The press was waiting outside.
McGee came down the steps of the Larkspur building and walked straight into a wall of cameras. Microphones pushed toward her face. A woman with perfect hair and a channel logo on her mic shouted, "Detective! Is this connected to the Kane murder?"
Lights. Voices. All at once.
McGee froze.
She'd never dealt with the press. A couple of weeks as a detective, and nobody had prepared her for this — the shouting, the lenses, the feeling of being hunted by people who just wanted a soundbite.
"No comment," she said. "No comment."
She pushed through them, head down, and didn't look back until she was in her car with the doors locked. Her hands were shaking on the steering wheel.
---
Rosa's Coffee was quiet when she walked in. Mid-morning lull. Molly was wiping down the counter.
She looked up and her face changed. "Oh, honey. Come here."
McGee slid onto a stool. Molly poured coffee without asking.
"Rough morning?" Molly said.
"You saw the news?"
"Two bodies now. They're saying it's the same guy." Molly leaned on the counter. "That's your case, isn't it?"
McGee nodded. She could talk about it now — it was public. Not the details, not the mask or the staging, but the shape of it.
"It's the same method," she said quietly. "I checked. I knew before the ME even looked."
"That must have been..." Molly searched for the word. "Validating? Terrifying?"
"Both." McGee wrapped her hands around the cup. "I told Fredericks this guy wasn't done. I was right. And being right feels awful."
"Because now there's another family —"
"Because I couldn't stop it." McGee stared into the coffee. "I knew, and I couldn't do anything."
Molly was quiet for a moment. Then: "You're a couple of weeks in, McGee. You're not supposed to be able to stop a guy like this yet."
"Then when? After the third body? The fourth?"
Her phone buzzed on the counter. Unknown number.
She glanced at it and turned it face-down. Kept talking.
"— I just keep thinking about the staging. It's so deliberate, like he's trying to say something, and I can't figure out what —"
The phone buzzed again. Unknown number.
Molly nodded at it. "You want to get that?"
McGee sighed, picked up the phone, and stepped away from the counter toward the back of the shop.
"Hello?"
"Good morning, Miss Summers."
The voice was calm. Pleasant. Educated, with something old-fashioned in the cadence.
"I enjoyed your appearance on the television this morning."
McGee's blood went cold.
"No comment?" the voice continued, almost gently. "Strange. I expected more from you."
"Who is this?" McGee said, but she already knew.
A soft laugh. "I think you know, my lady."
McGee pressed the phone tighter to her ear. She turned so Molly couldn't see her face.
"I'm assuming you're looking for motives right now," he said. "That's the procedure, isn't it? Establish the pattern, find the connection, build the motive. Very textbook."
"How did you get this number?"
"That hardly matters." He sounded amused. "What matters is that we understand each other. You want to know if I'm real — if this isn't some crank wasting your time. So let me tell you something the press doesn't know."
McGee's hand tightened on the phone.
"Two injection sites," he said. "On the neck. The first leaves them awake — aware of everything, unable to move a muscle. The second..." A pause. "Well. You know what the second does. Your medical examiner told you."
McGee couldn't breathe.
"Now you know it's me," he said softly. "Now we can talk properly."
"You need to come down to the precinct," McGee said, forcing the words out. Her training kicked in — keep him talking, get a trace going. "We can discuss this further. In person."
He laughed. Not cruel — genuinely delighted, like she'd said something charming.
"Oh, Miss Summers." The warmth in his voice made her skin crawl. "Just a matter of time, my lady. My work here isn't done yet."
"Don't —" McGee started, but he kept going, conversational, as if they were old friends.
"I want you to know I'm impressed. The neck — checking the injection sites at the scene before your examiner even arrived. That was sharp. Most detectives would have waited for the report."
McGee looked around the coffee shop wildly. Was he watching? Was he here?
"You're doing good work," he said. "Keep it up."
"Wait —"
"Give my regards to your barista. The coffee smells wonderful from here."
The line went dead.
McGee stood frozen, the phone still pressed to her ear. The dial tone buzzed.
Slowly, she lowered the phone and turned around.
Molly was watching her from behind the counter, a dish towel in her hands, her face pale.
"McGee?" Molly said quietly. "Who was that?"
McGee opened her mouth. No words came out.
Through the front window, across the street, a man in a dark suit adjusted his tie and walked away.
McGee never saw him. She was still staring at her phone, at Molly, at nothing.
Chapter 7