Jason whipped around in the chair so quickly I thought he might break his neck. “What?”
Miranda giggled as she draped her arms over his shoulders. “I’m just kidding. Geez. I know you’re saving yourself just in case your wife comes back.” She reached up, tweaking his cheek. “Plus, I like my men a bit darker in the skin.” Pausing, she lifted her gaze to Cole. “Which brings me to the fine-looking Detective Conrad. Is he single?”
Cole grinned. “I believe he is.”
“You should introduce us,” she said, straightening. “Actually, you should call him right now. I’ll give you—”
“And I think it’s time for you to go home,” Jason announced.
Miranda pouted. “You’re no fun, but you’re correct.” She shimmied around Jason and bent over, clasping my cheeks. “I don’t like this at all,” she whispered.
“I don’t either,” I whispered back.
Her lower lip trembled. “I’m still glad you came home though.”
“Me too.”
She stared at me a moment and then patted my cheek. “I might be a little tipsy.”
“Did you drive?” I asked, frowning up at Miranda.
Jason laughed. “No. I drove her here.”
She rolled her eyes and then pulled away, snatching up her jacket. “He sounds so happy about that.”
He ignored her as he slipped on his gloves. “I’ll make sure she gets home.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Love you guys.”
“Love you more,” Miranda called back.
Cole walked them out and once he returned, he locked the door behind him and made his way back over to me. He sat on the edge of the couch, his body twisted toward mine. “Striker seriously wasn’t here to do a story?”
Exhaling softly, I tipped my head back against the cushion. “Yeah. He didn’t want to do a story, Cole. He wanted to ask me one question.”
His eyes flashed. “Journalists lie, Sasha. They’ll say anything to get information out of someone.”
“That might be the case, but damn, he had a point, Cole. He really did.”
He studied me for a moment. “What did he say?”
“Striker is kind of obsessed with the . . . the Groom. Or maybe serial killers in general, and besides that being incredibly creepy, he picked up on something I’d told the agents while I was in the hospital.” I slid my hands along my thighs. “I think I even said it to you. That at times it seemed like the Groom was two different people.” My gaze shifted to Cole. “I don’t know a lot about who he was. I purposely avoided learning anything, but Striker didn’t and he said that he’d always believed that the Groom hadn’t pulled it off by himself.”
His brows creased together. “None of that means that there were actually two of them working together.”
“But it sort of makes sense. There were times when it was like I was dealing with two separate people,” I told him. “And I never saw him while I was held. Not once, and when he was angry, he didn’t speak. So let’s say there’s two of them. The Groom I knew was more patient and the other more violent. That would explain why the victims this time don’t last very long.”
“Sasha.”
“It is possible,” I insisted.
He looked away, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “I know it’s not impossible, but it’s also not very likely.”
“It’s about as likely as there being another copycat serial killer, isn’t it?” I replied, sitting forward and snatching my wine glass off the table.
“But there would’ve been evidence of another person. No matter how careful someone is, they always leave trace evidence behind. Hair. Skin cells. Fingerprints,” he explained. “There had to have been something.”
I considered that as I took a much smaller sip of wine. “How hard did they look for additional evidence?”
He opened his mouth.
“Evidence of there being another person? They never suspected that and I . . . I never gave them any real concrete evidence seriously suggesting it.” His eyes came back to mine. “And they thought they got him. What do you think they did?”
Lifting his hand, he thrust his fingers through his hair and then clasped the back of his neck. “I wasn’t a part of that investigation. Because of our relationship, I was out.”
I glanced down at my wine.
“They probably bagged everything they could and then they would’ve filed it after combing through it,” he said. “They would’ve scanned for fingerprints, but nothing is a hundred percent. They were probably looking for prints to match the victims, but I would think they’d come across something.”
“None of that means it’s impossible.”
Cole was quiet while I took a huge gulp of the wine, wincing at the slight bitterness. “No. It’s not impossible.”
I lowered my glass to the table as I lifted my gaze to his. “What if it is the case? What if there were two of them, and I never realized that?”
His gaze sharpened as it shot back to mine. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Put the blame on yourself.”
“I’m—”
“Yeah, you are. You’re thinking that you missed something and if you had figured it out, you would’ve been able to warn the agents. There was nothing you could’ve done, Sasha. And you don’t even really know if there were two men.” He curled his hand around my neck and forced my gaze to him. “Don’t put that kind of guilt on yourself.”
Biting my lip, I nodded the best I could with his hand on my neck.
“I’m serious, babe. I know what that kind of guilt does. Fucking eats you alive,” he said in a low voice. “You have no idea how many times I lay awake at night asking myself what if I’d just walked you to the car—”
“No. We talked about that.” I placed my hands on his chest. “There was nothing you . . .” Trailing off, I sighed heavily. “I see what you did there. You can’t blame yourself. I can’t blame myself.”
His eyes softened. “No, you can’t.”
“Neither can you,” I whispered.
He brought his forehead to mine. “That will always be a work in progress no matter what.”
I closed my eyes. “I hate hearing that.”
“I hate knowing that you’ve got to go through this shit again.”
Sliding my hand to his shoulder, I tugged on him. He came, wrapping an arm around me and gathering me close. “It’s just not me who’s going through this again.”
“You’re all that matters,” he replied, his lips brushing my cheek.
I turned my head, unable to shake the questions Striker had raised. “If Striker is right, you know what that means.”
Cole didn’t respond, but his arm tightened around me.
“He’s probably been around this whole time. Living here. Interacting with people and . . .” Something occurred to me. “But there haven’t been any murders, have there?” I pulled back. “Before the woman in Frederick disappeared?”