I turned to Sloane for a second opinion.
Two hours and fifty-six minutes, she said. Briggs was due back in town today, but hell need to settle things at the office and grab a change of clothes and a shower before coming in.
That meant I had two hours and fifty-six minutes to decide how to broach this case to Agent Briggsor better yet, Agent Locke.
If he hadnt, I probably would still have been sitting there, staring at the
crime-scene photos and wondering if my mom had died without a face. Instead, I was lying on my bed, staring at the door and trying to think of something anything I could offer the FBI to make them want me on this case.
Two hours and forty-two minutes later, someone knocked on my door. I thought it might be Agent Briggs, back fourteen minutes earlier than Sloane had predicted.
But it wasnt.
Dean?
He hadnt ever sought me out before hed told me that we werent partners, werent friends, werent anything. I couldnt imagine why hed come looking for me voluntarily now.
Can I come in?
There was something about the way he was standing there that told me he was expecting me to say no. Maybe I should have. Instead, I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He came in and shut the door behind him. Lia eavesdrops, he explained, gesturing toward the closed door.
I shrugged and waited for him to say something he wouldnt want overheard.
Im sorry. He managed two words, paused, and then pushed out two more. About before.
You have nothing to be sorry about. There was no law saying he had to trust me. Outside of Lockes lessons, wed barely spent any time together. He hadnt chosen to kiss me.
Lia told me about the files you and Michael and Sloane found.
The sudden change of subject took me by surprise. How does Lia even know about that?
Dean shrugged. She eavesdrops.
And since I wasnt exactly Lias favorite person right now, she had no reason whatsoever to keep her mouth closed about whatever it was that shed overheard.
So, what? I asked Dean. Were even now? I found out about your dad and Lia told you that I think the UNSUB Briggs and Locke are after might be the one who killed my mom and now everythings okay?
Dean sat down on Sloanes bed and faced me. Nothings okay.
Why was it that Id managed to hold on to my cool with Michael and Sloane, but now that Dean was here, I could feel myself starting to slip?
Sloane said that she thinks its highly unlikely that this killer is the same one who took my mother, I said, looking down at my lap and trying not to cry. Its been five years. The MO is different. I dont even know if the signature is the same, because they never found my mothers body.
Dean leaned forward and angled his head up at mine. Some killers go for years without being caught, and their MOs change as time goes on. They learn. They evolve. They need more .
Dean was telling me that I could be right, that the time frame didnt preclude this being the same UNSUB, but I knew from his tone of voice that he wasnt just talking about this UNSUB.
How long was it before they caught him? I asked softly. I didnt specify who him was. I didnt have to.
Dean met my gaze and held it. Years.
I wondered if that one word was more than hed told anyone else about his father.
I thought that maybe it was.
My mother. I was the one who found I couldnt say her body because there hadnt been one. I swallowed hard, but I kept going, because it was important, somehow, to put it into words, to tell him.
Id gone to check out the crowd, eavesdrop, see if there was anything I could pick up on that might help my mom during the show. I was gone ten minutes, maybe fifteen, and when I got back, she was gone. The entire room had been tossed. The police say she fought. I know she foughtbut there was so much blood. I dont know how many times he stabbed her, but when I got back to the room, I could smell it. The door was partway open. The light was off. I stepped into the room and I felt something wet underneath my feet. I said her name, I think. And then I reached for the light switch. I got the wall instead, and there was blood on the wall. It was on my hands, Dean, and then I turned on the light, and it was everywhere.
Dean didnt say anything, but he was there, so close that I could feel the heat of his body next to mine. He was listening, and I couldnt shake the feeling that he understood.
Im sorry, I said. I dont usually talk about this, and I dont let it do this to me, but I remember thinking that whoever hurt my mother hated her. He knew her, and he hated her, Dean. It was there, in the room, in the spatter, in the way shed foughtit wasnt random. He knew her , and how could I explain that to anyone? Who would have believed me? I was just some stupid kid, but now Briggs and Locke have this case, and their UNSUB is killing people who look like my mother and people who hold a similar job, and hes doing it with a knife. And even though the victims are scattered geographically,
even though none of them knew each other, its personal. I paused. I dont think hes killing them. I think hes killing her again. And Im not just some stupid kid anymore. Im a profiler. A Natural. But even sowhos going to believe me?