**If Bo were a real person, today would be his 36th birthday! So here’s an extra long chapter for you ❤

NOT EDITED

Chapter Eighteen

Friday: June 19, 2020

8:00 PM; LOS ANGELES, BO AUSTEN’S HOUSE, DINING ROOM

After Jensen’s supper delivery arrived — tacos — Bo dove into the case file. It was an incredibly thin file, and what was there wasn’t much, but something would just about always be better than nothing. Something was still a stone to turn. Jensen sat across from him at the table, quietly picking at the tortilla shell of his taco rather than eating it.

“Did you eat something before I arrived?” Bo asked without lifting his head.

“No.”

“Just… not hungry?”

Jensen lifted his shoulders. “Finding anything helpful?”

“In which sense?”

“I… I dunno. Does it say anything about me being found?”

“It does.”

“What does it say?”

Bo cleared his throat. “I assume you held onto this without opening it because you knew it would be difficult to sit down and read what happened, see what the scene looked like. So I feel like I have to ask. Do you want to know? Or are you just making conversation?”

“I need to know who actually loves me and who’s using me as a pawn in some fucked up game of petty spite. O-or if any of them love me. If I’m a pawn to all of them.”

After a moment, Bo nodded. “According to the reports given by Aaron Wellendorf — the other detective on the case — and the three officers present at the crime scene, Wellendorf used a long piece of floss to undo the chain lock on the door, Kathy found you hiding beneath the table in the kitchen area. She had Wellendorf carry you downstairs, and he handed you off to Jamal, who took you to the hospital to be checked out and then to the police station to wait for social services.”

“So she didn’t… didn’t save me,” Jensen whispered.

“Well, I… I suppose that depends on how you define ‘save’.”

“How about doing the bare minimum of carrying me out of the crime scene after finding me staring at my mom’s headless, rotting corpse?”

“Th-then I suppose it was Detective Wellendorf.”

“Oh, my God. He’s a murderer. A murderer had more compassion for me than Kathy did?”

“Well I… I-I don’t think they knew about the… the homicides, umm… at the time.”

“No fucking shit.”

“I-I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to say. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, I’m sorry. You’re not doing anything wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just…”

“It’s a lot to take in,” Bo said after a moment. “I know.”

Jensen picked a few more pieces of his tortilla away from the main taco, dropping each little flake onto his plate. “Does it say anything else in there about me?”

“No. I mean, it details when they questioned you about your mother and father, but that’s it.”

“What did I say about my dad? I don’t…” Jensen closed his eyes for a moment. “It’s been so damn long ago. I don’t even remember, you know, having one. Not really.”

“Uh… it doesn’t look like you specifically mentioned a father, just a man who would come over and watch you sometimes when your mom left the house, and he’d bring you groceries and give your mom money.”

“Like… like child support?”

“I don’t know. That’s a possibility. A kind neighbor or your maternal grandfather, maybe. A boyfriend. There are many potential realities.”

“D-does it mention anything bad?”

“I mean…” Bo lifted his gaze to the younger man’s face. “That depends on your definition of ‘bad’.”

“A-about my mom?”

“Like what?”

Jensen chewed on one side of his bottom lip for a moment. “L-like, I dunno. Umm… sex work? Drugs? Anything like that?”

“No. Do you… remember her doing drugs? Or sex work?”

Jensen shook his head.

“May I ask why you’re concerned about it then?”

“Wh-when Kathy was drunk — like really drunk — she’d talk about how my mom was a druggie whore a-and was putting my life at risk all the time so she could get high and stuff. And I just… I don’t know. I-It was so long ago. I don’t have many memories of her. S-so I don’t know if it’s… I don’t know. It could all be true, you know? Mom choosing sex and drugs over me. Maybe one of those men killed her. I dunno. Kathy—”

“First of all, I hate to tell you this, but Kathy is a manipulative liar. She would tell you anything if it allowed her to dig her claws into you deeper. Telling you that your mom chose drugs or prostitution over you was a way to tell you that you weren’t worth anything to your mom. A way to tell you that Kathy was the only one who thought you mattered. It was to isolate you and keep you that way.” Bo touched his fingers to the open folder in front of him. “If there was any indication that your mom did drugs or sex work, those angles would have been investigated. If they couldn’t be investigated, they would have, at a minimum, written it down. I can’t tell you how happy those detectives would have been to write your mom off as just another ‘hooker’ who bit the dust. There is absolutely no notation of that in this file.”

“Oh, my God,” Jensen whispered. He buried his hands in his hair, eyes focused on the wall behind Bo. “H-how would we find out more about me? About who took me and why and… and stuff like that?”

“That would be an entirely different file with an entirely different department. We’d need to find your caseworker and—”

“Gabby. Jamal’s married to her.”

“He’s… he’s what?”

Jensen’s green eyes snapped up to Bo’s face. “What?”

“He’s married?”

“Umm…” Jensen swallowed. “Uh, yeah? I-I figured you’d know that.”

“No,” Bo whispered. He shook his head. “No, I wasn’t worthy of… information like that.” He cleared his throat. “How recent is that?”

