Tom rested his feet on the dash as Ilse drove them back through the city to the other side of town in the direction of HQ. She wasn't talking now, but watched the road with a keen, attentive eye. He valued that about her—she wasn't a chatterbox like some women he knew. His ex-wife, for instance. Then again... most men talked too much too. The whole damn species had a motor-mouth problem.
Not the least of which belonged to the man on the other side of the connected line.
“Damn it, Tommy,” Rudiger's far-too-dramatic voice called into the phone. “It's the crack of dawn, you hoodlum!”
“It's almost noon, Rudy,” Sawyer replied, his eyes hooded. He leaned back, relaxed. Despite the name calling and the feigned offense, he knew Rudiger wasn't really angry. He wasn't sure the big techie even had the ability to get truly mad. He was a sweetheart at his core, not that Sawyer would ever be caught saying it out loud. Rudiger would never let him hear the end of it.
“Noon? Noon! It's midnight in China, Tommy!”
“You in China?”
“That's not the point.”
“Look, I need some help on something.”
A pause.
“Is it about that cute little FBI agent you like?”
Sawyer had put the phone on speaker, and out of the corner of his eye he thought he caught Ilse smirking, but she hid the expression.
“You're in dreamland, Rudy,” Sawyer said, putting a bit of a growl to his voice. This time, he looked straight ahead, not glancing towards Ilse. “It's about a case.”
“Ah, shit. She's there with you, isn't she? I take it all back, my dear! Sawyer is no Prince Charming; I'll tell you that. He bludgeons your beauty sleep if you're not careful!”
“Hi Rudiger!” Ilse called, leaning in, and definitely smiling now.
“Ah, she is there—what a melodious voice, my dear. I hope Sawyer isn't causing you too much of a headache.”
Ilse hid her smirk, though her eyes twinkled. “We need help on a case, Rudy. We're looking to connect two victims.”
“Alright, alright,” he said with a long, exaggerated sigh. “I'm only on call for my use, I see. Oh well, give me a moment.”
Sawyer waited, listening to the sound of heavy breathing and panting from the faint motion, no doubt, of Rudy moving from his bed to his computer room. As the tech lived in a mobile home, the journey couldn't have been more than a few steps. But the big man wasn't exactly in the best of shape and so he panted for a moment longer, gathering himself before Sawyer heard the clack of a keyboard.
“Two names?” Rudiger said. “Looking for a connection, yes?”
“Yeah,” Sawyer said. “Want the names?”
“Psh. What do you take me for, an amateur? It's Adelaide Stevens and Arthur Lehman, yes?”
Sawyer blinked.
“Don't sound so surprised,” Rudiger said. “I can practically see that dumb look on your face, Tommy. It isn't fitting for such handsome features.”
“Rudy, get on with it.”
“Of course, of course. You never could take a compliment. But it's the only serial case currently pending at your office, see? Logic. What a gift. But ah... let's go... hmm... no...” More clacking keys.
“They live near each other,” Sawyer said.
“I see that... But not that near. Cities, like you, Tommy, are somewhat dense. We have nearly a half a million people in the radius where the two bodies were found.”
“So... anything else? Parents didn't recognize the name.”
“I'm checking their phones... but—no—no shared numbers. No shared friends. Didn't know each other at least that way. They lived on opposite sides of town.”
“Our second victim was moving to New York soon. What about Mr. Lehman?”
“No dice. He has a driver's license from '06 in California. He's West Coast born and bred. Doesn't look like he's moving anywhere anytime soon, either... Well... never, actually. But you know what I mean.”
“Credit cards?” Sawyer pressed.
“Was already in the middle of it—looking at food and restaurants now. But... hmm—looks like the two of them visited the same bagel spot... But, there's a five year gap.”
Sawyer huffed in frustration. “Anything? There's gotta be a connection, Rudy. You're the best, right?”
“Don't you forget it.”
“Prove it. Again. Find me a connection.”
More furious keystrokes. At that moment, though, Ilse cleared her throat. Sawyer frowned, glancing over at her. He met her gaze as she drove on the open highway, circling the city from West to East. In the distance, he spotted the space needle against the gray horizon.
But as he studied Ilse's gaze, not so dissimilar in color to the skies beyond, like a storm on the verge of rolling in, he felt a sudden jolt in his stomach.
He shifted uncomfortably, not quite looking in her direction now. Thankfully, she also returned her attention to the road.
He was doing his best to play it cool, but it was uncomfortable being around Ilse... After he'd told her.
Even at the thought, a sudden cringing jolt shot through him. He tensed, his hand tightening on the phone and momentarily muffling the speaker. This was a happy accident, as Rudiger was now humming some old sea shanty which involved more than one thinly veiled reference to whores and booty.
But even Rudiger's ever cheerful personality wasn't enough to assuage Sawyer's discomfort. Now, it was his turn to shoot a sidelong glance in Ilse's direction. He didn't speak about his sister.
He never spoke about his sister.
