Page 52 of Unholy Masks

“Hey, come in,” she said with a smile, looking up from her laptop. “Did you have any leads on the Strangler?”

“No.”

“Sofia and Nikki?”

“The gardenias. I’m trying to find where he buys his flowers.”

Before she could respond, the door creaked open. Thatcher strolled in like he owned the fucking place, his grin irritatingly smug.

“Ever heard of knocking, Thatcher?” I glared at him, and he gave me a glib smile.

“So, what about the gardenias? Are you planning a wedding or something? Or have you decided to stop being a journalist and start a floral shop?”

“What do you want, Perry?” I gritted out.

“Nothing. I came to say hello. I wondered if you were still working here.”

“Ignore him,” Nat said. I would, if I could. He was always in my face. “If you find something, let me know.”

“I will.”

Thatcher followed me out. The asshole never knew when to give up. “Are you still chasing that ghost?”

“None of your damn business.”

“You found something, didn’t you?” he said, eyes gleaming with greed. He was practically vibrating, his fingers twitching at his sides.

For him, this wasn’t about justice. No, for Thatcher, this was all about the scoop, the exclusive, the fame that would follow.

“What did you find?” he asked, leaning in.

“But I was chasing a ghost, wasn’t I?”

“Oh, you look smug, Sinclair. I know that look. You found something.”

“Even if I did, how’s that any of your business? Go bother someone else, Perry,” I said, turning away from him, walking toward my cabin. I sat down and started going through old case notes and files when my phone rang.

Unknown. Frowning, I answered.

“I—I’m Valentina.”

“From AFC?” I blinked.

She took a shaky breath. “Yes. Mr. Sinclair, can we meet? Now?”

“Are you alright?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think I am.”

“Where are you now?”

“At Hot Cuppa. It’s a coffee shop in—”

“I know. Stay. I’m on my way.”

I stood up and headed for the elevator. The ride down felt like an eternity. I drove to Hot Cuppa as fast as traffic would allow.

When I pulled up, I spotted Valentina immediately. She was sitting at a small table outside the shop, her hands wrapped tightly around a coffee cup. Her shoulders were hunched, and even from a distance, I could see her trembling.