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“Doing it now,”the researcher replied.
“Thanks, Jamil,”Jessie said, before turning to Ryan. “It looks like we’re making a house call.”
CHAPTER SIX
Naomi Hacketttried to force the guilt out of her system, but it was to no avail.
No matter how hardshe tried to justify it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should be athome rather than here.
“Here” was thespartan apartment she kept in Playa Vista, only minutes from her tech company’soffices. From a practical perspective, it made a lot of sense. “Home” was thepalatial estate in Pacific Palisades that she shared with her husband andchild. Unfortunately, commuting from the office to the house on a weekday wastypically an hour-long proposition at best. And these days, that was valuabletime wasted.
After all, herstartup, Hackett Insights, was about to make its giant marketing push rightafter the start of the new year and every moment counted. Naomi was a seasonedpro, having worked in senior positions at multiple major tech companies in hercareer.
But this was thefirst time she’d branched out on her own, with her own name a selling point forthe company. As part of that process, last year she’d relocated the family fromSilicon Valley down south to be closer to this ocean-adjacent part of Los Angeles,known as Silicon Beach. And after recently getting a major round of funding forHackett Insights, she couldn’t afford to drop the ball when it was theirresources at stake.
All of that meantthat instead of being at home right now with her doting husband and adorablefive-year-old daughter, she was sitting on an uncomfortable couch in thepre-furnished apartment she’d rented for the last few months, all so that shecould stay close to work during the week.
She thought backto her daughter Olivia’s disappointed face on FaceTime earlier tonight when shelearned that Mommy wouldn’t be tucking her in again and consoled herself withone fact. This would be the last night like that for a while. Tomorrow was Friday.Saturday was Christmas Eve. And then there would be a whole week where shecould work from home. That was what she’d told Olivia on the phone earlier—thatstarting tomorrow, Mommy would be around for a whole week.
But for that tohappen, Naomi really had to bear down. Even though it was approaching 9:30, shestill had a couple of hours of work to do to prep for the final all-handsmeeting of the year tomorrow. That's why she had called the food deliveryservice—to re-fuel with a late-night order of In-N-Out, which should be here inthe next few minutes.
She stared at thedocument in front of her, trying to focus. But she must have been really tiredbecause the words blurred together. Even though she’d just gotten up a littlewhile ago to change into more casual attire, she decided she need to recharge again,get the blood pumping.
She tried to pushherself up, using the arm of the couch. But to her surprise, her arms feltshockingly weak, way more than one would expect simply from not having eatensince 1 p.m. Her muscles were stiff and borderline unresponsive. It took all ofher strength to stand upright.
Something feltoff. It had snuck up on her because she’d been sitting in the same spot on thecouch for the last few minutes, but now the issue was apparent. She brieflywondered if her sense of guilt over poor parenting was making her physicallyill. But this was something else, something more. It felt like her whole bodywas shutting down.
She tried to reachdown to the coffee table to grab her cell phone but felt wobbly and stopped,worried that she might topple over. Instead, she decided to focus her effortson getting to the front door. She was friendly with Jillian, the next-doorneighbor, and was sure that if she could get to her, the woman could help or atleast call for some.
So she forced onefoot in front of the other, feeling like the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz.Suddenly her methodical steps got away from her and she found herself careeningtoward the door. She slammed into it much harder than expected, but to hersurprise and fear, there was no pain from the collision. Her entire torso feltnumb.
She attempted toreach down and unlock the deadbolt but found it nearly impossible. Not onlywere her fingers not working properly, but her vision was also deterioratingrapidly. She managed to press her palms together on either side of the boltand, using their collective force, twist the deadbolt to the side.
She tried to dothe same with the door handle, only to discover a new challenge. Her lungsweren't working right. She couldn't inhale normally, barely able to suck anyair in through her numb lips. A rush of panic coursed through her as sherealized that unless something changed fast, in a matter of seconds, shewouldn't be able to breathe at all.
She fixed all herenergy on twisting the door handle with her compressed palms and managed toturn it. She clung to the handle as best she could as she lost her balance andtoppled backward. The door opened as she hit the ground. In the distance, shecould see the vague outline of the hallway.
But she could nolonger move, or suck in breath, and just before everything turned dark for her,she had a last fleeting revelation. Her heart had stopped.
CHAPTER SEVEN
This wasn’t howJessie had envisioned her evening going.
It was approaching10 p.m. when she and Ryan pulled up outside Gregory Ashton’s house. Unlike withRaylene Florence, they didn’t let him know they were coming.
Ashton lived alittle inland from the two victims, whose homes were both within shoutingdistance of the Pacific Ocean. His small but well-manicured Culver City cottagehouse was in a neighborhood just off the downtown business district.
As they approachedhis door, with only a nearby, flickering streetlight to illuminate thedarkness, they reviewed what they’d learned about the guy on their way over.
“How do we want topursue this?” Ryan asked. “Directly challenge him on what he was doing atClarissa Langley’s place or ‘engage his assistance’ in trying to get to thebottom of what happened to these women?”
“We’re talkingabout a single, forty-five-year-old financial advisor who seems to beessentially cold-calling potential clients when he’s supposed to be anestablished wealth-builder,” Jessie replied. “Even before meeting him, this guyis giving off the whiff of desperation. I’m more inclined to go at him than tryto win him over.”
“Have at it,” Ryansaid with a smile.
Jessie knew why.Her husband always seemed to get a charge out of watching her knock arrogantjerks down a peg, especially when they were potential murderers. Of course, thequestion was: did this guy even fit that profile?
Ryan rang theman’s doorbell. After thirty seconds without a response, he tried again.