Once, Agent Rawley had tried to get Sawyer to open up. When Sawyer had refused, Rawley had tried to play hardball by forcing him to see a shrink before issuing clearance. When Sawyer had confronted him, Rawley had said he was doing it for Sawyer's own good. Then... then Rawley had mentioned her name. Rebekah.
Sawyer wasn't sure what had happened next. He'd lost time. He'd seen red. When he'd come to his senses, he'd been standing over Rawley, his fist aching, his supervisor clutching a bruised cheek and shouting for security.
He'd been banished to the mountains for months after that stunt.
But at least Rawley had learned his lesson. After the disciplinary suspension and exile, the psych hold had been removed and he'd been allowed to continue investigating. Credit where credit was due—Rawley hadn't used the incident to ruin Sawyer like so many might have done.
But now... now he'd mentioned it.
To a damn shrink, no less.
He winced, refusing to look in Ilse's direction. Rudiger was saying something, but Sawyer didn't even hear it now. He just grunted noncommittally, staring out the window.
He could tell Ilse wanted to talk about it. He'd known she would want to. Perhaps that was why he'd told her—though he'd never much considered himself the cry-for-help sort.
No. Sawyer was more direct with his problem solving. He believed in going straight to the source. Currently, that source was serving three life sentences in maximum security.
But Sawyer was already working on an angle. He had friends who worked in corrections.
One way or another, eventually, once he figured out the path, he'd get his revenge. He'd been planning it for nearly five years now... But he didn't just want the guy shivved in a shower. He wanted the bastard to suffer. And to do that... he'd have to spring him from the prison.
Sawyer let out a faint little sigh, trying to push the thought aside as if fearful Ilse might somehow read his mind. She was uncanny with her ability to read people. It made him nervous sometimes. Having her on the team was a huge asset, but not if she ever sensed what he was planning to do with Rebekah's killer.
He shivered to think what might happen then.
She would try to stop him, no doubt.
And while he'd take a lot of shit from a lot of people, especially people he liked, in this one area, he refused to let anyone get between him and his revenge. Not even Dr. Beck.
He shivered at the strain of morbid thoughts, pushing aside the rising sense of animosity. It wasn't worth dwelling on such things. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt Ilse. But he would find a way around her if the time came.
It was ironic, really. Partnered with her.
The one person he'd met who literally dealt with the survivors of serial killers. She would want to talk about his feelings, to try and help him heal. Or whatever gobbledygook she got up to in her practice. But Sawyer wasn't interested in healing. He was interested in making a man suffer and then putting a bullet in his brain stem and painting the forest floor with the colors found only inside a grown man's veins.
Suddenly, Ilse cleared her throat and said, “Hang on, Rudy—can you look up memberships for health clubs?”
Sawyer blinked, forcing himself to refocus. The voice, which was muffled now, chirped from his phone. “What was that, sweetie-pie?”
“Rudiger, manners,” Sawyer snapped. He raised the phone, so the speaker wasn't blocked.
“Sorry, honey-boo,” Rudy said, his tone laden with mischievousness. “Health clubs, you said? That isn't a subtle hint, is it? I'll have you know, I'm quite happy with—”
“No, Rudy,” Ilse protested. “I'm talking about our second victim. Adelaide Stevens. Her father said she spent hours at a gym called Jade Fitness.”
Sawyer's eyebrows suddenly shot up. “Holy shit,” he muttered. “You're right. Our first victim was a marathon runner.”
“Exactly,” Ilse murmured.
They waited, both of them staring at the phone held in Sawyer's hand. Ilse cursed, veering sharply to avoid a merging sedan and returning her eyes to the road, but her attention was clearly split.
Finally, Rudiger called out. “Jade Fitness? I got two of them. Looks like they're expanding—good for them. The American dream and all that.”
“Hey! Focus!”
“Tommy, chill. I've got you, fam. Right here... Mhmm—back two years ago Mr. Lehman also had a membership to... you guessed it... Jade Fitness.”
“Two years ago?” Sawyer asked.
“Do I sound smug? I don't mean to sound smug. Wait—no, yes I do. Adelaide Stevens has been there for four years. That's two years of overlap. Though math was never my strong suit. Now, give a kiss to daddy, Tommy.”
“Thanks Rudy,” Sawyer grunted. Then he hung up.
Ilse's hands had clearly tensed on the steering wheel as they tore through the city streets. “What are the odds?” she asked quietly.
“Of both attending an obscure gym?” Sawyer replied, feeling the same weightiness all of a sudden. “Low,” he muttered. “Gotta be low. It's not much, though.”
“No, but it's a connection. The only one we have.”
Agent Sawyer glanced at Ilse. If he didn't know better, he might have thought she was starting to get excited by the whole thing. He hid his own smile, nodding slowly to himself and cycling through his phone again for the GPS.
It took a moment, but then he said. “I got an address. Hang on. Take the next exit on the right. The gym is only ten minutes from here.”