Page 3 of Fatal Pattern

He flicked a hand at his ride. “Get in the car. I’m gonna check the area.”

“Don’t bother. He’s—”

But Blade was already moving, his flashlight sweeping across the shadowy spaces around the building where her attacker had disappeared.

“Gone,” she said.

Long gone by now.

She slid into the passenger seat and shut the door. Pulled down the visor and flicked open the mirror. An amber light illuminated the red parenthesis at her throat. Not deep enough to kill, just deep enough to remind her he could. Her mouth went dry. She couldn’t generate enough saliva to swallow. If Blade had been even a minute later, she might be dead. Instead of pulling up to pick her up, he could’ve found her bleeding out in that alley.

“Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered, digging through her work bag for her travel first aid kit.

One of many items she lugged in her work bag. Foster care had taught her that. Always be prepared. Always have what she needed to take care of herself.

The driver’s door opened. Blade got in.

“Nothing. No footprints, no evidence. The guy’s a ghost.”

“Not a ghost.” She dabbed an antiseptic wipe on the cut and winced. “Just careful. A planner. He wants to be in control, so he’s been watching. Learning my patterns.”

“And you didn’t think to vary your routine?” he snapped. “Basic security protocol, Tori. You of all people should know better.”

The criticism stung. Mostly because he was right. She’d been careless, overconfident. Told herself she could handle it. That she wasn’t afraid.

But that was before she felt the cold steel against her skin. Before she heard him whispering threats in her ear. “I know. I screwed up. Won’t happen again.”

She peeled away a Band-Aid’s backing and pressed the adhesive over the cut. The flesh-colored circle was amazingly discreet.

Something in her tone must have registered with him, because his voice softened. “We’ll catch him. I promise you that.”

“Let’s focus on today.” She flipped the visor closed. “We have a four-hour drive to Union Correctional, and I need coffee.”

Blade didn’t start the car. He turned in his seat to study her with those piercing blue eyes that always seemed to see more than she wanted them to.

“Are you sure you’re up for this? We can reschedule. Damien Sullivan isn’t going anywhere.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted despite the tremor in her hands that she couldn’t quite control. “It’s just adrenaline.”

“Tori—”

“I said I’m fine!” She gritted her teeth, wishing she hadn’t yelled at him. The look of hurt on his face made it worse. He’d seen her through just about everything in life; it made sense he’d want to do that now. “I’m really okay. Promise. I need this.”

He didn’t look convinced, but nodded anyway. “Okay. But if you change your mind—”

“I won’t,” Tori said, tucking the bloodied wipe into a small plastic bag and sealing it. Evidence. Just in case. “Now drive, Detective, before the morning traffic turns our four-hour trip into six.”

He started the engine, casting one last glance her way before easing out of the parking lot. She turned to look out the window, watching as the gym where she’d learned self-defense receded in the side mirror.

She absently pressed her fingers to the wound on her neck, feeling the sting of it. A reminder that she was dealing with someone dangerous. Someone who had gotten close enough to hurt her. Someone who had promised he wasn’t done.

“He said that I think I understand the darkness, but I don’t.”

Blade glanced over. “What?”

“It’s what he said.” The hot breath in her ear. The pressure of the knife. His fingers digging into her arm. “He’s wrong. I understand darkness better than most.”

“So, what are you thinking? Profile?” Blade shifted into work mode.