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"Exactly." Fiona nodded, satisfaction lining her features. "We might uncover something the killer didn't mean to leave behind."
Jake stood up, feeling the weight of inertia lifting. Action was what they needed, something to break the cycle of dead-end tips and mounting frustration. He grabbed his jacket, the fabric a shield against the chill that had nothing to do with the mild winter outside.
"Let's go pay them a visit," he decided, his voice carrying the newfound determination Fiona had sparked within him.
They left the hum of computers and the soft chatter of their colleagues behind, stepping into the crisp air that promised clarity. With each step toward their SUV, Jake felt the pull of the case, the drive to solve it not just for the victims, but for himself. This investigation was a bridge between his past and present, and he was ready to cross it.
***
The kickboxing gym was alive with the rhythmic thuds of gloves against bags, the sharp exhales of exertion, and the squeak of sneakers on polished floors. Fiona stepped through the entrance, scanning the space, taking in every detail—a habit honed from years of meticulous study. She noticed how the fighters moved, each one a study in controlled power, much like Erica Silverman must have been.
She glanced at Jake, noting the way his jaw clenched slightly—a sign she'd come to recognize as his own form of concentration. "Let's find Kacey, the general manager," she suggested.
They navigated through the maze of equipment and bodies, finally reaching an office where Kacey, the gym's manager, was tallying up membership fees. The woman looked up, her expression morphing from routine boredom to concern when she saw their badges.
"Agents Red and Tucker, FBI. We need to talk about Erica Silverman," Fiona said, dispensing with pleasantries.
Kacey stood abruptly, papers fluttering to the floor, forgotten. "Erica? What's happened?"
Fiona shared a glance with Jake before she spoke, her words deliberate and calm. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but Erica was found dead in her home."
Disbelief washed over Kacey's face, followed by a visible shudder. "Dead? But... she's one of our strongest fighters. How could anyone—" Her voice broke, and she shook her head in denial.
"Unfortunately, it appears she was ambushed in her home," Fiona explained, her heart aching for the woman in front of her. "Someone took advantage of the element of surprise."
"Her home..." Kacey repeated, her hands trembling. "That makes sense. Erica... she could handle herself, easily." She paused, collecting herself with a deep breath. "I just can’t believe she's gone."
Fiona offered a sympathetic nod, her role as an agent merging with her intrinsic compassion. Erica's world had been violently disrupted, and now those ripples were spreading, touching everyone who had known her. It was a pattern Fiona knew all too well—the same pattern that had snatched her sister Joslyn away, leaving behind a void filled only with questions.
"Was there anything unusual lately? Anything out of the ordinary?" Jake asked, his voice soft yet insistent.
Kacey bit her lip, her gaze distant as if searching her memory for something she might have missed. "No, nothing. Just the usual training sessions, the regulars coming and going..."
Fiona shifted her weight, feeling the hardness of the gym's floor beneath her. Kacey stood with her arms crossed, a barrier to shield against the grief that seemed to hang in the air like the stale scent of sweat and determination.
"Erica," Fiona started, her voice clipped with an analytical edge, "did she ever have trouble with any of the men here? Maybe someone who gave her unwanted attention?"
Kacey's eyes darted about the room before settling back on Fiona. "No, Erica could handle herself. She never mentioned any problems." Her voice held the firmness of conviction, but there was a shadow there too—doubt or perhaps fear.
Jake leaned in, his posture emanating an intensity that often caught people off guard. "Think carefully," he pressed, not unkindly, but with urgency. "Someone who might have tried to get close to her, to bother her?"
Kacey sighed, a sound heavy with the strain of trying to recollect. "Honestly, no one specific comes to mind. She brushed off advances like they were nothing, but she had a good way of preventing hostility too.”
“So no one was particularly aggressive with her?” Jake asked.
"No," Kacey confirmed, shaking her head. "Erica was popular. People respected her skills...and her space."
There was a finality in her words that made Fiona sigh. Another dead end.
Jake swapped a look with Fiona. The air in the gym seemed to grow heavier by the minute, pressing down on them with the weight of their failed leads and unmet expectations.
Fiona's gaze wandered subtly across the room, taking in every detail as if it were a puzzle piece waiting to be placed. She noticed the typical gym paraphernalia: scattered gloves, jump ropes, and the faint chalk outline where Erica's hands once gripped the floor.
Then she saw it—a fleeting glance that snagged her attention. Behind the desk, half-hidden by a crumpled towel, was a discarded cup, the bright logo of Power Juice splashed across its side.
Fiona's heart rate picked up, a silent drumbeat in her chest. It was a small link but potentially a chain to something larger. Power Juice was the name of the smoothie bar they’d gone to yesterday, where Jamie Lin and Lena Chase frequented, where Victor Harmon, who they’d cleared, worked.
Fiona eyed the branded cup, its contents long gone, but the implications still ripe. "Did Erica frequent Power Juice?" she asked, her voice steady despite the gears turning in her head.
