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“You’re not going to like it,” he said.
“Don’t let that stop you.”
“Okay. Maybe we don’t go to Beverly Hills. Maybe we stop running around, putting our careers at risk, for what feels like a wild goose chase.”
“I don’t get it,” she protested. “Less than twenty minutes ago, we agreed that the only way to save our careers was to solve this.”
“Right. But that only works if there’s something to solve. All this hunting around that we’re doing doesn’t guarantee that we’re going to find anything other than more people who paid Michaela for sex. As bad as that is, it’s not murder.”
“What are you getting at?” she asked, sensing she didn’t like where he was going.
“Maybe this case has already been solved. Maybe the person who stabbed Michaela Penn to death is already in jail. Nothing we’ve uncovered so far, not even what Costabile has done to protect Commander Butters, has suggested anyone other than Pete Vasquez did this. He had her laptop, the one stolen from her apartment. That is hard evidence. And he has no alibi, unless you’re convinced by his claim of drinking in a park alone. Maybe this case is like the tennis coach thing. Maybe the most likely suspect really is guilty of the crime.”
Jessie sat quietly, processing everything he’d said. None of it was unreasonable. In fact, objectively, she was the one being unreasonable by pursuing this without anything definitive to suggest she was on the right track. And yet, she couldn’t let it go.
“I just have this feeling, Ryan,” she said softly.
“I thought you told me you were trying to work less off feelings and more off the evidence. Isn’t that what they emphasized in the FBI Academy training you did?”
“You’re going to throw that back at me now?” she asked, her voice rising in irritation.
Ryan didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled over to the side of the road. He put the car in park and looked over at her.
“Yes, I’m going to throw that back at you, because we’re talking about both our careers here. We can’t just count on some feeling you have, no matter how much you trust it.”
“But it’s not just that and you know it,” she reminded him. “My sister was threatened by someone. That wasn’t imaginary. And you’re the one who got the call from Chatty Cathy that started this whole thing.”
Ryan sighed heavily. It made Jessie feel like she was an obstinate child he was humoring. She didn’t like it. He got out of the car and closed the door. She did the same, then walked over to where he stood looking down at the asphalt road.
“Yes,” he said when he’d calmed down enough to speak, “I got the call. But I already told you, that could easily have just been about Butters being sexually involved with Michaela. We don’t have any credible reason to suggest it was more than that. And as frustrating as it is that he might skate on this, we’re kind of stuck.”
“But what if Chatty Cathy thought there was more to it than just paying for sex?” she pressed.
“I’m all ears if you have any evidence to back that up. Otherwise, it’s just supposition, and suicidal supposition at that.”
“Can’t you just trust me on this?” she pleaded.
“I do trust you, Jessie. But despite what you may believe, this isn’t about you. Not everything is.”
She stared at him, briefly struck dumb.
“What the hell does that mean?” she finally demanded.
“It means you have a habit of making yourself the center of the universe,” he told her, not backing down. “There always has to be a conspiracy and you always have to be the one to uncover it, to solve it. You’re always at a fever pitch. It’s like you won’t slow down for anything else, not even us.”
Again, Jessie was briefly stunned into silence. But only briefly.
“How did a murder investigation suddenly become a test of our relationship?”
“How can it not be?” he challenged.
She was about to come back at him, to let him know just what a cheap shot she thought that was, when she saw his attention focus on something behind her and his eyes open wide. She turned around to determine what had distracted him, to see a gray sedan barreling down on them, veering dangerously from the next lane over.
Before she could react, she felt Ryan’s hands on her hips as he physically lifted her and tossed her onto the hood of his car, diving up right after her.
The sedan scraped the edge of his car as it continued down the road, unabated. Just before it made a sharp right onto the next street, Jessie noted that the car had no license plate.
“Are you okay?” Ryan asked as he rolled off the now-crushed hood of his car.
