“None here,” Carter said as he lowered the bottle back to the table.
“Me neither,” Lincoln said.
“In any event, he’s in custody, and Ruby and Chase are safe,” Beverley said. “Case closed. You two can come home.”
“No,” Lincoln said, eyes darting from the phone to Carter, asking an unspoken question.
Carter answered it, the determination in Lincoln’s eyes the only guidance he needed. “We’re getting closer here,” he told Beverley. “To the real Dr. Fear.”
“Closer than we’ve ever been,” Lincoln added. “Does Baxter have gray hair?”
“Yes.”
“I think we’re on the right track,” Lincoln said. “And Dr. Fear killed again today. Here in Apex.”
“Again?” Kirk said, rejoining the conversation.
“Zia and Quinn weren’t Baxter’s kills,” Carter explained. “We’re fairly certain that was Dr. Fear and then Baxter hijacked the cycle.”
“He left me a note at Stacy’s crime scene,” Lincoln said. “He’s escalating, and we have his attention. We can’t let this go. We’re too close.”
“Bev,” Kirk said. “If they’re right, we may never get another shot like this.”
“All right,” the director agreed. “Let’s not waste the opportunity, and let’s see if we can cut short the cycle for good.”
“We need to question Baxter,” Carter said, “But we can’t leave town.”
“Let us get him processed. Do an initial interview and send you that transcript. Then if you have follow-up questions, we’ll set up a video conference.”
“Later tonight?” Lincoln said.
“Probably tomorrow.”
“But—”
Carter laid a hand on his forearm and with the other, muted the phone. “Did you sleep any last night?” A glare but not a denial. “Didn’t think so. Me neither.” He released Lincoln and unmuted the phone. “Tomorrow morning is fine.”
“Good work, you two,” Beverley said.
Kirk followed with a “Thank you for helping us save them,” and after a few more operational details, they ended the call.
“I’m sorry,” Lincoln said, slumping back in his chair. “I should have asked before I said we wanted to stay.”
“You did ask, and I didn’t object because you’re right. We’re too close.”
“You up for playing Mr. Polk a bit longer?” Lincoln asked, his grin a little fuller, a little looser after three shots of tequila.
Carter returned the smile. “I think I could suffer it.”
Lincoln scoffed, full of mock outrage as he shifted in his chair sideways and forward toward Carter. “You have to suffer? What about me?”
Carter matched him, in affected ire and position, knees bumping as he narrowed the already scant distance between them. “What about you? Or rather, what about me is so insufferable?”
“You’re cocky, and you have an aversion to putting things in their place.” He flung an arm out to the side, toward the kitchen. “Like dishes in the dishwasher.”
Carter grabbed his arm. “You want me to put things in their place?”
Heat flashed in Lincoln’s eyes, and he didn’t try to wrench free. Instead, he used his wrist in Carter’s grip to drag him closer to the end of his chair with his legs spread, thighs on either side of Lincoln’s. Faces so close Carter could feel the warmth of Lincoln’s breath and the timbre of Lincoln’s words. “You’re insufferably handsome, and it’s all I can do not to kiss you.”
