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“We’re fine,” I told him. “I don’t need to be coddled. I may look tiny, and at times I get triggered, but I’m not going to fall apart.” I stared at him, hard. “This is the warmup. The announcers are still talking about each team’s chance at winning the game and giving their predictions. It’s not even kickoff. I will fall apart when the last touchdown is made and that buzzer goes off, when I’m still standing and holding the fucking football. I need you to be my teammate, not my coach or my babysitter. And I need you to stop looking at me, wondering when I’m going to fall apart. I can’t. You need to understand that.”
I needed that from everyone because we had so much farther to go. No one understood the full ramifications of everything happening. There were secrets.
More would come out.
“You’re still on the investigation team?” My voice was hoarse.
Travis nodded. “Local asset. I know you and your family. I’m on the in-the-know team.”
He’d not said anything to give this indication, but I had to ask. “Do you know who he is?” Shock showed before he masked it. “You do. They do.”
“How the fuck—” He shook his head. “There’s a person of interest, yes.”
“Who?”
His jaw tightened. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Funny. That seems like the only information I should be told.”
“Billie.”
I changed tactics, hearing the resolve in his tone. He wasn’t going to budge. “They can’t find him?”
He didn’t reply, but I got my answer.
They had a person in mind.
That was good. That was great.
A laugh bubbled out of me. I couldn’t stop it.
“What?”
I shook my head, unable to hold back.
There was hope on the horizon. What if I was wrong? Maybe this was going to end soon. Maybe, just maybe, my heart would still be pumping when it did.
“What?” he pressed.
“It’s just… If I’m his breakup gift to the Midwest Butcher, he’s already lost. Fowler lasted so long because authorities had no idea who he was. He was only caught because I saw him. This guy is second best, and for a serial killer—that’ll piss him off after he’s caught. I almost can’t wait to see his face when he learns he lost.”
“He lost?”
I picked up the dishtowel again. “All serial killers are in competition with each other. You know that.”
Maybe it didn’t make sense to others. Maybe my words were insensitive, but they were true. This guy was already known, and he’d be caught.
He’d be beaten.
34
BRETT
One of the coordinators came over after the game. “They’re asking for you in the press room. Coach said to go in and answer a few questions.”
We’d lost against Chicago, and even worse, we’d lost because they got an extra field goal. We were lined up to either score or get our own field goal to tie, but our kicker missed. Still, the loss wasn’t his fault, though he’d be blamed. It’d been a team effort that got us into that position.
But I was not the one to go in there, especially after a loss. What were they thinking, sending me in there?