“They were… Well, Kathy always said they were screwing around when my mom died.”

“Well, Jamal sleeping with your social worker definitely makes a few things make sense. Jupiter.”

“Like what?”

“Like how he managed to get Kathy approved to adopt you, for starters. He was still just a police sergeant back then. But sleeping with someone who had direct control and say over your case…” Bo lifted his shoulders. “It just makes a few things make more sense to me, is all.”

Jensen finally pulled his hands out of his hair, scrubbing them down his face instead. He dropped his elbows to the table, forearms thudding against the surface not long after. “I haven’t been to the Pitman Estate in a long time, but he used to have file cabinets in his office, full of shit about his kids and the kids and families on his list. I—”

“His list?”

“His… Yeah. His, umm… He has a list of people he, like, promised to keep safe. Kathy’s one of them.”

“Which is why when she wanted you, he made it happen.”

“I guess.”

Bo looked down at his watch. “Well, by the time we make the drive to the Estate, Jamal would have already flown in for the night. And I can only assume his secret wife is off work and there, as well. But tomorrow…”

“We what? Break in?”

Bo lifted one of the papers in the file. “It wouldn’t be your first burglary, would it?”

Jamal stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. “No.”

“I’ll tell David I’m taking the day off from his case tomorrow and—”

“I’ll go by myself. One person is less noticeable than two. I can do it.”

Bo raised a brow. “Are you sure?”

Jensen nodded. “I’m good at what I do.” Bo snorted, regretting the sound immediately. He closed his eyes, a hand moving to his stomach. His pain meds weren’t doing quite as great of a job at managing things as whatever pain-sedate cocktail they had concocted for him while he was still in the hospital. It was still manageable, but manageable rarely meant good. “Are you okay?” Jensen asked.

“Yes, just… did a bit more standing and walking around today than I should have.”

“Do you want something for it? I have…” Jensen leaned forward. “I have weed,” he added in an odd little stage whisper.

Bo laughed, another sound he instantly regretted. But it still felt… nice, despite the pulling pain in his abdomen. “You’re running quite the criminal enterprise, Jensen.”

“I’m diversifying. And pot is way more legal than the whole breaking, entering, and thieving thing.”

“I can only assume your pot wasn’t bought at a local dispensary. Where do you meet your guy? A bridge or the park?”

“Umm.”

“Mmhmm. Thought so.” Bo offered a smile. “I really do appreciate the offer, though. I’m just… not certain which pain medication the hospital has me on, as David is responsible for dosing it out, but I do assume it’s not approved for consumption with the addition of weed.”

“Oh. Yeah. Duh. That makes sense. Sorry.”

Bo shook his head. “Don’t be. It was sweet, in a… weird, illicit little way.”

A smile tugged at one corner of Jensen’s mouth before it disappeared again. “I know that file is thin. It was my first thought when I… found it. There’s basically nothing there. But is any of it, I don’t know, conductive in the sense of an investigation? Like, at all? I mean, i-if you were working the case, and that was all the evidence at the scene, what would you do next?”

“Well, quite frankly, my next step would be to ensure the measurements are entirely accurate so I could do my best to calculate the height approximation of the killer.”

“Based on my mom’s…” He cleared his throat. “The victim’s blood spatter?”

Bo nodded, hoping like hell his face didn’t bear the same expression of pity he had always hated seeing on others, directed at him. If it was present, Jensen didn’t seem to hate it. Or if it was present and Jensen was opposed, he hid it well. Given Jensen’s history with lying, hiding his hatred didn’t seem likely. Bo figured that was a good thing, at the very least.

“Did the lab guy back then make any height guesses?” Jensen asked.

“He listed an approximation as inconclusive, which I’m… honestly not sure I’ve ever seen before.”

“So what does that mean? I mean, I-I know what inconclusive means. I’m not stupid. I just—”

“I don’t think you’re stupid, even if you didn’t know what it meant,” Bo interrupted, his voice soft. “It could just mean he wasn’t very skilled in that particular area of forensics. Everyone tends to have a thing they’re really good at and a thing they’re the least good at. People in the forensic field are no different.”

“What’s the thing you’re very skilled at?” Jensen asked.

“That depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.”

Bo shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He tried to convince himself it was pain rather than the question at hand. He pulled his hands off the table, dropping them to his lap so he could tug on the rubber band around his wrist without an audience. “I’m not sure I can provide a direct answer to that.”

“Why not?”

“I am… very much not my biggest fan. Asking me to identify something I’m good at is only a step beneath asking me to confirm I’m the happiest man alive.”

“Well, I think you’re good at… analyzing cold cases. And tackling men taller than you to the ground. And stealing their guns.”

“And inviting my stalker to my house, apparently.”

Jensen smiled, gaze drifting off to look around the kitchen. “Speaking of.”

“Yes?”

“Why are you selling the place? It’s beautiful.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated, or depressing?”

At the very least, Jensen was finally picking up on Bo’s general vibe these days. “Depressing.”

“Because you weren’t planning on being around much longer?” Bo closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry. I-I start picking at things when I’m scared or nervous. I don’t mean to be an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole. Not as far as I’m concerned, anyway. Why I’m selling the house doesn’t necessarily make me feel any type of way. Thinking about what David’s face did when I told him why is a… a different story.”

