You met Miss Reeves when she hired you.”
“Yes.”
“You’re aware that she runs one of the most advanced surveillance companies in the world.”