"On the contrary," Lila says, her voice carrying something that might be appreciation or might be recognition. "It's exactly the kind of resource we're going to need if Shaw escalates this situation beyond conventional law enforcement capabilities."
She's right, of course. Shaw isn't operating within normal criminal frameworks, and stopping her might require resources and methods that exist outside official channels. Having Nate's connections and capabilities available could make the difference between success and disaster.
"Phase one complete," Lila continues, settling deeper into the passenger seat. "Detective Rivas now sees me as a victim who needs protection rather than a suspect who needs investigation. And he's going to pursue Shaw with exactly the kind of focused attention that will disrupt whatever long-term experiment she's been conducting."
"What's phase two?"
Lila's smile carries the kind of cold satisfaction that reminds me why I found her so fascinating nine years ago. "Phase two is making sure Shaw understands that her psychological experiment has participants who know how to play the game better than she does."
The confidence in her voice should be reassuring, but something about it makes me uneasy. We're congratulating ourselves on outsmarting someone who's been orchestrating events for nine years, someone who's demonstrated patience and resources we're only beginning to understand.
Before I can voice this concern, Lila's phone rings. She glances at the screen, frowning.
"Blocked number," she says, finger hovering over the decline button.
"Answer it," I tell her, though every instinct screams that we're about to discover just how premature our celebration was.
She swipes to accept the call, putting it on speaker without thinking.
"Ms. Jenkins," comes a familiar voice, smooth and cultured and carrying unmistakable satisfaction. "Or should I say, Dr. North? Congratulations on finally figuring it out."
Shaw. My hands tighten on the steering wheel as Lila goes rigid in the passenger seat.
"Dr. Shaw," Lila says, her voice carefully controlled despite the shock I can see in her face. "How did you get this number?"
"Oh, my dear, I've had your number for quite some time. All of them, actually. Work, personal, that little burner phone you think Kent doesn't know about." Shaw's laugh is light, almost musical. "I have to say, your performance with Detective Rivas this afternoon was quite impressive. Very convincing victim act."
The casual revelation that she's been monitoring us, that she somehow observed our meeting at Metro PD, sends ice water through my veins. We weren't as clever as we thought. We were being watched, documented, allowed to think we were taking control while Shaw remained three steps ahead.
"What do you want?" Lila asks, and I can hear the anger building beneath her professional calm.
"What I've always wanted—to observe how fascinating subjects respond under pressure. Though I must admit, I'm disappointed that you chose to involve Detective Rivas. I was looking forward to playing this game out much more slowly, allowing the psychological tension to build naturally over months or even years."
Shaw's voice carries the tone of someone discussing a mildly inconvenient change to dinner plans rather than multiple murders and psychological manipulation.
"But you've forced me to expedite my timeline, which is really quite inconsiderate. Fortunately, I'm an adaptable woman. The accelerated schedule will simply require more…direct intervention."
"What kind of intervention?" I ask, unable to stay silent despite knowing that engaging with her is exactly what she wants.
"Ah, Mr. Shepherd. How lovely to finally speak with you directly. I've been such an admirer of your work—the original work, I mean. This recent amateur copying has been terribly disappointing by comparison."
The casual dismissal of the copycat murders—murders she committed—reveals the depth of her narcissism. She's not even acknowledging them as her work because they don't measure up to her standards of what my signature should represent.
"Answer the question," Lila says sharply. "What kind of intervention?"
"Well, since you've involved law enforcement in our little experiment, I find myself needing to create more compelling motivation for your continued participation. Casey was only a start, you understand. A proof of concept, if you will."
My blood turns to ice. Casey was a proof of concept. A test run for something larger, more devastating.
"Your Aunt Janine seems like such a lovely woman," Shaw continues conversationally. "So warm, so protective. I imagine losing her would be quite traumatic for you, given how she rescued you from your difficult childhood circumstances."
"No." The word tears out of Lila's throat like a physical wound. "Leave her out of this."
"But my dear, she's been part of this from the beginning. Don't you remember? She was at your father's funeral, after all. She saw me taking notes, making observations. In many ways, she's as integral to the study as you are."
I can see Lila's hands shaking, her professional composure cracking under the direct threat to someone she loves. This is what Shaw has been building toward—creating psychological pressure so intense that rational decision-making becomes impossible.
"Here's what's going to happen," Shaw says, her voice taking on a businesslike tone. "You're going to continue being the fascinating subjects I've spent so much time studying. You're going to respond to the stimuli I provide. And you're not going to involve Detective Rivas or any other law enforcement officers in our private research project."
