Buckle rolled her eyes, but when the cab jerked and hitched on descent, she planted a hand against the wall. Once they finally hit the bottom and bounced, she was the first out of the elevator. Her sigh of relief was palpable.

Angus looked at the techs fingerprinting the entire room. “He wouldn’t have left any evidence. You know that, Tate.” Angus partially turned to face somebody he’d thought was a friend. “You also know that the feds are going to take this case if you don’t solve it, and quick. I can help you.”

Buckle brushed by him, careful where she stepped. “Don’t a lot of killers try to insert themselves into investigations of their crimes?”

“Yes,” Angus answered before Tate could.

“This way,” a uniformed officer said, gesturing them toward what used to be the computer room.

Angus hid his relief that the victim hadn’t been left in his office, where he’d spent many a night. He strode across the bullpen and looked into the computer room, where the doctor had been dumped on the eastern counter, her feet bound and her heart missing. Her eyes were closed and her blond hair hung off the side of the counter, almost to the floor.

“Jesus,” Tate said, taking in the scene.

A tech handed over a note already secured in a plastic bag.

Tate turned and held it up so they both could read it.

Dearest Angus,

This one was so much more satisfying, and I can only surmise it’s because we’re both engaged again. How I have missed you. From what I’ve been able to glean, you’ve missed me as well. To think that you were wallowing away with alcohol in the middle of Kentucky without me. I can’t tell you what that means to me. Who would’ve thought that we’d both survive the night we shot to kill? It’s kismet, my very good friend. Until next time.

Yours,
Henry

PS The night grows tired, the energy unleashed upon this moment in time that cannot last. A vision of the abyss, drawing me in, only her face halting the time that must occur in the game of the gods.

Tate crossed his arms. “How does this killer know you were drinking yourself to death in Kentucky?”

“That’s a damn good question,” Angus said. He had to go with trust here. “I think somebody in either the FBI or the HDD has helped Lassiter somehow.”

Tate rolled his eyes. “Sorry, buddy. I don’t see that.”

Buckle excused herself to take a phone call and immediately returned. “Angus Force? You’re under arrest for the murder of Dr. Emily Shelman. Turn around and place your hands at your back.”

Tate frowned. “What are you doing?”

“We have the results from the security tapes that were taken from the doctor’s apartment building.” Buckle smiled. “Guess who broke down her door yesterday?”