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Mason stayed silent, trying to undo his display of weakness by adopting a stern expression. It didn’t work.
“And all this alpha garbage you guys are obsessed with. Drop it. There’s no such thing as alpha males. The author who wrote the original piece about wolves that this was all based on later said it was garbage. Women don’t care if you’re shredded to the gills or how many people you’ve beat up. We want men who are mature, emotionally aware, courteous. Guys who remember to put the trash out on Wednesday nights.” She suddenly thought about Ben and his last gesture of affection. “Guys who skip the YouTube ads on your phone so you can go back to listening to music in the shower. Make sense?”
“Sort of.”
Her phone rang again. Someone was desperate to get hold of her. She patted Mason on his knee and left him with a final line of her favorite poetry. “You’re what, twenty-three?”
“Yeah.”
“Nobody likes you when you’re twenty-three.”
Mason laughed. This time it was genuine. “I guess.”
“I need to go. You’ll be charged with something. I just don’t know what yet.” She reached the door, turned around and asked, “By the way, the crime scene photo?”
“What about it?”
“Nice photoshopping skills.”
“Ha. You caught that.”
She thought a little praise might do this guy good. She shut the cell door, picked up her phone, now ringing for a third time. She squeezed it out of her pocket as she reached the end of the hallway, through the exit into the precinct. Grant was nowhere to be seen. Ripley had her cell to her ear, probably dazzling the director with news of their newest capture. Neither Ripley nor Edis were going to take Mason’s recent revelation lightly, and would probably use it as fuel to confirm his guilt even further.
Ella finally had her phone in her hands. A familiar name was emblazoned on the screen.
Robert Reed – or more accurately his wife – was calling her for the second time today.
She answered. “Hello?”
No response.
What had Clarissa said earlier? She was on her way to Vermont? Could have been an accidental dial while she was in the car.
“Hello? Clarissa?”
Ella heard a deep, labored breathing come down the line.
They said a person’s character couldn’t be identified through breathing or whispering, but Ella disagreed. These short bursts of inhalation suggested no feminine qualities. There was a layer of reverb to it, as though the owner possessed a deep, guttural inflection.
Dread filled her body from top to bottom. She was overcome with a sense of unease, worsened by the lack of response on Clarissa’s end.
“Clarissa?” Ella said, louder this time. “Are you there?”
Then Ella’s fears – fears she didn’t know she had until a few seconds ago – were confirmed.
“Hello, Miss Dark.”
The person on the other end was not Clarissa Reed.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Ella hurried out of earshot of Ripley, caged herself in an empty room somewhere in the back end of the Davenport precinct. She shut the blinds on every window, made herself invisible.
This was a conversation she’d been waiting to have for a long time.
“Hello,” Ella said. Nothing more was needed. Ella didn’t need to ask who her mysterious caller was, because the pieces had arranged themselves the moment she heard his voice.
“Long time coming,” he said.
