37. Maverick
MAVERICK
I haven’t left Clara’s side in two days.
Not since I found her on the couch, that goddamn letter beside her as if it had hollowed her out from the inside. It took hours to bring her back to herself that night.
We’ve fallen back into our familiar routine, but she’s subdued. I don’t like it. And now, I’m supposed to leave her and head into work. It’s the last thing I want to do, but I don’t have a choice.
The meeting with the mayor is in three hours.
Three damn hours.
I rub the back of my neck and glance at the clock. 10:00 a.m. Tamara should be here soon. I can’t bring myself to leave until I know Clara isn’t alone.
She’s curled up in the corner of the sectional, Juno lying across her feet, her fingers idly stroking his ears. Her expression is softer this morning, more present. She glances up at me as though she knows I’m watching her— as though she knows what I’m thinking. “You can go, Mav. I’ll be okay.”
She’s trying to reassure me, but I can hear the hesitation in her voice.
“I’m not walking out that door until Tamara gets here, sunshine,” I say gently but firmly, walking over to crouch beside her. “I just—” I exhale, shaking my head. “I need to know you’re not alone.”
Her hand cups my jaw, thumbs brushing my cheek. “You stayed for me. Two full days. You have work to do, my love, and I’m okay now. I promise.”
The knock at the door slices through the room. I rise instantly, crossing the floor in three strides and opening it.
Tamara steps in, a tote bag slung over her shoulder and a determined look on her face. “I brought snacks, chocolate, and a bad rom-com. I’m not leaving her side. You don’t have to worry.”
I nod and proffer a tight smile. “Thank you.”
I turn back to Clara. She’s standing now, her eyes locked on mine. I close the space between us and wrap my arms around her.
“I’ll be back tonight,” I murmur against her hair. “I’ll call you when it’s over.”
She nods against my chest. “I love you.”
I capture her chin and tilt her head up, kissing her slow and deep. Pulling back just enough to look at her face, I brush my lips across her forehead. “I love you, sunshine.”
Then I leave—clenching my hands and holding my breath. I won’t be able to breathe until this fucker is gone. Behind bars or six feet under .
Preferably the latter.
“Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. Evans,” Cruz says as the mayor unbuttons his suit jacket and settles into the leather seat at the head of the conference table.
We left that seat open on purpose. He needs to feel as though he’s in control. As though he’s the one holding the reins in this room. I sit to his left, Cruz to his right, a series of files and news articles spread out in front of us.
“Please, call me James,” the bastard smiles, flashing a polished politician’s smile. “I’m willing to do whatever I can to help.”
“We appreciate that,” I say with a curt nod. “The media’s been spinning some wild theories about The Chameleon. It’s stirring panic in Rochester.”
“Our tip line’s been flooded,” Cruz adds. “People are scared. Asking if they’re safe, if we’re close to finding him. Unfortunately, we haven’t received any credible leads. We’re hoping that, with your involvement, we can reassure the public.”
James leans forward, elbows on the table. Eager. Hungry to play the hero. “What would you like me to do?”
He needs to feel as though we need him, as though we’re desperate to catch this motherfucker and can only do it with his help. As though he’s the lynchpin in solving this case.
Cruz takes the lead, voice steady. “The chief was here earlier. We discussed a third press conference. ”
“But this time, we want you to lead it,” I chime in. “The public trusts you. Probably more than they trust the rest of us.”
The mayor’s eyes gleam behind his glasses as he leans back in his chair—a false king on a borrowed throne.
The door creaks open before he can respond, and Jesse sticks his head in. “Coffee run. You guys want anything?”
“Thanks, man,” I say. “Black coffee.”
“Americano for me,” Cruz adds.
James pauses just long enough to seem gracious. “Oat milk latte, extra shot. Please.”
Jesse disappears with a nod.
Fifteen minutes later, he’s back with a tray of drinks. “Got your orders, gentlemen.”
He passes them out, but when I take a sip of mine, it’s not black coffee that hits my tongue. It’s oat milk and espresso. Thick and bitter. I school my face, hiding a grimace. Jesse catches my eye for a split second.
Showtime.
As Cruz and the mayor start discussing public messaging strategies, I match James sip for sip, waiting a few beats in between to make it appear natural. He doesn’t notice. Why would he? He thinks we’re the ones in the dark.
“We could drip-feed some details,” I muse. “Maybe a partial timeline.”
“Well, let’s take a look at it,” Cruz says, standing and rounding the table.
I rise, coffee in hand, and make my way around the table. The mayor follows, distracted by the evidence board. He sets his cup on the table behind him.
I loop around subtly, swapping our cups in one fluid motion, then glance at the timeline Spencer mocked up this morning. Two fake crime scenes at the top.
“We have to be careful.” With the hand holding the coffee, I gesture to the top of the board. “What do you think about releasing these?”
The mayor’s eyes narrow at the unfamiliar cases. “I wasn’t made aware of these two.”
“We were alerted to those recently,” Cruz explains smoothly.
While they talk, I pull out my phone and shoot off a text.
Maverick
Go.
A minute later, Jesse reappears. “Everyone good in here? I’m heading out.”
“We’re good,” I reply. “You can take this. I’m done.” I hold out the nearly empty cup—the one the mayor’s mouth was all over.
Jesse raises a brow. “I’m not the errand boy, boss man. Trash is over there,” he says, pointing lazily to the receptacle.
“And you’re closer,” I counter flatly.
He rolls his eyes, takes the cup, and disappears without another word.
The meeting drags on for another hour. We finalize plans: a third press conference in three days and a public statement to be released by the mayor in the morning. He thinks he’s tightening the noose around the case.
But really, it’s his neck the noose is around.
Thirty minutes later, Cruz and I are in the lab, pacing like caged animals and under strict orders from Jesse to keep quiet.
When a series of beeps breaks the tense silence, the three of us descend toward the screen. The results are in.
Jesse stares at the monitor, blinking. “It’s a match.”
Time stops.
The DNA on the coffee lid matches the semen found on the victims. A conclusive, undeniable match.
Enough probable cause for a warrant. Enough to bring the walls down.
“Speak nothing of this outside of the team. We can’t risk letting this get back to the mayor.” I glance at Cruz. “Not even the chief.”
I exhale slowly, my heart thudding in my chest.
The monster wears a mayor’s smile.
But not for much longer.