I moved closer, observing the way she seemed lost in thought. I caught a glimpse of her face, and something clicked. Her brows were pulled together, and her lips pressed into a thin line. Concern shadowed her gaze.

I expected to find confusion or curiosity, not this.

My mind immediately fell into its usual pattern of pulling every piece of information I had together. Every conversation, bit of evidence, and emotion I’d seen from Lenore about the Jane Doe—it all started to fall into place. There was only one explanation, even though I had been blind to it initially. I cursed under my breath at not getting there faster.

I’ve lost my touch. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” I asked, and she startled.

“What?” She turned, a new panicked look in her eyes.

“Jane Doe,” I said gently.

“No,” she whispered and shook her head. “You’re mistaken.”

I took a step closer and reached out to place a hand on her shoulder.

She tensed at my touch. Her head turned to meet me half way as I moved beside her. That look of panic melted into sadness. “Don’t-” she started.

I hated to push. I knew what it was like when everyone expected you to share. “When I joined the FBI, I had never once been on a team. I preferred solitude in my projects. I didn’t see a need to rope others in,” I started.

Her brows pulled in, but she absorbed every word I said.

“When I was placed on a team, I was forced to find a way to make it work. If I wanted to see becoming an agent through, teamwork wasn’t optional. So, I did the only thing my brain knew how,” I explained.

I wanted to slow my story, make it last forever as I saw the way Lenore’s gaze settled on me. Her dark eyes glanced over me, and I watched her guard slowly falling. She listened, truly listened.

Each word I spoke, I watched her mind race. I knew I was right about her, and the way her mind spun right in front of me confirmed it.

“What?” she pushed.

“I analyzed my own team. I made files for each person and filled them with strengths and weaknesses, ways I thought I could compliment working with agents and ones I needed to problem solve.”

Her eyes darted back to the wall at my pause.

“Blythe told me it was something a stalker may do,” I laughed softly. “She was right, as always, but it’s how my mind works. I analyze things until I make sense of them.”

She tensed, turning back and shying away from me, like I may just crack open every secret she ever held.

“And you know what doesn’t make sense to me?” I asked. “Your research.”