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Claire’s pale lips pulled into a weak smile. “Where is she right now?”
“Her last text said on her way to the morgue, with Hartwell.”
Claire leaned against the couch. “I still can’t believe Cash is dead. I just saw him today.”
“How well did you know him?” Jake asked, unable to stop the FBI agent in him.
She shrugged. “As well as you can know someone you meet at rehab, I guess. He was kind of a jerk … sorry … I shouldn’t say that about someone who was just decapitated.”
Jake paused, his gaze studying Claire. “Decapitated? Where did you hear that?”
She fidgeted with her phone. “I was scanning the news coverage online.”
“You can’t believe that garbage. It’s all click bait. We’re living proof of that,” he said, gesturing to the vans still parked outside with their spotlights aimed at the house.
Jake had selfishly hoped the new Reaper development would take the heat off him, but so far, he hadn’t been that lucky. If there was one thing D.C. had an abundance of, it was overzealous news crews.
Claire’s phone buzzed and Jake watched her open her messaging app, texting a quick reply. “Who was that?” he asked.
“Betty. I called her when I saw the news about Cash. I hope that’s okay.”
“As long as you’re not sharing information about me or Dana, I don’t have a problem with it.”
“Do you think …” Claire paused. “Would it be okay if Betty came over? I know this has been hard on her, too. She could bring us some take out from that Thai place we had earlier. Maybe take our mind off all of this for a bit,” she added, glancing at the television.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Claire.” Jake sighed when her shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry, but with the scrutiny we’re under right now, it’s not a good idea for anyone else to get pulled into the fray.”
Claire continued to stare at the floor.
“Look, I know this is hard, but we need to lay low for a little while. But that doesn’t mean we can’t order take out.”
Claire muttered, “Never mind. I’m not hungry,” before disappearing back into her bedroom.
53
Claire lockedher bedroom door behind her before calling Betty. She answered at the first ring. “Well?” Betty asked.
“You were right,” Claire answered.
“I told you that you couldn’t count on Mr. FBI.”
It pained Claire to acknowledge that Betty was right, but they were past the point of arguing.
“Are you going to meet me or not?” Betty hissed.
“I’ll be there.”
“You’re sure you can get away?”
“It won’t be a problem,” Claire answered.
“Good. Tell no one.”
54
The overheads buzzedthe way only fluorescent lights could, intensifying the dull pounding in Dana’s temples. She found herself at Hartwell’s precinct, pouring over photographs of evidence from the Hayes murder. It was all that had been left behind after the case was taken from Metro.
Dana examined the scythe they’d collected from the park. She’d been over all thirty-one pieces of evidence they’d gathered with a fine-tooth comb but kept coming back to the same dilemma. “Without access to the original evidence there’s no way to make definitive connections or rule out if this is a new blade, or the same one used on Hayes.”
