Chapter Two
US Marshal Chelsea Kilpatrick ignored her vibrating cell phone. Besides the fact that she detested talking on the phone, she was certain that any second, a brilliant answer would pop to mind and end years of work searching for Zee Zee Mars.
The phone vibrated again. “Son of a Slurpee—” Her train of thought disappeared.
If work didn’t require phone calls, she’d change her voicemail to say, “You know I won’t answer.
Hang up and send a message.” Whoever had made the mortal mistake to call twice in a row instead of text was about to hear her riot act.
Chelsea glanced at the cell phone and groaned. Mac Cabello. His timing never failed. She was sure that her partner had some kind of homing device able to detect when Chelsea was neck deep in her study of the ongoing Zee Zee Mars investigation.
Well, Mac would grumble that the investigation was never-ending instead of ongoing.
Though both ongoing and never-ending seemed semi-interchangeable.
Zee Zee Mars’s infamous case had been interwoven throughout Chelsea’s law enforcement career, whether she was assigned to the woman on the US Marshals’ Most Wanted Fugitive list or not. Which, technically, she wasn’t.
Her primary responsibilities included prisoner transportation, serving federal warrants, and an ungodly amount of paperwork.
Adrenaline-fueled fugitive apprehensions were few and far between.
Calhoun, her boss, allowed her to lead the Marshals’ investigation and work alongside the FBI, who also targeted Mars.
But only as Chelsea’s time allowed—which meant she made the time.
Not only had the case become a small obsession, but she had a side job writing about Mars.
She answered the call. “Hey, Mac.”
He grumbled, “You sound chipper.”
What a grouch. “Chipper” shouldn’t be a complaint. Chelsea rolled her eyes. “And you sound like you need a smoothie.”
“Wouldn’t hurt, but that’s not why I’m calling.”
Mac was a hundred percent helpful fifty percent of the time.
That was the best way she could think to describe their hot-and-cold relationship.
When they were first partnered, they got on fine.
She even appreciated his overbearing habit of “handling the situation.” Not because she wasn’t capable, but because he had several years of experience.
She was nothing if not eager to learn from the surly man with high hopes of moving up in the ranks.
“What’s up?”
“Where are you?” he demanded.
Sometimes less was more with Mac. “Following up on—”
“Thought so. You’re re-walking the crime scene?”
Well, so much for staying off the Zee Zee Mars topic.
Here came the lecture about returning without giving him a heads-up.
They had an agreement that if she and Julia, her best-friend-slash-co-writer, re-walked a scene, they’d check in.
However, checking in with Mac about Zee Zee Mars was always a complaint-filled conversation about how Mars would never be caught.
It was easier to forget to loop him in. “Yeah.”
The uncomfortable part of their talk would be when he learned she was alone. Julia had a date night. Mac’s lecture would be a doozy.
“Maybe for once that saved you,” he muttered. “Come out front.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You weren’t at home. It wasn’t that hard to figure out where else you might be.”
If Mac hunting her down hadn’t made her worry, she would’ve denied that work was her life.
Chasing Zee Zee consumed a significant part of Chelsea’s work and free time.
The criminal had made it personal without even knowing it, with bombings on her birthdays, at her favorite places, and even had a calling card that resonated with Chelsea—black calla lilies.
They were elegant and mysterious, the opposite of the white ones that had decorated the house she’d grown up in, which had become a symbol of everything that she hated—unflawed perfection.
But Mac was here. “Coming.”
Crossing the second floor of the library at night required her to move with small, careful steps until she reached the main staircase.
Zee Zee’s bomb had ripped through the law texts of the local university, and though it only affected the upstairs of one wing of the library, the whole of it would remain closed at the start of the school year until they determined there was nothing left to learn from the scene.
They had almost missed the black calla lily wedged in a textbook on DNA and genetics in an entirely different part of the library. Who knew what else had they missed.
Chelsea stepped under the yellow tape strung across the hallway and took the stairs down. She exited the university library and waved to Mac, who sat on a bench near the bike racks, then locked the doors behind her.
Even though the start of the new school year was just underway, the campus seemed too quiet since the sun had gone down.
“What are you doing?”
“Let’s have a seat.”
“Mac?”
“Come on.” He motioned toward the bench and didn’t wait for her to follow.
Anxiety drummed quietly in her chest. Nothing he was doing was normal, even if over the last few months, he’d become even more of a grouch.
What could be so serious? Maybe he’d been transferred?
Though their boss Calhoun would never let Mac leave.
They had an advantageous relationship. Calhoun always had a Yes Man on staff, and Mac could count on his ever-increasing authority—even if he did have to deal with her and Zee Zee.
Even with Calhoun’s help, Mac might even blame Chelsea for slowing his ascent of upward promotions.
Or maybe Chelsea was overthinking their dynamic.
Mac slapped the spot next to him on the bench, and hesitantly, Chelsea sat down.
“Were you working? Or getting…” He gestured blankly. “Pictures or something?”
She was sure that Mac thought writing a book with Julia was a joke.
He wasn’t keen on true-crime reporters, which was what Julia did in addition to working on their Zee Zee Mars book, and he would make bad jokes about how Chelsea could play Zee Zee if their agent ever sold the movie rights.
He somehow thought their dark hair and noses were similar.
“I always thought that Calhoun was batshit,” Mac said, “letting you do whatever you want.”
She tried to bite her tongue but corrected him. “I can’t do whatever I want.”
He snorted. “I thought that your research would get you and Julia killed.”
“Zee Zee has never killed anyone.”
“Not yet,” he said.
“Not yet,” she admitted. At the rate the explosions were coming, increasing in size, spreading out across the country, Zee Zee would slip up. Someone would die. “You’re right.”
“Fuck.” He dropped his head and shook it.
“What?” She’d never seen him gut-shot before. “Mac?”
“There was a shooting. As soon as I heard about it, I headed your way.”
Her stomach bottomed out. “Who? What happened?”
Mac’s brow knitted. “Tonight, on the Metro.”
Her mind raced. Terrorist attack? Random violence? “What happened?”
“Julia was shot.”
Chelsea faltered. She hadn’t understood. That didn’t make sense. Julia was on a date. “Mac?”
“I’m sorry.” He pursed his lips then braced a hand on her shoulder. “Julia died.”