Len hurried after me, leaving the museum, her blue skirt blowing as the wind picked up. She gathered her loose curls and pulled them back into a loose bun. Without them blowing into her face, I noticed the way her deep brown eyes had a golden tone to them. The bright sun highlighted it, and it was hard to look away.

“Francis seriously allowed you to borrow me to work on this case?” she asked hesitantly.

“She doesn’t know what case you’re working on, just that the FBI has research that’ll be national news.”

Len almost choked on her latte. “She’s probably going to kill you,” Len pointed out.

“Then she better hope the Coastal Killer doesn’t first,” I answered.

I turned to lead her to where we were heading next. I’d memorized all the streets and locations in town off a map I printed before coming. I had a perfect memory, so there wasn’t any detail I couldn’t recall after studying it.

The local sheriff was my first planned stop, to get it out of the way and hope no one there contacted anyone else at the FBI.

My stomach sank, thinking about the lies I had to spin.

Lenore trailed behind me, finishing the rest of her latte before we made it to the sheriff’s office.

The building was an old brick establishment, the small sign out front marking it. It didn’t surprise me that the town didn’t have the resources to handle a serial killer on their own. I headed for the door but realized Len had stopped walking, instead staring at the building.

“Are you coming?” I asked.

“I-” she hesitated. The last time she dealt with the same deputies was likely the day she was attacked.

“I can go,” I said, unwilling to push her.

“I want to help,” she said. “It’s just…what if they recognize me?”

It would’ve been the same deputies who found her brutally attacked and mutilated. I’d read the report; I knew how unrecognizable she was when they found her.

“I don’t blame you if you want to stay out here, but I promise you, none of them will know who you are. When they found you, there was swelling to your face and your hair was dyed a different color three years ago.”

She took a tiny step closer. Without thinking, I held out my hand, and she looked at it for a moment before taking it.

Her skin was warm and her palm smooth.

I gave her a gentle, reassuring squeeze and held her hand as I pulled open the door and led her through.

She let go the moment she stepped inside.

That was all I got, a few seconds before she went back to putting up her walls.

I watched her shift uncomfortably, glancing around. I spotted a front desk with a woman behind it.