The Poet (Samantha Jazz)

I draw in a deep breath, filling my chest fully, and flip open the book to the nostalgic, optional signature card the new library uses, not surprised when this reader has chosen to sign her name. I already know her name, of course. I’ve hacked the library’s computer system. Ava Lloyd. Air trickles from my lips. I shut the book and stand up, walking back to the shelf, where I carefully replace it. I then return to my table and slide my MacBook inside my briefcase.

I don’t have to look up Ava’s address. I already know where she lives. I’ve already been watching her. I stand up to leave. Duty calls for both me and Detective Jazz.

Chapter 66

I’m afraid for Becky Smith, and for that reason I drive to her house, with no plan once I arrive, aside from confirming her safety. How I’ll go about that, I don’t know. Fortunately, the coffee shop is a short drive from her home, and it’s not long before I’m idling in front of the park again with the house in view. I’m sitting there, trying to decide what comes next, when my cell phone rings. I grab it from my pocket to find Wade calling.

“How’d the meeting with Newman’s wife go?” he says.

“It didn’t. She chickened out.”

“Well, that sucks, but you got her to call. You know how this works. You know sometimes you have to earn that real reveal.”

“I just hope he didn’t find out and she ends up dead because of me.”

“He won’t kill his cover story.” He says this quickly and confidently, the voice of reason and experience saying what I know, but I’m afraid to believe. “He’s proven to be smarter than that,” he adds. “You know this. Don’t let yourself lose focus.”

Focus.

That’s exactly right. I have to focus and rely on facts and training. I got this.

“Listen,” he continues, “a case I had go cold on me a few months back just blew up. I’m going to have to stay here tonight. You want to stay at my place?”

“Do I want to hide from The Poet at your place? No, I don’t, but thank you for offering anyway.”

“If you were someone else, I’d have about ten things to say right now, but you’re not. So I won’t. Be careful.”

“Always.”

We disconnect, and I’m relieved that Wade and Lang are out of town. That makes them out of the reach of The Poet. Newman’s garage door opens, and he walks out to the driveway and then turns toward me, staring at my car. Crap. Crap. Crap. My cell phone rings and I grab it to find the captain calling. Crap all over again. I answer. “Captain.”

“Leave his house now.”

“Captain—”

“Now. His attorney has proof you called his wife eight times in a row tonight. He’s filing a restraining order in the morning.”

“I called because I was afraid for her, which is why—”

“Leave. I will not tell you again.”

I grind my teeth and place my car in drive, but my foot remains on the brake. “I’m worried about her.”

“Detective Jazz,” he warns.

My lips press together. “I’m leaving.”

“Good. You keep your distance, and that includes your team, unless you get that warrant from the DA. Stay away.”

Anger burns a hot spot in my chest. “But he can stand at my door every night?”

“You can’t prove it. And it’s not me you have to convince at this point. It’s the DA’s office.” He hangs up.

My gaze lifts across my dash to where Newman stands at the end of his driveway, daring me to get myself arrested. I won’t take that bait. I hit the accelerator and drive past the monster and his house, but it’s all I can do to keep driving.

Chapter 67

I call Lang on my way back downtown, where I’m going to meet with the ADA. “Did you hear?” he asks.

“I just hung up with the captain. Do you think she set you up?”

I don’t even have to consider my answer. There’s a reason I tried to confirm her safety. “No. She’s scared. I heard it in her voice. I think she got busted and saved herself. Tell me you have something to take this bastard down.”

“Nothing new. I tried to meet with Newman’s foster parents, but they had no interest in talking to me. I mean, slammed the door in my face. Like they were scared. The foster kid who disappeared is a cold case. I’m bringing the file back with me. Other than that, I’m meeting with the ME on the local Brownsville cases in the morning and then flying out to Houston.”

“In other words, we’re depending on little old me, the one with the stalker, who is now labeled a stalker by her stalker, to win over the ADA. I don’t think even Mr. Rogers would say it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.”