The Poet (Samantha Jazz Series #1) - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,115

betrayal was personal, not professional. “You’re right. What was your plan this morning?”

“We can’t catch him with DNA, since he hasn’t left any, but he comes and goes from the crime scene and he has to watch his victims. I already have patrol asking questions of neighbors and even the area merchants. I was going to go and help.”

“I’m all in. Let’s go.” I grab my bag from the table by the door, right next to the computer I’ve reattached to my security system without reviewing the feed.

“I’ll let you drive,” he says.

“Don’t be a baby,” I say. “You hate driving my car and you hate my driving. We’re taking the Mustang.”

“That you think I obtained nefariously.”

“Nefariously?” I laugh. “With you, that could mean a lot of things.” I eye his unshaven jaw. “But you’re probably too tired to do any of them. Come on.” I open the door and exit, waiting for him in the foyer. He exits and pulls my door shut, while I lock up. It’s a silly thing, but even in such a small act, I notice how automatic we are, how in tune. We are a good team. That’s what matters right now.

“I do hate your driving,” he teases, pulling his keys from his pocket.

“Then maybe I should drive,” I joke, and as we head downstairs, somehow, we’ve slipped into our usual push and pull, and for now, that’s enough. For now, this is about finally catching a killer.

Chapter 96

Fifteen minutes later, Lang parks the Mustang across the street from Ava’s house. We talk with Officer Jackson, who is standing guard. The low burn of the heating sun contrasts with the chill of her home last night. It’s mid-September now, but we’re no closer to cooler weather, yet somehow closer to the holidays. I want this case over with by the holidays. I want that to be my gift to this city. And my family. The Poet is stalking me. That means he’s stalking them.

“According to her best friend, Kelly, Ava frequented the Twilight Coffee Shop, the library, and the campus, all right here in the neighborhood,” Jackson says, his freckled face stony, as usual, his red hair trimmed to the scalp. “She worked from home when she wasn’t in school.”

“What kind of work?” Lang asks.

“She was an English and math tutor,” Jackson replies. He hesitates. “And—”

I jerk my head around. “And?”

His lips press together. “I don’t want to assume improperly, but she had a lot of frequent male visitors.”

“Oh Jesus,” Lang grumbles. “If that means what I think it means, our suspect list just got enormous.”

“It’s unlikely he met her through an escort service,” I say. “He’s a meticulously clean, controlled man, but on the other hand, he is into bondage. He could have practiced such things with a hired escort. If she dared talk literature with him and spoke the wrong words, that would be her end.” I look between Jackson and Lang. “I like that angle. He had to learn the bondage somewhere.”

“I’ll call Chuck and the FBI tech and get them on this,” Lang says. “Well,” he adds, “unless you prefer to call your FBI team.”

I grimace. “Just call them. Don’t be a jerk.”

He smiles. “You snapping at me just like that—perfection. It works. Now it feels like old times.”

I laugh in spite of myself.

“I’m trying to find out if she worked for a service,” Jackson says, seemingly oblivious to our exchange.

“Talk to the best friend,” Lang suggests. “She’ll know, but if she’s involved, she won’t want to tell you.”

I glance at Lang. “She’ll tell you. All the pretty girls tell you.”

“That is true,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows and eyeing Jackson. “Where does she live?”

“By the Domain shopping center, but she works downtown for some senator at the capitol building.”

“But she was best friends with a call girl,” Lang says. “Interesting. What better place to get horny men with no morals than in politics?”

I snort. “Truth.”

Lang doesn’t linger on that truth. He’s back to Jackson now. “Take another officer with you and start digging around the campus.”

Jackson nods and takes off. “I’m going to hit the coffee shop and the library,” I say. “I’ll Uber it to the autopsy.”

“You sure? I can come back and get you.”

“I am. I think I want to spend some time in the neighborhood. I hadn’t done that with the prior murders.”

“All right,” he says. “Call me if you change your mind.”

I nod and head on out to the side street, where I pull up