“I know you do.” He sits back in his chair, hands loose. “Every time I look at you I see your eyes moving like you’re scanning the case notes—”

“Not the case. That I’m getting blunted.”

The pause drags out, and she looks over at him. He’s shaking his head slowly, lips upturned.

“What? It’s not funny.”

“And I’m not laughing. You’re not blunted, Emma. That’s not you. You’re…”

“I’m what?”

Bell opens his mouth, closes it. His eyes skim over her but his gaze is light. His hand lifts, palm open near her shoulder like he’s warming himself by a campfire.

“You’re all… There’s emotion coming off you. All the time. Maybe other people don’t see it, or maybe you work hard to control it, but it’s there.” He grabs the bottle. “You’re about the least blunted person I ever met.”

The compliment shuts her up for a while. She recovers enough to extract the bottle. “Gimme that. You’re drunk.”

“Most certainly not.”

“One thing bugging me,” she confesses. “I told Cooper we’d have a different perspective. That we could give him insight on this guy, on those kids. Maybe help figure out how he’s choosing them. But I’ve got nothing.” Just their faces, all covered in blood, and a high, constant scream in my head. She doesn’t want to say that aloud.

“You’re tired. It’ll come.”

“That sunset was nice, though.”

He smiles softly. “Yeah, it was.”

“You get nice sunsets like that in Texas?”

“Sunsets in Texas are like a dream you had once, of a sunset in heaven.” He looks up past the tree line, to the star-blasted sky. Closes his eyes in a way that reminds her of Berryville. “Come on, Lewis. Time to go to bed or you’ll be seeing the sun rise.”

He walks her back to her car so she can stash the bottle, then escorts her to Jefferson. She’s proud of herself for not swaying at all, considering she’s just downed about six shots on an empty stomach. Once Bell leaves, she relaxes her control enough to hold the handrail on the elevator ride to her floor.

Then—sleep.

At 4:00 AM she jerks awake with a cry. I know what it is, she thinks. Gotta tell Cooper. But her brain is already fogging over, and by the time she wakes again in the morning, the knowledge is gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Bell yawns through an 8:00 AM class on Investigative Protocols. By the time he gets to the Cool Room, it’s after ten and Emma is there, in a long-sleeved tee and nonregulation black jogging pants with elastic at the ankles.

“Did you skip class?”

She ignores that, holds up a file. “Betty delivered information on Berryville.”

He comes the rest of the way through the office door, finds a chair. “That was quick.”

“There’s already a result on two of the three bodies.”

Cooper must’ve used the Policefax to transmit wire pictures of the victims’ fingerprints on-site—getting the victims identified early is crucial in these cases.