Page 10 of Choosing Us

That was until his fourth victim last year. Something changed, whether a dosing error of valium, or some source of emotional disturbance, but something caused the unsub to become physically involved in her death, rather than remaining an observer. Karlie Voss showed no signs of defensive wounds, suggesting she was unconscious when she was manually strangled. His fifth victim, Monica Jackson, interrupted the ritual and screamed for help, which ultimately saved her life.

“When considering the ten categories of our Case Prioritization Matrix, The Carnation—” Mason looks to me before clearing his throat. “Uh … these cases related to the carnation signature score a sixty-five, which qualifies this case to be considered a high priority.” His face reddens at his slip of almost calling it The Carnation Killer case. I have to stifle my laughter; he tries so hard.

I wave my hand away dismissively. “It’s fine, Mason. I think the cat has already gotten out of the bag with this one if multiple jurisdictions are already calling him The Carnation Killer,” I admit defeat on this one, but Kelly lets out a relieved sigh.

“Thank fuck. That was going to kill me! It’s a great name. I know, I know, it’s poor practice and less than ideal, but come on, it’s a … great name.” Kelly’s eyes widen.

I tilt my head and I hold my facial features as neutral as possible. “You were going to say it’s a killer name, weren’t you?”

Walker barks out a laugh, which makes me lose my own composure. The man never used to laugh as much as he does now that he met the love of his life. It’s noticeably different, but it’s incredibly nice to see my friend so happy and with a fantastic woman that is quickly becoming a friend of mine as well.

“I mean, the guy isn’t wrong. It has a ring.” Tara shrugs, and I try to give her a chastising glare but fail at that as well. We have to find moments of levity in our jobs—we are still human—but we also know when it’s the appropriate time and place. In our team’s conference room with just the core members of our team, we’re able to let loose. But when it’s time to focus, we are all incredibly dedicated to our jobs.

“If no one else has any other thoughts on this new case, we will add it to our high-priority list and set up appropriate monitoring protocols?” Mason raises his voice at the end of his statement as a question to the team, but everyone nods in agreement.

“Let’s move on to the next new case,” Walker directs our team’s attention, and we follow his instruction, because there is always another case.

CHAPTER SIX

When Walker and Vivian graciously invited me to Texas for their wedding last week, I thought I could make it into a little vacation, but somehow, a colleague in Houston heard I was going to be in Texas and asked me to stop by to interview a challenging suspect they couldn’t get a good read on. I barely had time to enjoy the delicious triple layer vanilla bean with raspberry compote filling and the best vanilla buttercream frosting I have had in my entire life.

I’ve had dreams about the cake since that night, and I’m not ashamed to admit I tried to find the recipe, only to discover it was Walker’s sister-in-law’s recipe.

She freaking made the best cake I’ve ever had in her kitchen!

But before I could have a second—or third—piece, Kelly dragged me onto the dance floor, knowing I had to leave early, but insisting it was our duty as wedding guests to help celebrate. It was a picturesque September evening, cooling down to the perfect temperature after the mid-day heat. I was able to have a brief catch up with Vivian’s brother, Liam, who I haven’t seen in person in ages, and honestly could have spent all night there. I heard I missed quite the fun party, but the two-hour drive to Houston was looming, and I begrudgingly snuck away.

I wish I could have said no to the request, but that’s just not how I’m wired.

Although for the first time in a long time, I had something that I was both invited to and missing out on. I still got to enjoy it, even if it wasn’t for as long as I would have preferred, and that feels like … growth.

“You’re going to the Annual Forensic Psychology Symposium in San Diego in January, right?” Aisha snaps me out of my thoughts as I snuggle into my couch. She’s working from home tonight in Boston, but FaceTime allows us to have our regular coffee chats as though we’re in the same room. Her long thick black hair is piled up in a messy bun on the top of her head, and her tan skin glows after her nightly skincare routine. Her complexion allows her to look beautiful even without a stitch of makeup, something she attributes to her mother’s genetics.

My mother has made it clear, more than once, that without makeup I always look tired and much older than I actually am. But Aisha—and likely her mother Fatima, who is a lovely woman in her own right—would never say anything like that.

Having a friend that not only works almost as much as you do but also understands your academic and professional passions is so refreshing. We’ve been friends for eight years, and I consider our friendship precious.

Especially when she understands why I’m home on a Friday night by choice. Most Friday nights are much more exciting for an average twenty-eight-year-old, but average has never been my life. Even when I, at times, crave it more than I can even articulate. I have a stack of notes to go through for updated CPM scores for this week, an inbox filled with requests for guest speaking at various colleges and professional associations, and while I know I have to get through all of those before I can call it a night, I really just want to get back to the book I’m in the middle of on my Kindle.

“Did they release the full schedule for that? The chair for this year’s event asked me to speak on a panel a few months ago, but I hadn’t heard what the scope of topics were supposed to be,” I reply as I lift my tumbler of iced chai and take a sip. As I set the tumbler down on the coffee table, I still for a moment as the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I look around, but nothing looks out of place—although I did forget to close my blinds. I reach over and press the remote, the soft mechanical hum filling my condo.

Aisha pulls my attention back to the screen. “I just saw an email this morning, and I guess they were being optimistic because you’re already listed on the panel, but it’s with a disclaimer that you are scheduled to appear. I noticed it because you and I are speaking on the same panel.”

“We are? What did they title it? I can’t find the email, but honestly, my inbox is insane right now. I need to take Christine up on her offer to organize it for me.” I need organization and order in my life, but my email inbox doesn’t make me fidget like a messy kitchen or basket of unfolded clothes.

Or the low water level in the vase holding fresh white hydrangeas. I jump off the couch to water them, otherwise, it will not only bother me, but it will continue to distract me. Aisha likes to tease me that I’m allergic to colorful flowers, but I love the classic beauty of white ones—especially hydrangeas.

“Leading Thought Leaders in a Modern World … so, basically, it covers whoever they stick on the panel.” Aisha laughs as I sit back on my couch, finally finding the email in question.

I recognize a few other names on the panel, including two other individuals that helped me define the criteria for the CPM we use every day with the task force: Dr. Graham Tremblay and Dr. Quentin Truett. “Oh, look, they got both Graham and Quentin to agree. Quentin is a genius, but I didn’t think he would be interested to do panels like this anymore.”

“He’s a grumpy old man, but his work is fascinating.” We talk a bit more about the other scheduled speakers and make plans to coordinate our hotel reservations. Our discussion is mainly focused on our professional lives because neither of us excel in the dating world—or that's what our dating histories would suggest.

“By the way, love the pink lip color you’re rocking today. I feel like you dressed up just for me!” Aisha teases. She’s much more into fashion and makeup than I will ever be, but I do put a little effort into my appearance.

Granted, never enough for Astor Morgan-Lane, but that sounds exhausting.

“Thanks! I actually started wearing this color more when I found it on my birthday shopping trip with the gift card you sent me. This color is called Bashful Blush, but I love that it’s a lip stain, so I can put it on and hours later it still looks good.” I pucker my lips and strike a pose, making my friend laugh.