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Helooked out at the Portland skyline, feeling a strange sense of calm wash overhim. The sun was beginning to sink in the sky. The chaos was all happeningbelow, but he was safe here. He could plot his next move.
Hecould still feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heart stillracing from the kill. The thought of getting caught sent shivers down hisspine. He couldn't afford to be caught; he had too much left to do. The worldneeded him, and his work wasn't finished.
Takinga deep breath, he rose to his feet and surveyed his new surroundings. Therooftop was barren, save for a few pigeons scattering across the gravel, theircoos filling the air. Then he looked over his shoulder, catching sight of themuseum a few blocks over. His precious insects were inside... leaving townwasn't an option, not yet. Not until his bugs left too.
Hecouldn't--wouldn't--leave. As long as he still drew breath, the bugs - thosebeautiful, merciless creatures - would never be far from his thoughts.
All hehad to do was wait it out. Then, sooner than later, they could be togetheragain.
CHAPTER NINE
Theaftermath was chaos.
Jakestood amidst the disarray, his gaze flicking from face to face as the policeofficers escorted the shell-shocked visitors out of the traveling entomologyexhibit in the museum. A cacophony of sirens and voices filled the air as theauthorities tried to maintain order.
"DetectiveAbrams," Jake called out, catching the attention of the lead investigator."You're releasing everyone?"
"Whatchoice do we have?" Detective Abrams replied, a grimace etched on his wornface. "We can't hold them here indefinitely, can we? None of them matchthe description of our suspect."
Jakenodded in understanding, though frustration gnawed at him. The murderer hadslipped away like smoke into the wind. After interviewing everyone in thebuilding and reviewing the security footage, Jake confirmed, as well, that thekiller had likely slipped away before the lockdown had occurred.
Heturned to the people who ran the exhibit, their faces pale and drawn. They wereall wearing the same uniform: a green T-shirt with a butterfly on it and cargopants, and they were all relatively young, ranging from twenties to earlythirties. "I assume you'll be shutting down for the day?"
"Absolutely,"Carson, the guy who ran the exhibit, murmured, his voice tight with anxiety."We'll reopen tomorrow once everything's been sorted out." His eyesheld a haunted look as if he could still see the lifeless body that lay justmoments ago on the floor of the exhibit.
"Goodcall," Jake replied, feeling the weight of responsibility heavy on hisshoulders. He wanted to find the killer, to bring closure to the family of thevictim, but it wasn't his case. He couldn't shake the feeling that he wasletting them all down.
"AgentTucker," Detective Abrams said, clapping a hand on Jake's shoulder."You've done enough. You know this isn't your case. You were just at thewrong place at the wrong time."
"Trustme, I know," Jake said, his jaw clenched. The words tasted bitter andsharp, like swallowing shards of glass. He didn't want to walk away, to leavethis investigation in someone else's hands, but protocol demanded it. As an FBIagent, he couldn't overstep his boundaries.
"Gohome," Detective Abrams advised. "Get some rest. You've earnedit."
Jakeforced a thin smile, though the hollowness inside him only seemed to grow. Thedrive for justice burned within him, an unquenchable flame that refused to beextinguished. He nodded at the detective and turned to leave, his heart heavywith disappointment.
Ishould be able to do something, he thought as he walked throughthe sea of uniforms and panicked faces. But my hands are tied.
Jakewalked out of the exhibit, the air feeling colder than before. The sun wassetting, casting long shadows over the crime scene. He spotted Fiona leaningagainst his car, her arms crossed over her chest. Her face was a mixture offrustration and disappointment as she looked back at the exhibit.
"Canyou believe it?" she asked as Jake approached. "Entomology is myfield, and we're just supposed to walk away?"
"Trustme, I don't like it any more than you do," Jake replied, his voice lacedwith bitterness. He unlocked the car and slid into the driver's seat, Fionafollowing suit on the passenger side.
"Itjust seems so strange," Fiona mused as Jake began driving throughPortland. His eyes focused on the road, but he listened to her soft voice."The beetle on the man's forehead, the entomology exhibit... all of it. Idon't want to just walk away."
"Neitherdo I, Red. Trust me. But it could have been a single murder, a crime ofpassion, and nothing more than that. Which means, chances are, the FBI willnever have anything to do with it. It's the police's job, and Abrams seems likea competent detective. I'm sure they'll get to the bottom of it."
Fionaturned her head to look out of the window, letting out a deep sigh. "Iguess you're right," she said, her voice trailing off. "But it justfeels so wrong to leave it at that. That poor man and his family... theydeserve to know who did this."
Jakenodded in agreement, his eyes still focused on the road ahead. "I know,Red. I know. But sometimes, we just have to let things go. It's not alwayspossible to get the answers we want."
Fionawas quiet for a moment, her eyes staring off into the distance. Jake's heartsank. This day was supposed to be an escape for Fiona. He had wanted to see hersmile, not caught up in thoughts of a murder investigation.
"I'msorry, Red," Jake muttered, and Fiona's eyes flashed to him. He pulled upto a stoplight, feeling the weight of the day on his shoulders.
"Forwhat?" Fiona asked.
"Iwanted to take you on a date," he murmured, his face warm. "I'drealized we'd never really done that, you know? I wanted to take your mind offJoslyn and..." He sighed. "It all got messed up."