“And that’s why you’re alive. Right? Because of the faces your friends make when you…?”

“Yes.” Bo cleared his throat. “I… I will not be the person who does that to their faces ever again. I can’t, even if I won’t be alive to see it happen to them again.”

“Someday, I hope you’re alive because you just truly love your life. But for right now? I’m glad you have people that love you enough that they’re helping keep you here.”

“Thank you.” Bo cleared his throat. “I know this is tough. Your mom’s case, I mean, and everything that comes with it for you. Are you… ready to move forward, or do you need some more distraction time first?”

Jensen offered a nearly sheepish smile. “So I’m not very subtle, huh?”

Bo smiled. “Oh, not in the slightest.”

Jensen snorted. “Damn. Was really hoping for subtlety.”

“I do it too. Switching to avoid the conversation. No longer responding to avoid the conversation. So if you need to spend a bit more time talking about me instead of you and your mother, I… I understand.”

Jensen seemed to weigh his options for a moment. “They weren’t able to find my dad?”

“Not that the file states. Which…”

“Which what?”

“It feels… inappropriate to answer that.”

“Why?”

“Because it has to do with Kathy.”

“Part of the point of all this is to find out if she’s been manipulating me and lying to my face this whole time, remember? I-if she is, I wanna know. I need to know.”

Bo cleared his throat. “Kathy was… known to occasionally omit information from her reports, thus leaving it out of the official file.”

“Why? And why would Jamal allow it? Isn’t the station, like, his baby or something?”

“It is, but I’m not sure that he knew she did it. Or at least, I don’t think he knew she did it intentionally. He knew she was an alcoholic, and I imagine he believed the omission was related to that. Once he found out about the missing information, he usually backlogged it into the report. But if Kathy believed leaving the information out of the file would benefit her in some way, she made sure not to include it. Oftentimes, that was so if the case was passed to another detective, they wouldn’t have a crucial piece of evidence or testimony to solve the case without her. It was to make sure Jamal kept her on a case even if she was noticeably drunk.”

“That just… That doesn’t sound like the Kathy I grew up around,” Jensen said. “And I know you’re gonna say that the brain makes us forget some stuff and remember other stuff and that I’ve just convinced myself she was great, but it just doesn’t sound like her.”

Bo shook his head. “Frankly, it wouldn’t shock me if it doesn’t sound like the Kathy you knew. She presented herself differently to different people. She treated Jamal differently than her biological parents. She treated the Taylors differently than Jamal. She treated Dallas differently than the other detectives. She treated the analysts differently than the dispatchers. She treated me differently than the other analysts. She’s always been that way. She treats you whatever best serves her. At the time, if treating you well served her, she likely did. I don’t think you’re crazy for remembering the good parts of what was an incredibly traumatic childhood, even if some of the good parts were because of Kathy. Manufactured or not, those good things you remember likely happened. They just may have been followed or preceded by typical Kathy behavior. It’s impossible to know. Well, without the invention of time travel, that is.”

“You should work on that. The time travel thing,” Jensen said. He shifted in his seat, looking down as he picked off another piece of his tortilla. “And thank you. For saying that about me not being crazy and stuff. It all makes me feel so fucking crazy. I-I went and spoke to her recently at the prison, and she’s just… a completely different person than the Kathy I see in my mind. Her eyes were so cold and uncaring and… I don’t know. It feels like I’ve been dropped into an alternate reality where she’s just this horrible monster instead of a woman who took me in and made sure I was safe and cared for.”

“That’s how I felt when she started sleeping with Dallas. Once she realized he and I were friends and that he didn’t find it funny to pick at me, she’d treat me pleasantly as long as he was around, but the second we were alone, that sickeningly sweet smile would disappear and she’d go right back to the Kathy I knew. How quickly that switch occurs is…”

“Alarming,” Jensen filled in. “Terrifying.”

Bo nodded. He touched his fingers to the file again, drawing Jensen’s attention to it rather than his face. “How would you like to come with me to the apartment? I haven’t been that way in a long time. I don’t even know if it’s still standing or if it’s been demolished and replaced with something else. But we can find out.”

Jensen picked another piece of tortilla away, finally sticking one in his mouth instead of into his discard pile. “Let’s go.”

Across town, after dropping Bo off for phase one of Jamal’s ‘have Jensen infiltrate Bo’s life’ plan, David had headed to Denzel’s house. Out of the two, Denzel intimidated him less than Renee. Renee was sweet, caring, and loved Bo more than life itself, but there had always been a certain edge to her, hidden somewhere just beneath the surface, that kept most of David’s curiosities at bay. Denzel, however, was a walking stereotype for Midwestern Father of the Year. He had spent most of his life working in a factory, and when he hadn’t been doing that, he’d been one of Bo’s biggest cheerleaders. If he was hiding some scary edge, he hid it even better than Renee.

David knocked on the door and shoved his hands into his pockets. It took a few minutes, but Denzel eventually came to the door. “Oh, my God,” he whispered.

