“Get the fuck outta here while you can still crawl,” Wojinziky said, his voice low and feral. Mia struggled to get out from under his foot but he pressed harder until she froze, her hands clawing impotently against the cold walkway.
For a moment she was sure he was going to crush her windpipe, but he reached down and jerked her to her feet. The movement made her dizzy and her stomach lurched. She felt her sandwich coming up and fought to control the nausea. He held her by the lapels of her jacket until she could stand unassisted. She saw him look over his shoulder at the house.
When he released her abruptly, Mia staggered away, her hand to her throat. The car felt like a very long distance away. She heard the front door slam behind her before she was halfway down the walkway.
A man who can bully women so effortlessly probably doesn’t worry about them not obeying him.
Mia reached the car and pulled herself into the front seat, her hands shaking so badly she could barely get the key in the ignition. She drove to the end of the street and turned down a side street in the neighborhood. She pulled the car onto the side of the road and parked. Don’t think, just do.
Her heart pounding in her throat, she took her Glock out of the glove compartment and fumbled with the door handle. Her legs were still jelly and she leaned against the car for support. It was dark but she would still need to act quickly. Neighbors were always curious and she couldn’t afford for anyone to see her.
She slid the gun in the back of her waistband, blowing hard to steady herself and hoping she didn’t hyperventilate in the process. She forced herself not to think about what had just happened. She opened the car trunk and found what she was looking for under a tarp and a heavy blanket.
Tucking the electronic tracking devise into the pocket of her jacket, she locked the car and walked across two darkened yards until she was across the street from the Wojinziky home. Her hands were still trembling and she took a moment to calm herself before jogging across the street and squatting behind the second car in the driveway. When she was sure nobody had seen her, she duck-walked to the back of the pickup truck and clamped the magnetized GPS tracker onto its undercarriage. She knew it was against the law to use it on Wojinziky’s truck without his permission. She knew Jack would shit three shades of blue.
She flipped on the activation switch.
Keeping low, she ran back to the facing yard and then made her way back to her car. She waited until she was at the Thai restaurant before she opened the browser on her smartphone to activate the tracking service for the device. She touched her throat. Her phone vibrated with an incoming text.
<You nearly here?>
<5 min away.>
<Great.>
Mia dug for a compact in her purse to make sure she didn’t look any worse after her meeting with Jeff Wojinziky. The last thing she wanted to do was spoil what promised to be a joyous evening with Jack with annoying signs of having been attacked by a psycho killer.
She got back in the car, the spicy aromas from the bag of Tom Yam Goong and Pad Thai takeout permeating the interior. Even without touching him, Mia had gotten the answer to her biggest question. It was him. She knew it without laying a finger on him. She knew it from his wild, hooded eyes full of fear and shame. She knew it from the way he’d reacted when she told him she was from Atlanta Loves—just like Victoria.
Guilt, Jeff. It’s the karma that keeps on giving. Mia pointed her car toward Atlantic Station.
Or at least I intend to make sure it does.
*****
Jack didn’t know how she did it. Ever since Murray called nearly two hours ago, Jack was caught between frenetic cleaning and cooking to absorb his kinetic joy and sitting and staring into space, dumbstruck that the nightmare seemed to be coming to a close.
He hadn’t killed the guy. The ME was wrong. A miracle had just trumped science.
A miracle named Mia.
He stood at the kitchen counter and spooned the chicken sauce he’d just whipped up into six flour tortillas. It was a simple recipe and one he made frequently for his clients. It wasn’t filet mignon but it was a favorite of his girl’s. He paused in the middle of rolling one of the tortillas to stare—again—out the kitchen window at the Atlanta skyline in the distance.
Can it really be over? Is it possible that Mia bounced out of here this morning to do a bridesmaid’s fitting and five hours later I get a call from my lawyer saying there’s a major break in the case?
It made sense, of course it did. Why hadn’t he thought of it? The guy obviously had some kind of condition. Nobody just drops dead like that. Was I just so wrapped up in my guilt about my role in his death I couldn’t take the step past it to really see my own innocence?
But Mia did. Even though her eyes told her a different story, she took that extra step.
And found the truth.
Jack topped the casserole with sour cream and shredded cheddar cheese, covered it in foil and slid it in the oven. He poured two glasses of wine just as he heard her key in the front door.
Finally.
He met her in the foyer, pulled her purse off her shoulder and set the bag of Thai takeout on the side table as she slid into his arms. Neither of them spoke for a moment. He thought he could feel her trembling.
“Mia?”
“I’m okay.”
