Page 69 of Fatal Pattern

She did and found those steady blue eyes that had anchored her through more storms than she could count.

“That night didn’t destroy my life. It changed it. There’s a difference.”

“How can you say that? You lost everything.”

“I lost a family that was willing to throw me away the second things got complicated. I lost a future that probably would have involved running bait lines and patching airboat engines until I was too old to work. But Stryker found me. And I found the program. I found a purpose.”

“You found me,” she said quietly.

“Yeah. I found you.”

His hand crossed the table, big and warm, closing over hers. He pried her fingers from the mug and kept them locked inside his grip. Two broken kids who’d somehow managed to piece each other back together, one shared moment at a time.

“Stryker saw something in both of us,” Blade said. “Two sides of the same coin, he used to say. You were running toward danger, I was running toward justice. Both of us were running from pain.”

“And he convinced a judge to give us both a chance.”

“Best thing that ever happened to us.”

The booth felt smaller than it had five minutes ago. She studied his hand over hers. Years of history in that grip. The connection wasn’t just friendship. It was deeper and more essential than oxygen. Blade was the other half of her story, the missing piece that completed her.

The bell over the door chimed, and she pulled her hand back. Some observations were better left unexamined.

Janice stood framed in the doorway, her cheetah-print dress a violent splash of color against the diner’s muted tones. She strode over with her usual confident swagger and slid into the booth beside her.

Tori pushed the pie plate out of the way. “What happened? What did he say?”

Janice’s laugh came out shaky and bitter. “That man is either completely insane or scared out of his mind. Maybe both.” She lifted an empty coffee mug to signal the waitress.

“What I’m about to tell you can’t leave this table. Not to his son, not another detective, not to anyone. He made me promise,” Janice said. “He claims that people have already died to keep this buried, and they won’t hesitate to kill again.”

Tori looked at Blade, and they both agreed. Not a word.

“The warden didn’t want to let me in. First, she tried to block the visit because it was outside visiting hours. Then, because Damien’s in confinement. But I told her I needed a signature for an official document.”

The waitress slid in, tipped the pot, and filled the mug. Janice dropped a manila folder onto the table, popped it open, and spread the flap wide. One sheet sat inside, heavy with type, her letterhead stamped sharp across the top.

“It’s a waiver of attorney-client privilege. Allows me to break confidentiality with the two of you.”

Tori stared at the document. “Brilliant.”

“This ain’t my first rodeo.” She smiled and tucked the paper back into the folder. “You know, the entire time I defended Mr. Sullivan, he claimed his boss had it out for him.”

“You mean Chief Barclay?” Blade asked.

Janice nodded and lifted the mug. Coffee sloshed against the rim, but she managed a sip before it spilled over the edge. “But during our conference today, he never said the name. Not once. He said they were listening, even though it’s illegal for a warden or prison staff to listen to an attorney-client conference without permission.”

“If Sullivan believed someone was monitoring privileged conversations, his paranoia might not be paranoia at all.”

“True, but it probably happens more than we’d like to believe. It’s also difficult to prove.” Janice added a splash of cream and stirred her coffee. “Either way, Damien didn’t name names today. He spoke in generalities. But I saw him draw B on the table with his finger when he talked about his boss. I’m sure it’s Barclay.”

Tori remembered Damien’s finger tracing lazy circles on the metal table between them. All those seemingly random circles. Was he trying to communicate something she’d missed?

“I started with your first question,” Janice continued. “Damien swears he was the responding officer to the Crew homicide, no matter what the murder book says.”

“What about the fractals?” Tori leaned forward. “The patterns?”

“I asked that next, but he wanted to start at the beginning.” Janice took a sip of coffee and shook her head. “You know, after all these years I’ve represented this man, this was the first time Damien admitted he was a dirty cop.”