Page 19 of Fatal Pattern

“When was the IA flag added?”

“Same time as the judicial seal—1998.”

That didn’t have anything to do with Sullivan’s workplace shooting. Someone had locked this case down from day one. Wrapped it in enough red tape to strangle any future investigation.

“Which commanding officer requested the judicial seal and IA probe?”

“That would be . . .” A pause. “Detective Dean Barclay.”

The ball slipped from his fingers and bounced to the floor. Sullivan hadn’t lied. At least not about Barclay’s involvement. No sense battling it over the phone. It would take a hefty authority to bulldoze Millie Beach PD into releasing those records.

“Appreciate your help.” He ended the call and rose from his chair, snatched the green ball.

“A judicial seal. An IA flag. Sounds like a wall of red tape,” Corbin said.

Blade stared at the blank whiteboard at the opposite end of the room. Every official door was slammed shut.

“That sounded like a dead end,” Jett said.

“Worse.” He fired the ball across the room, and Tori caught it between her palms. “It’s a fortress. Judicially sealed, requested by Barclay himself to protect you. Flagged by Internal Affairs to keep any cop from touching it. He’s got us completely boxed in. We can’t get to it. Not officially.”

“Told you.” Tori rolled the green ball between her fingers. “I’m stealing this.”

“Oh no you’re not,” Harlee said. “We’re not going back to Mr. Jingle-Jangles.”

Tori smiled and lobbed the ball back, then climbed back onto the table and folded herself cross-legged, like always.

For a heartbeat, she wasn’t Dr. Crew, the FDLE’s newest behavioral asset with seven years of post-grad and a dissertation on predatory impulse. She wasn’t the expert who could strip a killer’s psyche down to the bone in under an hour. She was just a fourteen-year-old girl again. The one whose screams had ripped across the pier that night. The one he’d hauled out of the dark and refused to let go.

Luna hooked a finger around the handle of her coffee mug and locked eyes with Corbin. “There’s truth in what your father said.”

Corbin’s shoulders stiffened. His gaze cut toward Blade. “Barclay was there that night. Question is, what did he bury?”

“We still don’t know if Damien was there. All we have is his word.” Tori looped a shoelace tight around her finger, skin blanching, then let it loose. Air hissed out between her teeth. “The whole trip was pointless. He dragged me out there just to watch me squirm. I should’ve left all this buried in the past where it belongs. I feel so stupid.”

Blade leaned across the table to her. He set his phone on the table and placed a palm on her shoulder. “You are not stupid. You deserve answers about your parents.”

Tori snapped her shoelace again, the welt already red on her finger. “Yeah? I don’t see how I’ll ever get them short of solving the case, which we can’t do because we can’t access the files, and I can’t remember that night at all.”

“There’s a way around it,” Blade said. “Kiara’s a records administrator. She handles sealed files every day.”

Her head jerked. “No.”

“Why not? She could walk into the evidence warehouse, pull the Crew file, no roadblocks.”

“She’d lose her job. I-I don’t even know her, Blade.” She shook her head, strands of hair brushing her cheeks. “No. Absolutely not.”

“You wouldn’t be the one asking,” he said. “I will. She’s a smart woman. Let her choose.”

Her eyes cut around the room then back to him. “You’d risk that? For me?”

“Especially for you.”

The phone buzzed against the table. Tori scooped it up before he could move, shoved it into his hand. The corner of her mouth curled with something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Speaking of.”

Honey-blond hair caught the light in the thumbnail, a frame of sun across her face. Green eyes crinkled mid-laugh, frozen bright. Tori had always teased him about his taste in women, but Kiara was knockout gorgeous in a girl-next-door kind of way.

“Give me a second.” He swiped his thumb across his cell to take the call, heading for the exit. “Hey, you.”