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Time stands still, and while I am as numb to the cold as I am cool and calm, it’s telling me that my heart isn’t racing nor am I contemplating the ridiculous task of retrieving my weapon and when. But then, me and my blade have grown to be close friends. A friend that is always there for me.
At this point, I’m nearing the crime scene tape, and soon, only it and a few rows of people will separate me from him. Still, he has not moved, as if he feels that tape is a steel or concrete wall that protects him. Game’s up for him now, though. I stop on the other side of the tape with it touching my waist and it’s then that I draw attention I do not want or need.
People start shouting at me.
“She’s that FBI agent!”
“That’s the governor’s daughter.”
Not yet, I think irritably. I really hate this new label being pushed upon me.
“Did you catch the killer?” someone shouts.
“How do we know we’re safe?” someone else shouts.
Through it all, me and the freak in the mask simply stare at one another until he begins to back up. One step. Two. I don’t rush him, not yet, buying time for my team to fall in fully behind him. That’s when the crazy roar of motorcycles—as in multiples from all directions it seems—fills the air and grows closer and closer.
Suddenly, the crowd parts and a group of bikers appear, the massive Harleys they ride rumbling a loud welcome as they claim their path, a good six of them headed for the tape. Shouts fill the air as chaos erupts. The freak in the mask turns away from me and dashes into the crowd forming behind the bikes.
Nowmy adrenaline surges. I lunge forward and under the tape, into the scramble of people and at least half a dozen bikes, but it’s a disaster, a crush of bodies, and despite the height of the man in that mask, he’s out of sight.
The mask is gone, I think. He removed it.
A rush of officers in uniforms swarm the area and Jay appears in front of me. “Where is he?” he shouts over the engines.
“Gone,” I mouth, not about to break my voice. “He’s gone.”
A police officer speaks through a megaphone—wherever the hell he got that irritating thing—and calls out, “Turn off your engines! I repeat, turn off your engines!”
The roars begin to fade.
That’s when a motorcycle literally rolls to our side, engine off, with a Harley dude mounted. I call him a Harley dude because he’s stereotypical in a leather jacket, boots, and goatee, but his passenger, not so much. It’s Jack and he’s still in his tuxedo. “Agent!” he calls out, climbing off the bike. “I told them to clear the looky-loos. They ‘fuck’ up a crime scene. Am I talking your language?”
He’s grinning like glue stuck his lips to his teeth and is glowing with pride.
The fact that he’s used the term “looky loo” after it was in my head does not sit well.
And “fuck” just plain sounds wrong coming from him and not me.
He’s studied me way too closely, a bit like Roger, my serial killer mentor, did as well. He’s also now standing in front of me and he’s barely five-ten, if that, which doesn’t seem to fit my man in the mask. On the flipside, he’s seven feet worth of irritation. And while it’s unlikely he’s the freak in the mask, at this point, his timing is as fucked up as his awkward use of my favorite verb, noun, and sentence connector.
Fuck.
And fuck some more.
I grimace and wave down a police officer, flashing my badge at him. “I need to know if there are cameras anywhere in the area. If there are, get me the footage and get it now before it’s too late. And watch for a fool with aScreammask on. If you see him, I need to question him.”
He blinks. “Screammask?”
“The fact that you don’t already have this information is just pissing me off, but yes,” I confirm. “AScreammask, and if you don’t know what that is, I don’t know how to help you. Ask someone who has a life. Now go. And go now.” He backs away from me and Jack is instantly in front of me.
“Screammask?” Jack asks eagerly. “Is the killing aScreamkilling?”
I happily ignore him, rotate on my heels, and start walking back toward the crime scene. I’m still in the same mental place about Jack. I don’t know who or what he is in the grand scheme of these crimes, I just know he’s geeky and irritating.
Not enough of a reason to arrest him, get rid of him, or even punch him in the face.
I’ve had better nights than tonight, but if he keeps on keeping on and he gives me a reason to do any of those things, that might change.