He pulled back to look into her face, to search her eyes.
“I can’t believe it,” he said, his eyes misting. “I can’t believe it’s over.”
“Did Murray say he thought it would be enough?”
“He’s pretty certain. Even if it goes to trial now, I’ll probably be acquitted. I’m not in the same place I was before you found out about Martin’s heart condition.”
She looked over his shoulder. “Are you cooking? I thought we were eating Thai.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said, scooping up the bag of takeout and leading her into the kitchen. “You don’t even like Thai.”
“Oh, Jack, you’re making me chicken enchiladas?”
“I am.” He handed her a glass of wine as she sat at the counter. “How did you do it, Mia?”
She let out a long sigh. “I heard somebody talking about dropping dead suddenly and I thought, wow, just like the guy with Jack. As soon as I opened up the possibility of it, I just followed it down the rabbit hole as far as it went.”
“And did it go to Jim Martin’s house?”
Mia grinned. “I may have felt the need to offer my condolences to the family, during which time I may have felt the need to rifle through Martin’s dresser drawers.”
Jack leaned across the counter and kissed her mouth. She tasted of wine and peppermint.
“What else happened today?” he asked softly.
She took another sip of her wine and let her coat fall to the floor behind her. Normally, he’d fuss at her or pick it up himself. Not tonight.
“Jack, I cannot let go of what happened to Victoria Baskerville.”
“I figured that.”
“Maxwell’s crew is not going to solve it, I just know they’re not. They’re not even looking in the right direction.”
“What direction is that?”
She looked uncomfortable which gave Jack a prick of concern. What had she been up to?
“I think I’ve found a person of interest. Of serious interest.”
Jack touched her chin where he could see a bruise forming. Mia took his hand from her face and squeezed it.
“I’m not giving up on her case,” she said. “And I know Maxwell wants me to back off and that none of the files are available to me and nobody’s paying me to investigate but I don’t care. I need to find the truth.”
“You mean we do.”
“Really, Jack?” Her look was wide-eyed and hopeful and Jack felt a twinge of guilt that he’d taken her to the point of believing he didn’t care about what she cared about.
“Really, Mia. How about we have a great meal, then go over every inch of Victoria’s case file? The one you’re not supposed to have? Would that make you happy?”
She jumped up and ran around the counter to slip her arms around Jack’s waist. “I’d say that qualifies as downright foreplay.”
He laughed and kissed her. “Mia, darlin, you are truly one in a million.”
*****
The pair of dolls lay nestled in the tissue paper, their little plastic faces mottled with the dried blood.
“You think it’s real blood?” Mia asked Jack, who stared at the box with his mouth hanging open.
“Yes,” he said finally.
“Well, I’ve tried to think of who might have sent it, or why, but I keep coming up empty. It’s a message, right?”
“It’s a warning, Mia.”
“Are you sure it isn’t a brag? Like the killer trying to rub it in my face?”
Jack dragged a hand through his hair and stood up. Daisy came to the coffee table and sniffed at the box. “Get away from there, Daisy,” he said sharply. “I have no idea what goes through the minds of seriously deranged people. When did you say this came?”
Mia frowned and tried to think. “Four days ago?”
“Before Cook was released?”
“Yes. Although it still could’ve been from him, I guess.”
Jack sat back down and looked at the box. “It’s definitely supposed to be the twins,” he said and then looked up at her. “Shit. You didn’t tell Maxwell, did you?”
“You think the twins are in danger?” Mia felt her heart speed up. Why hadn’t she taken the dolls straight to the chief? What was she thinking?
Jack was already on his phone. “Hey, Chief,” he said, his eyes on the bloody package. “We got a situation here. Mia was sent a package a few days ago that might be interpreted as a threat against the twins who worked with Victoria Baskerville on her scams.”
Mia watched Jack’s face and chewed her nails. Were the twins all right? Why hadn’t she connected the dots on the dolls? Why had she only seen it in reference to herself?
“Yeah, okay, good to know. Yeah, I’ll tell her.” He hung up.
“Tell me what?”
“You don’t want to know. Anyway, he says they had a detail watching the twins’ house that they just removed and he’ll put it back in place.”
“Good.”
Jack sat down next to Mia and put a hand on her knee.
“I’m sorry you felt you needed to do this without me,” he said. “I don’t want you to ever think that going forward.”
“It’s okay,” she said, covering his hand with hers. Last night had been a reunion beyond her wildest hopes—not just in bed, which was its own special celebration, but in the support and solidarity that she felt from Jack on working on Victoria’s case.
She wasn’t alone anymore.