“Shit, no, I’m so sorry. He’s okay. He’s fine. I-I just came straight from work, didn’t have time to change out of the suit. He’s okay.”

“Jesus Christ, David.”

“I’m sorry.”

Denzel let out a breath. “If he’s not with you, where is he?”

“Jamal’s hired BFF plan has officially been put into effect.”

“Ah,” Denzel whispered. “Right. So he’s with, uh… Taylor?”

“Yeah. Jensen Taylor.”

Denzel nodded. “You know anything about him?”

“Not much. If I run anything on him at the station, it’ll be tied to my name and land on Jamal’s desk. I already push my luck with that man enough as is.”

Denzel chuckled. “I know you do.” He nodded his head back toward the house. “You wanna come in?”

“Yeah, thanks.” David stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I wanted to ask you something, if that’s all right.”

“Shoot.”

“Bo told me Jamal used to be at your house all the time. In the morning before he was supposed to be awake. At night when he was supposed to be sleeping. Says he’s pretty sure you guys didn’t know he knew. He got the impression he wasn’t supposed to know.” A pause. “What the fuck, Denzel? D-does he have some sort of dirt on you guys? Is he still holding something over your head? Controlling you? Making you do little favors for him?”

“Ah.” Denzel chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Now I know why you didn’t go to Renee.”

“She scares me a little. You don’t.”

“Mm.” Denzel headed into the kitchen. David kicked off his shoes and followed. “How much of what I tell you is between you and me?”

“I’m not involving Bo in anything. He’s got more than enough shit going on.”

“How much of it makes it back to Jamal the next time you’re angry with him?”

“None of it. I promise.”

Denzel nodded. “Bo’s mother was a drug addict.”

“I know.”

“The day she… got rid of Bo, it wasn’t because she dropped him off at an adoption agency. She left him with her dealer and told him to get whatever he could for Bo and to… put that amount toward her next purchase.”

David reached out for a chair, barely making it into the seat. “Sh-she sold him?”

After a moment, Denzel nodded. “The dealer was, umm, one of Jamal’s. I mean, not his dealer. One of Lucchese’s people and someone Jamal worked with. He called Jamal, Jamal… paid off the tab, picked up Bo, and took him home while he figured out what to do. W-we…” Denzel lowered himself into the chair across from David. “Before Bo, Renee and I had adopted a little girl whose mother was an addict, and she was born addicted to heroin. She died due to complications of that addiction.” 

“I’m so sorry, Denzel,” David whispered.

Denzel drew in a long breath, whispering a, “Yeah,” with the exhale. “We never knew who her birth mother was. She was left at a fire station when she was only a few hours old. But, uh, when Jamal took Bo and took him to his doctor to make sure everything was okay, umm…”

“They were related?”

Denzel closed his eyes before nodding. “Bo is our little girl’s half-brother. Same mother, different father. Wh-when Jamal asked if we wanted him to do what he could to make sure we got Bo, we couldn’t say no. I just… He… Jesus.” Denzel scratched the back of his head before dropping both hands to the table. “Jamal made sure that woman would never find Bo or who had him. He made sure Bo’s biological father would stay away too. We wanted to make sure he had the least amount of trauma going forward as we possibly could, so when he got a little older and didn’t really remember how he was abandoned, w-we lied. Jamal told us… to lie, and we did. He said it was better for Bo, better to think that his parents left him safely on the stairs of an adoption agency than selling him for drugs. What could have happened to Bo had that dealer not been one of Jamal’s friends is…” He swallowed. “We wanted the best for Bo, and it meant Jamal was at the house frequently to check in and make sure everything was going well and that Bo was doing okay. In the beginning, he paid for Bo’s therapy sessions and just about every damn thing he needed. Renee and I had both lost our jobs after our daughter passed, and… and Iamal made sure Renee got back into nursing and that I got back into factory work when I refused the bodyguard shit he runs. He took care of us, and he took care of Bo. And then he, well, you know all about that. The drinking after Baker ran away. Renee and I didn’t know how bad it had gotten between him and Bo. We would’ve stepped in if we’d known. It wasn’t until you took him to the hospital when he tried to…” Denzel shifted in his seat, one leg bouncing beneath the table. “We didn’t know. Not until then. We talked him into changing departments, and he went to Clinstone for what was supposed to be a fresh start.”

“I know you would’ve stopped it if you could have,” David said after a moment. “So Bo doesn’t…? He doesn’t know about any of that?”

“If he remembers any of it, he’s never told us. He remembered when it first happened, but that kind of faded as he got older. I don’t know what his childhood therapy sessions were like. They seemed to help him once we found the right therapist, but what he told the therapist or what she told him, I… I don’t know. Maybe he’s simply lied to all of us the way we’ve all lied to him.”

David’s brow furrowed. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m not accusing him of being some criminal mastermind, David. That boy is the reason I live and breathe. But if Bo remembers how he actually was ‘surrendered’, and if for even a second, he thought telling everyone he didn’t remember would make it less painful for those around him, he would have. That’s who he is.”

