One looks at me, and I’m reminded of the slimy look in the eyes of Nicolas, the young officer I butted heads with in Feathered Nest earlier this year. It carries the same dismissal, the same arrogance. He sees a woman who can’t manage her own problems and probably got herself into them in the first place. He wants me to sit down and let them handle it without question.
Eric’s hands on my shoulders don’t calm me.
“You’ll have to excuse her. She’s been through a lot recently,” he says.
I shrug away from him and take a step closer to the officers.
“No. I don’t need them to excuse me. I do need them to understand they are here for one reason and one reason only, and that is to make sure they’re aware of what’s happening now, so when I find out who’s playing this sick little game, they aren’t surprised by the consequences.”
“She’s… the federal agent who took down Jake Logan,” Eric says with a sigh, finishing the thought he started. I pull out my badge and offer it as proof.
The name registers with the officers, and they stand down. Their posture changes as they evaluate me in a completely different light. My face has stayed out of the media. I haven’t done any interviews, and the Bureau has shielded my identity to protect me and preserve the integrity of any future undercover work. But it’s customary for those types of safeguards to be let down when interacting with law enforcement. Considering the chain of custody has likely put Jake in their paths at some point during this phase of his trial, clueing them in will give them a bit more insight into my state of mind. And possibly the gravity of these notes.
“Jake Logan?” one asks. “The…”
His eyes flicker to me, and I nod.
“Serial killer. They haven’t given him any sort of fancy moniker yet. Thank god.”
“Do you think this could have anything to do with him?” the other officer asks.
“Considering he’s been in custody since that night, I highly doubt it was actually him. But as you can imagine, it puts me a bit more on edge. Serial killer fetishes are very real, and the people who fall for these guys are intense. If there’s a leak somewhere and someone figured out who I am, it could get twisted pretty fast. I called you to establish a record. If anything else happens, there will already be a history, and it will be easier to respond. With things like this, the individual incidents might not seem serious or even like they’re related at all, but if you have an established pattern, they stand out.”
“We’ll process the house and set up some surveillance,” the first officer offers.
“Thanks. I’ll be in town for a few more days, but then I’m taking a vacation. Part of it I plan on spending here, but I’ll also be traveling,” I tell him.
“We’ll make sure someone is keeping an eye on the house when you aren’t here. In the meantime, you might want to consider relocating to somewhere else until you leave for your trip. Just to get you out of the environment.”
I shake my head adamantly. “No. I appreciate the concern, but I’m not going to let a couple of notes chase me out of my home. If anything else happens, we’ll consider the option, but for now, I’m staying here. Like I said, I just wanted to establish the record.”
The officers walk out of the house to make calls and start processing the scene. I know that means roaming around the house inside and out, looking for vulnerabilities and entrance points, looking for anomalies. They’ll try to pinpoint how the person got in and if anything else was left or changed. I can only imagine how my neighbors are reacting to all this. Despite the years living here, I haven’t gotten close with any of them. It’s easier not to. The idea of taking a jaunt across the lawn to get a cup of sugar and gossip over coffee is quaint, but it’s too close. I don’t want to share my past with more people, and it’s exhausting veiling it. The cordial smile and wave when we pass by each other are enough.
“Maybe you should come stay with me,” Eric says. “Just for a couple of days.”
“No, Eric.”
“Then stay with Bellamy,” he suggests.
“No. You heard what I said. I didn’t call in the cavalry to rescue me, and I’m not going to run away and hide until someone catches the Boogey Man for me. This could be nothing.”
“And it could be something very serious.”
“It could. And if it is, I’ll handle it. For now, I’ve let the police in on it. They know what’s happened so far and are going to keep an eye on the house,” I tell him. “I have a lot to think about right now with the hearing tomorrow and whatever turn the case is going to take. And after that, I’m really looking forward to some time off.”
“Just promise me if anything else happens, anything at all, you will let me know. You won’t try to take this on by yourself,” he pleads.
“I promise.”
Chapter Eight
“Tell me again how you met the defendant.”
Alvin Roderick, a lawyer I’ve watched stroll through more than enough courtrooms in my life, walks past me and gestures at the defendant table like he’s asking me to bid on a prize on Price is Right. I don’t want my eyes to follow his hand, but they do anyway.
The man sitting at the stand is a stranger. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of me, I know it’s Jake. But it’s not. Laughing crystal blue eyes have faded to gray. Long hair I once longed to run my fingers through cut short. His hands folded together on the table remind me of when they held mine. They felt safe and protective then.
Now I know what those hands are capable of.
“I met him when I went on an undercover assignment,” I say. “He owned a bar in the town where I was investigating.”
Roderick nods and continues to pace. It’s a tactic of his. It’s supposed to put the person on the stand on edge, but it just annoys me.
“And what were the details of that undercover assignment?” he asks.
“To investigate a string of disappearances and murders that occurred there over the last two years.”
“And was your investigation successful?”
“If you want to put it that way, yes. I found the person responsible for the crimes,” I answer.
“In fact, that’s the reason we’re here, isn’t it? Because you believe the defendant, Mr. Logan, is the one responsible. Isn’t that right?” Roderick asks.
“Yes.”
“And how would you describe your relationship with Mr. Logan? Friendly?”
“Yes. Until it wasn’t.”
“How about romantic?” Roderick leads.
“Yes,” I admit.
There’s no reason to try to hide or put a spin on it. This is just the beginning. More hearings, meetings, and testimonies will follow. Everything is going to come out. What little hasn’t already. Pretending it wasn’t exactly what it was won’t do any good. But I’m under no delusion it won’t be used against me. The attorney wouldn’t ask about it if it wasn’t.
“Yes,” he repeats, nodding toward the jury with a secretive smile like they’re sharing something. “As a matter of fact, the truth is you and Mr. Logan became very close almost immediately upon meeting and were engaged in a personal relationship for the entire time you were in Feathered Nest.”
“We became friends, and that evolved into a more romantic relationship,” I confirm.
“Miss Griffin, how long have you been with the FBI?”
“Almost six years,” I say.
“And you are how old?” he asks.
“Twenty-nine.”
“Which means you entered the Bureau at twenty-three. That’s the minimum age for an agent, isn’t it?”
I don’t bother to withhold my sigh of frustration. We’re not getting anywhere, and I’m sure his twirling questioning will just get worse.