“No. I’m not staying in the car like a helpless puppy. We’re partners. You’ve always had my back; I’ve always had yours. Now, give me the thirty-eight I know you keep in your glove compartment. In case of emergency, that’ll be enough for me to get the job done, one-handed or not. Besides, there’s no reason for us to get ahead of ourselves.”

“What do you mean?”

“We play Charlie like we did Hayes. We’re not here to accuse him of being the Rose Killer; we’re here to talk to him about Shana’s escape. His safety and security is our primary concern. We’re the good guys, his bestest buds. And hey, as long as we’re here, let’s walk around, check out the locks on the windows, take a peek at anything we can spy in plain sight.”

She could tell Phil still didn’t like it. But they had been together forever, mostly because Phil had never been good at telling her no.

He took the lead. She followed him up, obediently staying two steps behind.

They were both out of breath by the time they arrived at the door of the walk-up unit. Phil once more motioned for her to step to the side. She made a show of acquiescing. In the end, however, it was all for nothing. Phil knocked and knocked, but Charlie never came to the door.

Chapter 38

THE PIZZA DIDN’T SETTLE WELL. I’d consumed only one slice, accompanied by a single beer, but now I could feel it like a brick in the bottom of my stomach. I shifted restlessly in the kitchen, acutely aware of my growing nausea, as well as a slow, crushing level of fatigue.

The events of the day finally catching up. The inevitable crash that followed any adrenaline rush.

Across from me, I could tell Shana felt equally uneasy. She’d eaten most of the pizza, a choice I could tell from her expression she now regretted. She’d also opened a beer, but it remained only half-consumed. She was nursing it with greater self-restraint than I would’ve imagined. Fourteen-year-old Shana had probably downed entire kegs. Her forty-four-year-old counterpart had finally learned patience and discipline.

Either that, or she really was worried she was going to vomit.

Shana rubbed her temples. She stood abruptly, the sudden change in equilibrium making her sway on her feet.

“Come on,” she said thickly. “Let’s tend to your wounds.”

She headed for the master bath. I followed in her wake, barely summoning the energy to walk. I should put on a pot of coffee. At this rate, we’d be hard-pressed to keep our eyes open long enough to confront a killer.