Unfortunately, Denzel wasn’t wrong. Bo would do just about anything to spare others of being uncomfortable with his trauma. If it meant shoving it down and lying about it, he would. But it just didn’t seem… possible. “He was sincere.”

“Hmm?”

“When he told me about seeing Jamal in the house a lot when he was young, he was sincere. I asked him why he trusted Jamal, and he told me about seeing him at the house, how if you guys trusted him, he should too. He’s been on a big… honesty kick lately, where he doesn’t really hide what’s going through his head as long as it isn’t related to a crime scene and as long as I ask him a direct question. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to trust Jamal, aside from the fact that you guys did. If he knew, he would’ve told me.”

“Good,” Denzel said after a moment. “I always hoped he didn’t remember it. Begged God to make sure he didn’t remember it on more than one occasion. We hoped thinking that his parents made a measured decision to leave him at a safe location because they knew they couldn’t provide for him would be good for him. It has to be better than knowing the truth. I mean… which do you wish you knew?”

“Yeah,” David whispered. He cleared his throat. “So, umm… you must’ve known Jamal before Bo, then. Right?”

“Yes. Jamal was in and out of different states all the damn time. When… when Belle died, I tried to cope so many ways, but the only one that allowed me to bury it for any time at all was alcohol. It was the same for Jamal back then.” A pause. “And now, I suppose. But, uh, one of those nighs, Jamal was drinking at the same bar I was. I couldn’t tell you if I got into a fight with a guy and Jamal stepped in, or if Jamal got into a fight and I stepped in, but it was one of the two. I told him about Belle, and he told me about his late wife, Janice, and we just… I don’t know. It was probably the first human interaction I had after Belle’s death. Renee spent most of her time locked up in the bathroom or the bedroom. Neither of us was doing much eating, sleeping, or talking. Jamal kept tabs on us, helped put us in therapy, and a few years later, when Bo ended up in his care, he said he couldn’t imagine a better place for him to go.” After a moment, Denzel shook his head. “If I hadn’t been drinking my life away that night, I never would’ve met Jamal, and I never would’ve met Bo. Never would have had the honor of having him as a son. I don’t know what that would be. Divine intervention?”

“Bo would say it was the butterfly effect.”

Denzel chuckled softly, nodding. “Yeah, he sure would. Maybe he’s right. Maybe our lives truly are dictated entirely by the paths our choices unfold before us.”

“Maybe. If they are, I’m glad Bo’s path crossed with yours and Renee’s.”

Denzel smiled. “I’m glad ours crossed with yours. It’s good to know Bo still has someone out there taking care of him when he won’t let us do it. Thank you for keeping an eye out for my boy, David. And for Renee and me. I appreciate it.”

“My pleasure, Denzel.”

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NOT EDITED

Chapter Seventeen

Friday: July 14, 2000

4:03 AM; LOS ANGELES, APARTMENT COMPLEX, PARKING LOT

“God, would you just leave me the fuck alone?”

“I’m not trying to start anything, Katherine. I’m just saying that I think it’s best you sit this one out,” Jamal said.

“I can handle a homicide, Jamal. I’m not a child,” Kathy said, leaning forward enough in the passenger seat to tie her hair up in a ponytail.

“Katherine, for the love of God. You just got married, had a miscarriage, and canceled your honeymoon in a span of, what, two or three days? You aren’t ready for this.”

“You have no idea what happened to me. Don’t act like you do.”

Jamal stared at the young woman, his brow furrowed. “Katherine, I’m just going off of what you told me. You said—”

“I’m fine.”

He grabbed her arm before she could get out of the car. “Is there something I need to know about? Something about Max that I need to… handle?” he questioned.

“My husband and I are fine. Unless an order comes down from the chief, I’m working this. You can intimidate everyone else with the sergeant bullshit, but I couldn’t care less.” She yanked her arm from his grip and opened the door.

“Katherine.” She stepped out of the car before turning and ducking down to look at Jamal. “Be safe. I’ll be out here, okay?” he asked.

She tilted her head back with a sigh. “Okay.” She straightened herself back out and shut the door. She pulled a pair of gloves from the pocket of her blazer as she headed for the apartment complex. Her partner, a tall black man named Aaron Wellendorf, greeted her at the door. “What do you know?”

“What happened to the honeymoon, Katherine?” he questioned.

She had long since given up on getting Aaron to drop the ‘Katherine’ moniker in favor of ‘Kathy’. The rest of his bullshit, she still fought. “Absolutely none of your business. What do you know?” she repeated.

Aaron shrugged. “They haven’t been able to get the door open yet,” he said. He walked with Kathy through the doors and into the lobby. “The door has one of those chain locks attached inside, so they can’t get in.”

“Then they aren’t trying hard enough,” Kathy muttered, pressing the call button for the elevator.

“Judgmental as always.”

“I’m not in the mood, Aaron.”

“It’s called banter, Katherine.”

“And it’s fucking stupid, so leave it at the fucking door,” she said. She stepped into the elevator as soon as the doors opened.

Aaron snorted and followed her inside, pressing the button for the sixth floor. He tucked his hands behind his back, staring at the closed doors as the elevator jolted to a start. “What’d Max do to you?”