“So Maxwell is going to come pick this up in a few,” Jack said, “and I’ve got the rest of the day at your service.”
“Are you cooking for someone tonight?”
“I am, but it shouldn’t be late.”
“Okay, well, the list I told you about? The one of all the guys Victoria contacted but supposedly never met in person? If you can help me run them down, that’d be great.”
“And how many did you say were on the list?”
“Maybe five hundred?”
Jack whistled. “Okay, well, let’s get started. How are you going about it?”
“Well, when I had access to Victoria’s account I was checking all their profiles and then emailing or calling the contact info that Nathan Turner gave me. Except for the six I told you about where there was no contact info. Them I found through people finder sites—except for Wojinziky, who I found through a property search.”
“You have learned well, grasshopper,” Jack said, picking up the thick sheaf of names. “And now that we don’t have access to Victoria’s account?”
“Well, we do it blind, I guess,” Mia said, shrugging. “We still have the contact info, we just don’t know anything about them.”
“Plus, I’m almost positive Maxwell is going to see our involvement as obstruction.”
“He’s so narrow-minded sometimes.”
“Okay, so we call these guys and say what, exactly?”
“Again, a lot harder without access to their profiles,” Mia said with a sigh. “I was thinking it might make more sense to visit them.”
“Mia, that will take months. Maybe years.”
“How can I qualify them on the phone?” she asked. “Without the profiles, I need to see them and, preferably, touch them.”
“You’re going to touch five hundred strange guys? You’re going to knock on five hundred doors, say ‘excuse me’ to the wife or whoever answers and then slap your hands on five hundred strange men?”
“Pretty much,” Mia said with a shrug. “I’ll know the killer as soon as I touch him.”
“So are you ruling Jeff Wojinziky out? You had physical contact with him.”
“It didn’t count. I got waves of anger and resentment off him but I was too busy trying not to skid down the sidewalk on my ass to read him for more than that.”
“So you need to see him again.”
“I do.” She debated mentioning the GPS tracker but decided not to muddy the positive attitude just now with illegal procedure.
*****
That afternoon they drove to the residences of three of the men on the list. By the time they were thrown out of the third guy’s condo, Mia had perfected her spiel and her approach.
Unfortunately, it came at the cost of a fat lip to Jack on the last visit. Even so, she could barely contain her excitement on the drive back to Atlantic Station. She had touched three potential suspects, and felt absolutely nothing beyond the usual run of the mill angst or apathy. She ignored any tingle of lust or sadness she picked up in the men. She was looking for a man who had stabbed a young woman twenty-four times with a pair of scissors.
That kind of man would scorch Mia’s fingers the instant she made contact with him.
“So, a good day?” Jack said around his swollen lip.
“A very good day,” Mia said. “Now we just have to repeat it a few hundred more times—unless we get lucky. The one we’re looking for doesn’t necessarily have to be the last one we interview.”
“He kinda does, Mia,” Jack says wryly, “by definition.”
“We’ll put some ice on your mouth when we get home. And I promise to be extra gentle with you tonight when you get back from your cooking gig. You think you’ll be too tired?”
He gave her a side-glance and a crooked smile. “I think you can count on me to perk up,” he said dryly.
“I know it’s going to take a long time, Jack. But no matter how long it takes, I can’t tell you how happy I am knowing that, with your help, sooner or later, we’ll find the guy.”
He put a hand on her knee. “I know, Mia,” he said, “me, too.” His phone rang and he picked up. “Hey, Will.”
Mia snapped her head toward him. She strained to make out what Jack’s lawyer was saying.
“Uh huh,” Jack said, not looking at Mia. “Really? Okay. I understand. Okay. Sure. Bye.”
He disconnected.
“Well?” Mia said. “Are you going to tell me?”
“Keep your eyes on the road, please.”
“Jack!”
“Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy,” he said. “No beta blockers found in his system and his personal health records indicated he was being treated for hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.”
Mia let out a long sigh. The tension in her shoulders softened.
“Thank God,” she said.
As soon as they got home, Jack laid out his tools for his evening and Mia walked Daisy around the parking lot. Being patient wasn’t really her strong suit, but she knew, in this case, that finding Victoria’s killer was all about the long game. Now that Jack was with her again—in every sense of the word—she could do the tedious work necessary to finally uncover the murderer.
When she came back inside, Jack was in the shower. Mia fed the dog and settled down on the couch with the remote control. It was a little past six in the evening. She put the evening news on and muted the volume, then picked up her phone and dialed her mother.
“Hello, darling, you and Jack still coming to dinner tomorrow?” Jessie sounded tired. Her normal sparkle was missing.
