Chapter 8 #2
I tap a few keys. Old folders open, neatly nested. Photos, crime scene sketches, handwritten notes scanned from Jack’s legal pads because his penmanship is a war crime.
“There.” I pull up a map overlay. “The last victim—Amanda—was last seen near the overlook trailhead on this side.” I point. “If he’s repeating himself…”
“State cops’ll have that angle covered,” Bran says. “They’re going to be looking at crime scene overlap. But they’re not thinking about his audience.”
“His audience is me,” I say.
His gaze flicks to me, steady. “Yeah. You.”
My skin goes weird and tight.
Henry at my window flashes behind my eyes. Such a smart little girl.
“You okay?” Bran asks.
“Stop asking me that,” I say. “I’m fine.”
“You’re lying,” he says. “And I get that you need to keep moving, but we’re going to build in stops. Non-negotiable.”
“Yes,” I snap. “Congratulations, you win the Incredibly Observant medal.”
He doesn’t rise to it. Just rests his elbows on his knees, big hands hanging loose, voice softening.
“Look,” he says. “I know what it’s like to have your brain make crime scenes into crossword puzzles. You don’t have to prove anything here. You’re already on the team.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything,” I say, heat prickling behind my eyes. “I’m trying to make sure nobody else ends up on those rocks because I was too scared to look. He came to my window, Bran. That’s not…random.”
Silence hums between us.
He doesn’t tell me it’s not my responsibility. I appreciate that almost more than the coffee.
“Then we use what you’ve got,” he says finally.
“You do the part nobody else can—pattern, language, digital footprint. But we set lines, because your cousin will kill me if I let anything happen to you. You don’t engage with him directly if we can help it.
You don’t bait him. Any contact goes through me or Brady first. That’s the deal, or I shut this down. ”
I hate that he has the muscle to make that threat real. I hate that a small, exhausted part of me is relieved somebody’s willing to stand between me and my worst instincts.
“Fine,” I grumble. “No bait. No performance art. Just…data.”
“Good,” he says. “Now ask your friend how they know.”
I’m already typing, pushing harder.
placement how? speak clearly, i skipped mind-reading in school
A beat.
she was on the shelf
My stomach drops.
“What shelf?” Bran asks.
“Natural ledge halfway down the main Falls,” I say. “Big flat outcropping off the old viewing path. You used to be able to climb down to it before they closed that section.”
“Why'd they close it?” he asks.
“Three broken ankles and one concussion,” I say. “Tourists can’t read signs. You have to want it now. Which tracks with our boy’s general commitment to the bit.”
Bran rubs a knuckle along his jaw. “You see that shelf from the overlook?”
“If you lean,” I say. “Which people do, because humans love flirting with gravity.”
He nods once. “Thurston puts her where everyone almost sees her. Someone finally does, calls it in, he’s already gone. Leaves behind a nice mental snapshot for you to chew on.”
“For us to chew on,” I correct. “You’re here now. Welcome to the brain rot.”
He huffs out something that might be a laugh.
“Ask your friend how they know,” he says. “Then we route what they say to Brady. You don’t promise them anything. You don’t make yourself look more connected than you already are.”
I type.
how do you know about the shelf
A beat.
friend on the rescue team. they’re not supposed to talk but people talk.
they said her arms were—
The cursor blinks.
Then:
nvm. forget it.
“Not ominous at all,” I mutter.
“You can pull prints from that handle later,” Bran says. “For now, we work with what you’ve got, and we let Jack do his job in the field. You are not going up there.”
“I didn’t say I was,” I lie.
He doesn’t look away from the screen. “Don’t even think about it.”
“If we go up there we can—”
“That’s for Jack and his team. I feel certain they have it roped off, anyway.”
“Probably.”
I yawn and turn my attention back to the computer, fingers poised over the keyboard as I consider my next move. I jump when Bran’s hand settles over mine, warm and steady.
“Let’s call it a day on that note. It’s getting late, and you’ve been at this for a while.”
“But—”
“What was our deal?”
I regard his uncompromising gaze. I could argue. I could probably nag my way into working as late as I wanted to. But I am tired, and giving in gracefully might earn me brownie points for a later time.
Grumbling only a little, I put my computers to sleep.
Done with that, I look around my small studio. “I…ah…there’s just the one bed; I’m sure you noticed.”
Bran’s gaze is inscrutable. “The couch will be fine. Go to bed, Tallulah.”
I give him a jerky nod. “I’ll grab you a pillow and blanket.”
“Tallulah.”
I lift an eyebrow from where I’m leaning over the bed to grab a pillow, partially hidden behind a folding partition.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll turn the light off and go to sleep now.”