“My husband and I are fine. Mind your own business.”

“I read people, Katherine. You’re not fine.”

“I didn’t say I was fine. I said my husband and I were fine. There’s a difference. Learn to comprehend,” Kathy said.

“You’re more insufferable than usual today. Didn’t really think that was possible.”

“Insufferability is what got me here,” she said.

He snorted. “Right. Totally had nothing to do with Daddy Pitman.”

“Fuck you.”

When the doors opened, Aaron flashed a smile before gently bumping her out of the way to step out first.

Kathy rolled her eyes and followed him down the hallway. “Why haven’t we just broken the lock?”

One of the officers by the apartment door looked over at her, sighing quietly. None of them ever wanted to deal with Kathy Baker, let alone at four in the morning, but there they were, dealing. She almost cracked a smile at that. “There could be a child inside,” he said.

“I’m sorry, could be?” she asked.

“Could be,” he repeated with a nod.

“How do we not know if there’s a child inside? How is it possibly a ‘could be’ situation? Are you stupid?”

Again, he sighed. “According to the neighbor, the woman inside has a kid, but it’s a possibility that he’s with his father rather than here.”

Kathy inhaled deeply, and before she could launch into her planned ‘you’re an idiot’ speech, Aaron came forward with a travel container of floss. “Bet I can get it with this.”

The officer smiled and stepped away from the door. “All yours, man.”

It took Aaron exactly two tries to pass the floss through the crack in the door and beneath the chain to get it pulled back and successfully unlocked. Payback for the elevator, Kathy shoved him out of the way and walked inside the very second the door was unlatched. Although her gaze was immediately drawn to the decapitated woman lying in a pool of her own dried blood, she forced herself to look around the apartment for the child the officers had been so worried about. The sooner the kid was gone, the sooner she could have a good look around. Near the archway of the kitchen, she squatted down and looked under the table.

She came face-to-face with a tan-skinned, freckle-faced boy. “I-is he gone?” the boy whispered.

Kathy figured he couldn’t be any older than three or four. “I need you to come out from under there.”

“B-but the… the bad guy. He’s gone?”

“If he wasn’t, you’d know, believe me. I’m the police. I’m Detective Baker. Now, come on out.” Tentatively, the boy crawled out from under the table. Kathy rose to her feet and grabbed his hand, walking him past his mother’s body and back to the door. “Can you take care of this?” she asked.

Aaron nodded. “I’ve got it, Kathy,” he promised.

She waited a moment, and when Aaron made no move, she raised a brow. “I’m talking about the kid. I’ve got the damn crime scene, Aaron.”

“Damn. Brutal as always, Katherine.”

Kathy grabbed the boy’s wrist instead and held his hand out to Aaron. “Jamal’s outside.”

Aaron watched her a moment longer before shaking his head. He grabbed the kid and lifted him, swinging him around to rest on his hip. “I gotcha, kid,” he said, his voice soft as he headed back toward the elevator. He pressed the call button, clearing his throat. “I’m Aaron. Do… you have a name?”

“Jensen.”

“Jensen. That’s cool. I like that.” Jensen nodded, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as his watery green eyes looked around the hallway. “How old are you, Jensen?”

“Umm… three.” He held up two fingers, thought about it, and then held up three. “Four soon.”

“How soon?”

He looked down for a moment. “August.”

“Next month,” Aaron whispered. Jesus. Not even four years old and his mom was dead. Brutally so. Aaron was a lot of things, but a person who wished that kind of start to life on a three-year-old kid wasn’t one of them.

Outside, Jamal was out of the car before Aaron even made it to the end of the sidewalk. “My God. There was a kid in there?”

“Under the table, only a couple feet away from his mom.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jamal took the boy from Aaron, placing a protective hand on the back of his head. “I’m going to call Social Services and take him to the hospital, just to make sure he’s okay. If I’m not back when you’re done, Katherine—”

“She can catch a ride with me,” Aaron said.

“If she… won’t, though? Call me. I’ll have someone bring her car.”

Aaron shook her head. “Don’t know how you put up with all her shit, Sarge.”

“Watch your mouth. That’s my girl you’re talking about, Detective.”

Aaron held up his hands in mock innocence. He nodded back toward the apartment building. “Headin’ back up. See you at the station.”

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NOT EDITED

Chapter Sixteen

6:33 PM; WEST LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT, PARKING LOT

For the sake of marking it off officially, Bo and David had gone out to Abby Richard’s house as well. Bo had been right. Her place had been cleaned out too. David, of course, hadn’t doubted Bo on that for a single second, but it was still odd to see firsthand. Two victims who had seemingly packed up their things to leave and then been murdered shortly thereafter. Unlike Judy’s place, there had still been a few dishes in the sink, but the closet had been empty, save for the hangers her clothes had once been on.

As he finished up his notes, David glanced over at Bo. Leaned back ever so slightly in the passenger seat, the blonde had finally fallen asleep. Thank God. He wasn’t exactly oblivious to the fact that Bo hadn’t slept since leaving the hospital, despite Bo’s best efforts to convince him otherwise. David hadn’t quite been able to determine if the lack of sleep was insomnia-related or trauma-related. Either way, even if Bo only caught a couple minutes of sleep in the car, it was better than nothing.