“Of course. Feels like ages since I’ve seen you. Everything okay?”
“Just perfect, Mia.”
“Mindy was a no-show for the bridesmaid’s fitting,” Mia said.
“I know. She and her mother visited me instead.”
Mia sat up straight. She heard the shower go off and she could hear Jack humming.
“You’re kidding. Why?”
“Oh, it’s just…nothing really.”
“They both showed up? Doesn’t sound like nothing.”
“There’s a misunderstanding about my ring, it seems.”
“Your ring? The ring the chief gave you?”
“Mindy seems to think her grandmother meant for her to have it.”
“Isn’t she already married?”
“She is but she has a daughter.”
“Her daughter’s five years old.”
“Nonetheless, Mindy wants the ring for her daughter.”
“Mom, this is just her trying to cause trouble. She’s about as sentimental as a gallstone. What did you do?”
“I nearly gave her the ring right then.”
“Mom, don’t even tell me!”
“Well, I didn’t. In the end, I felt I needed to talk to Bill first. I mean, he did give it to me.”
“What did he say when he heard?”
“He was not happy.”
“I’ll bet.”
“He wants me to keep the ring.”
“God, is this some mega-caret monster or something?”
“Not at all.”
“So it’s sentimental on the chief’s part and so has great value. And it’s a way for Mindy to make her dad miserable so, again, has great value.”
“Anyway, it’ll all get sorted out. What’s happening on your end? I know you were upset when Bill pulled the plug on the Internet Hussy case.”
“Yeah, no, I’m good. Keeping busy.”
“I’d like to be there at Jack’s preliminary hearing tomorrow.”
“I think it’s going to be a lot less dramatic than originally believed,” Mia said as Jack appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. He was dressed but his hair was still wet. “And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want any of us there.”
“Is that your mom?” Jack asked.
Mia nodded.
“Tell her hi from me and not to come tomorrow.”
“Tell him hi from me, too,” Jess said. “And is he sure he doesn’t want support? I’d really like to be there for him.”
Jack leaned over and gave Mia a kiss on her neck before retreating to the kitchen to finish packing his chef’s cart.
“No, he’s good, Mom,” Mia said as she watched him in the kitchen. “I think tomorrow’s going to be just fine.”
An hour later, after kissing Jack goodbye, Mia ran a bubble bath for herself and poured a glass of wine. She meant what she said earlier. Even though they hadn’t found Victoria’s killer—or even any new leads to follow to that end—it had been a nearly perfect day. She and Jack had worked seamlessly together, very nearly reading each other’s minds as each prospect opened the door and endured their questions and, eventually, Mia’s touching. It was the kind of easy, synchronized dance that she’d always fantasized would be the reality of her partnership with him.
As she slipped into the hot tub, the fragrant bubbles popping all around her, it occurred to her she’d never been happier in her life. She closed her eyes and soaked until the water was tepid and her wineglass was empty. She toweled off and dressed in yoga pants and a baggy sweatshirt. As far as she was concerned, life couldn’t get more perfect than a heated-up dish of Jack’s macaroni and cheese—made with four kinds of creamy cheeses—and little Daisy curled comfortingly at her hip. Mia knew the dog’s close proximity had more to do with the dish of remaining macaroni and cheese than any strong desire to cuddle, but the effect was the same so she didn’t care.
She cycled through two hour-long police dramas, ridiculing the implausible made-for-TV police procedures and the not-to-be-believed turnaround times on lab results and glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. She was tired. There was something about contentment and hope for the future that was especially wearing. She loved falling asleep in Jack’s bed and being awakened by him in the middle of the night—his body hard beneath the warm covers, his hands sure and knowing on her body. She tingled deliciously in anticipation and then eyed the dog. Unfortunately, all this coziness had to be rudely destroyed by a quick jog downstairs to let Daisy wet the ground before bedtime.
“Come on, girl,” Mia said. “Let’s get this over with.”
Wriggling into her coat, she snapped Daisy’s leash on her and trotted her downstairs. The night was moonless and cold and it had rained during the evening. Mia opened the heavy front door to the building and ushered Daisy out.
“Get busy,” she said. The little dog looked at her and didn’t move.
Sighing, Mia stepped outside and led the dog to the edge of the sidewalk, where the animal promptly squatted on the grass. The cold cut straight through Mia’s jacket and she hunched her shoulders to make a smaller target for the wind.
So focused on the misery of the cold night, Mia didn’t see the menacing form step out of the dark shadows by the building until he was on top of her.