The Poet (Samantha Jazz)

“You’re gonna want to hear this, too,” Lang says, shutting the door before Wade can escape, and then drops his bombshell. “They found Richard Williams dead last night.”

Richard Williams being the ex-con who killed my father. I swallow hard with a mental flash of my father’s face the moment that bullet hit his chest.

“Where?” I ask.

“A trailer park off Riverside,” Lang says. “He had a gun superglued to his hand and pills and money on the table. The first responders assume that the dumbass glued the gun to his hand to force himself to use it. He appears to have chickened out and taken pills instead. And then chickened out again. He called 911 to try to save himself, but it was too late. We’ll never know for sure.”

I inhale a hard-earned breath and let it slowly trickle from my lips. I expect to feel something life changing. I expect the ground to damn near quake under my feet, but it does not. It’s one of those ground zero moments again, where I wonder if I’m becoming too cold, too removed, too much like the killers I hunt. “It’s good news. Thanks for coming by.”

Wade steps in front of me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m perfect,” I say. “I’m motivated to do my job.”

He studies me for a long, intense moment and proves once again why I’ve never walked away from Wade by saying, “I understand. I’ll talk to you later.” He nods and turns to leave.

I catch his arm. “You know—”

“Many things,” he promises, his voice gentle with understanding that wasn’t present in the kitchen. And with that, he leaves me more determined than ever to catch The Poet before someone else I love ends up dead.

Chapter 95

Wade leaves. Lang doesn’t. And I know from his face that he’s going to try to start a deep conversation.

Which is why when he says, “Jazz—” I cut him off.

“I just want to catch him, Lang. That’s what I want to focus on. This is your investigation. That team at the Austin PD is your team. I’ll just aid your efforts.”

“You claimed jurisdiction.”

“Because we’re not going to be captive to the mayor and his foot soldiers.” Which reminds me that I need to talk to Wade about his dive into the mayor’s dirty deeds. “That means you aren’t, either,” I add. “Tell me what you need. I’ll help you get it.”

“Can we just take a minute and talk?”

“The day I heard about the man who killed my father is not the day for us to talk.”

He cuts his stare and then nods. “Right. Fair enough. The autopsy’s at three.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay, Agent Jazz,” he snaps. “But for the record, we’re a good team. We want to catch this guy. Call me a cheat or a liar or whatever for now, I don’t care. What I care about is letting this shit between us get in the way. You don’t have to be my friend, but we started this together. Let’s end it together, even if it’s the end of us together. This is about catching The Poet, not about us.”

He’s right. His betrayal was personal, not professional. “You’re right. What was your plan this morning?”

“We can’t catch him with DNA, since he hasn’t left any, but he comes and goes from the crime scene and he has to watch his victims. I already have patrol asking questions of neighbors and even the area merchants. I was going to go and help.”

“I’m all in. Let’s go.” I grab my bag from the table by the door, right next to the computer I’ve reattached to my security system without reviewing the feed.

“I’ll let you drive,” he says.

“Don’t be a baby,” I say. “You hate driving my car and you hate my driving. We’re taking the Mustang.”

“That you think I obtained nefariously.”

“Nefariously?” I laugh. “With you, that could mean a lot of things.” I eye his unshaven jaw. “But you’re probably too tired to do any of them. Come on.” I open the door and exit, waiting for him in the foyer. He exits and pulls my door shut, while I lock up. It’s a silly thing, but even in such a small act, I notice how automatic we are, how in tune. We are a good team. That’s what matters right now.

“I do hate your driving,” he teases, pulling his keys from his pocket.

“Then maybe I should drive,” I joke, and as we head downstairs, somehow, we’ve slipped into our usual push and pull, and for now, that’s enough. For now, this is about finally catching a killer.

Chapter 96

Fifteen minutes later, Lang parks the Mustang across the street from Ava’s house. We talk with Officer Jackson, who is standing guard. The low burn of the heating sun contrasts with the chill of her home last night. It’s mid-September now, but we’re no closer to cooler weather, yet somehow closer to the holidays. I want this case over with by the holidays. I want that to be my gift to this city. And my family. The Poet is stalking me. That means he’s stalking them.