Who the hell knew when the last time he had an actual good night’s sleep was. David knew he had slept like absolute shit during the Hangman manhunt. He imagined it hadn’t gotten much better since. Or any better. Truthfully, he was starting to fully understand Bo’s belief that it never would get better, and his ever-growing ability to understand it terrified him.

David let out a slow breath before pushing open the driver’s side door. He slid out of the car and closed the door as quietly as he could. He waited a moment, simply to confirm Bo remained asleep, and then headed up to the station.

Though Jamal’s shift ‘officially’ ended sometime around five most evenings, the man was just about always at the damn station. Especially since the Kathy-Dallas bullshit had gone down. So it didn’t surprise David in the slightest that the man was in his office, Franklin seated in his usual chair against the wall, a book open in his hand. David rapped two knuckles on the open door.

Jamal’s eyes lifted to his face as he closed the folder on his desk. “Quinn. To what I do owe the pleasure?”

David snorted. He wasn’t sure he’d ever held a job for so long in a place where the boss’s utter disdain for him was so obvious. Or where his disdain for the boss was so obvious. David held up the folder in his hand. “The friend gave us a positive ID on the second victim as Judy Crane. Bo and I went to her apartment. Place was clean, fridge was empty, and all of her things were emptied out of the closet and the dresser drawers. She packed up to leave before she died, and our walkthrough of the first victim’s place indicates she did the same.”

Jamal’s brow furrowed for a moment before he held out a hand. “Let me see?” David crossed the room and handed the folder over before lowering himself into one of the chairs in front of Jamal’s desk. “Abby Richards is the first victim, yes?”

“Yeah. Her house wasn’t as empty as Judy’s. Her closet was empty, but there were still dishes in the sink and food in the fridge. Most of her dresser drawers were still full.”

“What does Bo think?”

“You know just as well as I do that he won’t tell me.”

“Is that… because of me?”

For a moment, Jamal almost seemed human. The emotionless mask he usually wore fell, and when his eyes met David’s, they looked human. “No,” David finally said. “Even I can’t blame that one on you. He kind of always kept some things to himself, but I noticed it a lot more after the Kathy-Dallas manhunt started. I, uh… I think it’s because he didn’t know Dallas was Hangman, and if he didn’t know that, he doesn’t know anything. He thinks he should’ve known long before anyone else did.”

“Still?” Jamal asked.

“I don’t think he’ll ever not think that.”

“Mm.” The mask came down over Jamal’s face again, and he looked back at the folder. “You should speak to Miss Crane’s landlord next. If Miss Richards was renting, you should speak to hers as well. See if either of them broke their lease or if their lease recently ended.”

David nodded. “We’re also planning to talk to the people in Judy’s chronic pain support group. It’s possible she would confide things in the people there that she wouldn’t tell her friends outside of the group. They might know why she packed up just about everything. Pretty much all that was left was her furniture and the sheets that were on the bed.”

“Why do you think they packed up?” Jamal asked.

“Right now, honest to God? I think it’s a hell of a coincidence. Nothing Bo has found on Abby’s socials indicate she was a chronic pain patient too, so they weren’t in the same social circle or support group. Judy’s friend didn’t recognized Abby’s name when I asked her about it. I already checked to make sure none of the departments had any open cases filed under either woman, and I didn’t find anything. No documented reports of an abusive ex or family member. No documented requests for a restraining order. No reports of any threatening emails, letters, or phone calls. No reports of a break-in or robbery. If they were both being stalked or threatened to the point that they felt their only option was to pack up and flee, there aren’t any indications of the build-up period to that conclusion. So right now, I think… against all odds, we’re just looking at a giant coincidence.”

“You’re a damn fine detective, Quinn. I don’t tell you that nearly enough these days, but you’re one of my finest.”

David’s brow furrowed for a moment. “Thank you,” he said slowly. “I, umm… Forgive me for asking, umm, but are you drinking again?”

“Run along, David. Go on home. You’re off the clock.”

“Bo’s not the only one worth getting help for, you know. You could benefit from help too. You know there’s no shame in Bo getting help. You have to know there’s no shame in you getting help either.”

“You worry about Bo.” Jamal waved a hand in Frank’s direction. “And he’ll worry about me.”

“With all due respect to Frank, I’m not sure his worrying is nearly enough. Christ, Pitman, look at your life the last few years. You really wanna reflect on the way you treat people you claim to care about and tell me you don’t need help beyond Frank spiking your coffee for you?”

“I no longer participate in any potential drink spiking,” Franklin reminded without looking up from his book.

“You wanna contribute something useful, Frank?” David asked.

Franklin turned the page. “Mister Pitman is aware of my opinions on the matter, and there is nothing further I can offer that he hasn’t already heard from me.”

“David, if there is one thing Bo and I have in common, it’s that if you knew the full extent of what was swimming around in our thoughts—in our minds, in our souls—you would be in utter disbelief that we’re capable of even standing on our own two feet.” Jamal leaned back in his chair, pointing at David before crossing his arms over his chest. “The difference, however, is that I am far beyond saving, helping. Bo is not. There is still something within him that can be helped. We just have to reach it.”

