Page 7 of Go Alone

“I lean toward the latter,” Marcus said, taking the exit for the Jetport. “He could have sedated Greer and killed him… Well, not without suffering but with a lot less.”

“Yes, but maybe the Lawgiver wanted him to suffer.”

Marcus frowned at her. “Don’t call him that.”

Kate’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because he’s not a lawgiver. His name is Elijah Cox, and he’s a serial killer.”

Kate looked at him. “Should we stop calling Dennis Rader the BTK killer?”

“Yeah, actually,” Marcus replied, pulling into the long-term parking lot. “That would be awesome. Let’s stop sensationalizing these guys. Stop giving them superhero names and treat them like the low-class filth they are.”

“I’m not worshipping him, Marcus.”

No, not exactly, was the thought he was grateful he didn’t speak aloud. “I just… don’t call him that.”

She looked at him for a long moment. He kept his eyes ahead, pretending to carefully scan the lot as he selected a parking space. When she still stared at him after he pulled into a space, he resigned himself to having an uncomfortable honest conversation with her, but thankfully, she looked away before he had no more excuse to avoid meeting her gaze.

“Okay,” she said. “Maybe Cox wanted him to suffer. The paralytic could just be the disciple’s way of holding him still and allowing him to suffer while he carried out Cox’s instructions.”

Marcus scoffed. “Allowing him to suffer.”

“Would you like to give me a script?” Kate snapped. “Maybe a pair of teleprompter glasses so I know exactly what you want me to say?”

“Sorry,” he grumbled. “I’m just on edge.”

“You’ve been on edge before without feeling a need to make it my problem.”

Marcus took a deep breath and repeated, “I’m sorry. I…” don’t freaking want to talk about this, so please just drop it. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s going on?” Kate pressed.

Marcus saw the set in her jaw and the flinty look in her eyes. Part of him waved its little hand and said, Hey, Marcus, she looks even hotter now, eh? Eh?

And she did, God help him, but if he even let that realization flicker across his eyes for a split second, it would open another can of worms he really didn’t want to dig through.

So he resigned himself to the other can of worms he really didn’t want to dig through. “I don’t like you talking about Cox like he’s an authority figure.”

Kate stared at him for a while before answering. Mostly she looked angry. A little hurt too. The worst part was the weariness. Marcus was treating her with kid gloves again, and she couldn’t handle that, even if she knew—and Marcus was certain she did—that he had good reason for it.

“I’m trying to put myself in the mind space of our killer,” Kate said evenly. “We need to know how he thinks. I think it’s pretty clear that I don’t think like that.”

No, but you fixate on him the same way he fixates on you. You think about him the way he wants you to think about him. When he wags his finger, you come, and since you’re actually good at your job, Winters says, “Go ahead, girl. Go fetch.”

And I walk right along with you. I don’t do anything to stop you except whine about it every now and then.

“You’re right,” he said, not sure if it was a lie or not. “I’m sorry.”

She held her gaze for another long moment, then opened the door and left the car without another word. Marcus followed her, saying a prayer to whoever might be listening that this time, they could find Elijah Cox and put him away for good.

Or maybe just make everything easier and put him down.

CHAPTER THREE

The snow cover was at its deepest in Portland, but in Millbrook, all that remained were patches. The weather, oddly enough, felt colder to Kate, though that was likely the breeze. Unlike Portland, the sun shone brightly rather than hiding behind a thick overcast, lending an uncanny quality to the chill.

“Someone saw the killer,” Marcus opined, pulling down the road where Leonard Odum’s house stood. “This is the kind of place where everyone knows everyone and everything that happens.”