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Mia set her bookaside. She turned to Martin, who was methodically moving his bishop across thechessboard, caught in his solitary game.
‘Mart, have you everthought about... moving in together?’ The question hung in the air, delicate asthe first drops of rain against glass outside.
Martin’s eyes heldhers for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I think it could be right for us,’ he said, ‘butmaybe we should hold off until my house sells? If we’re going to do it, let’sdo it properly. My pension isn’t as deep as yours.’
Mia thought about it.A part of her wanted to protest, to cling to the idea of change, of taking boldleaps rather than cautious steps. But she knew he was right. Their lives wereintricate puzzles, and while the pieces might fit together eventually, theycouldn't be forced.
She went to type herresponse, but her phone began flashing in her hands.
It was the FBIoffices.
Mia caught the time.Nine PM.
That usually onlymeant one thing.
‘Mia Ripley,’ sheanswered.
‘Ah, Mia, it's good tohear your voice,’ came the gravelly tone. It instantly transported Mia back toa recent time that already felt like years ago.
‘Edis,’ Mia said. Theold director, back at the top of the pile. Randall Carter’s sudden death was ablow, but Mia couldn’t deny that it was a blessing in disguise. ‘Welcome back,old pal.’
‘Feels like I neverleft the hot seat.’
‘You’re brave,’ Miagrinned. ‘Stepping back up to the plate so quickly.’
‘Terrible, whathappened to Carter. But if they were going to take me out, they’ve had eightyears to do it. Whoever did this had an issue with Carter, not the position heheld.’
‘We’ll talk about itlater, Will. To what do I owe this pleasure?’
‘Old habits die hard,Ripley. You know this better than anyone.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Mia.That only meant one thing. ‘You need me and Dark pronto?’
‘Bingo. We've got asituation. A new case landed on my desk tonight. Something of a homecominggift.'
Mia breathed a deepsigh. Retirement might be on the horizon, but she couldn’t reject active casesthat needed her attention.
‘Details?’ she asked.
‘It’s a nasty one.’
Martin glanced up fromhis game, eyeballing his partner. His hand, which had been hovering inmid–move, lowered back to the table, the knight unplayed.
‘Try me,’ Mia said,her mind already gearing up for the challenge.
‘Two therapists founddead in Wisconsin. Same M.O., looks like we might have a serial on our hands.’Edis' words were clipped. ‘I need you and Ella to dig deep on this one, findout what's going on before we have more bodies piling up.’
Mia’s stare flickeredto Martin briefly, communicating without words the shift their quiet eveningwas about to take. He nodded subtly, understanding etching creases around hiseyes – the silent language of two souls intertwined by too long spent in the lawenforcement game.
‘Understood,’ Miareplied, her voice now edged with the familiar steely resolve that had definedher career for thirty–plus years. ‘We'll get to the bottom of it.’
‘Good. I need you topick up Ella and head straight to the office,’ Director Edis's voice commandedthrough the phone, with an urgency that brooked no argument. ‘I've got thecasefiles ready for you two. Plane leaves in two hours.’
Mia's hand tightenedaround her phone, her knuckles whitening with the grip. She glanced at the wallclock, its ticking suddenly as loud as a siren in the silence of the room. Twohours. The window was narrow, but Mia Ripley was nothing if not efficient underpressure.
‘Copy that, we'll bethere,’ she confirmed, the agent in her surfacing like a shark drawn to thescent of blood. With a swift end to the call, she turned towards the livingroom where Martin still sat, his chess game abandoned mid–move.
He regarded her, ahesitant frown creeping up on his face. It was a look that had become all toofamiliar during their time together – the quiet acceptance of a partner whoknows the call of duty often drowned out the whispers of domestic bliss.