7:15 PM; WEST LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT, PARKING LOT

David had been beyond shocked to find Bo still sleeping in the passenger seat of his car when he came out of the station. After staring at him through the window long enough to confirm he was breathing, David had lifted himself onto the hood of the car and leaned back against the windshield, scared that opening the door again would wake Bo from a much-needed rest. His back and forth with Jamal had gone on for quite some time before David finally decided that trying to talk Jamal fucking Pitman into therapy was a slip and slide straight into an endless pit of excuses. Or maybe they truly were reasons. Maybe Jamal was beyond saving. If even half the rumors about Jamal’s mob connectiosn were true, then Jamal was probably right.

Not that the knowledge, or even the acceptance of it, made it any less irritating. Bo cared deeply for Jamal, and seeing him get help would likely help Bo to an extent. But Jamal was an alcoholic crooked cop who had gone out of his way to mistreat and disrespect Bo after Kathy and Dallas ran off, like it was Bo’s fault one of Jamal’s fucked up little family members ditched him, so he couldn’t really expect Jamal to try something that would actually help Bo.

But the stalker bodyguard pretending not to be a stalker or a bodyguard to ‘befriend’ Bo — that, Jamal could do. Choosing the only ‘bodyguard’ of the bunch that considered Kathy a mother — Jamal could do that.

Actually help? Well, it seemed beyond stupid that David had even considered it a possibility.

He turned his head to the side as the passenger side door opened. “Hey. Sorry, was hoping you’d stay asleep if I didn’t come back in.”

Bo offered a smile before lifting himself onto the hood of the car. “That’s all right. Sleep doesn’t really… happen much, anymore.” He cleared his throat. “Have you been inside?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he say?”

“Just wanted to know what you thought it meant, the apartment being cleaned out.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“The truth. That I didn’t know.”

Bo fiddled with the rubber band on his wrist, twisting it one way and untwisting it the other. It was better than snapping it, if nothing else. David would take whatever little wins Bo would give him. “Was he disappointed?”

“In you? No. He was…” David sighed. “I don’t know.”

“You can tell me. Anything you tell me can’t make me any worse than I am. I don’t think there’s a point any lower for me.”

David tried not to focus on that too much. He much preferred Bo’s honesty about his state of mind compared to his lies, but it didn’t make the pangs of guilt and sadness hurt any less. “He asked if it was because of him, that you didn’t share your thoughts and opinions with me. He seemed… almost human for a moment when he asked if it was his fault.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“That even I couldn’t blame it on him.”

After a moment, Bo nodded. “Thank you. I know you… you don’t like Jamal much.”

“It’s hard to. I don’t know why you do.”

“I… don’t know. Growing up, I would see him around the house sometimes. Early in the morning, late at night. He was usually outside with Dad or inside at the table with Mom, always talking quietly. I don’t think I was supposed to know. It was always before they woke me up or after I went to bed. But… but they seemed to trust him. And if they can trust him… I don’t know, maybe I’m supposed to, as well. And he gave me a job here at West when I was let go following the whole, uh, Mammoth debacle. When I couldn’t handle working at West because of the people, he made sure I got back to my ‘home’ lab. He gave me a million more chances than anyone else ever would have given a child. If it weren’t for Jamal, I… I wouldn’t have a career. Or, I wouldn’t have had one. I wouldn’t have gotten to tag along for interrogations and arrests and do things that your typical sad basement geek doesn’t do. It feels fundamentally wrong to hate him, even after the alcohol-fueled abuse. It’s hard to hate someone who did so much for me, and I don’t know what he did for my parents, but it must have been something big too. And I can’t hate him after that.”

“Have you ever asked them? About Jamal, I mean.”

Bo shook his head. “I’m not sure I want to know. What if I find out they’re in Jamal’s very own witness protection program? Or that they used to work for him? Or still do? What if I find out that the only reason I got into the LAPD and kept getting to come back was because my parents have some kind of dirt on Jamal?” He offered another shake of his head. “No, I’ve never asked. I don’t know that I ever will.”

David would, though. He had no damn problem asking. If Jamal’s precense in Renee and Denzel’s life was because he meddling in it, holding something against them, treating them the way he had treated Bo in recent years, he had every intention of finding out and putting an end to it.

“Are you off the clock for the night?” Bo asked when the silence had drawn out a little too long.

“Yep, totally free. Whatcha need?”

“Would, uh… you be willing to drive me somewhere?”

“Sure. Where to?”

“My house?”

David raised a brow. “Do you need more clothes?”

Bo shook his head. “No, I sold and donated just about everything I didn’t take with me. I just, umm…” He cleared his throat. “When we were at the diner, I saw Jensen outside. My… my kindred spirit? His mom was murdered when he was a child, and he wants me to look at the case. I-I said no, b-but he practically begged for me to be the only other person who cares about his mom, a-and I couldn’t… couldn’t say no again after that. I agreed to meet him at the house to look at the file. I don’t expect to be able to offer any valuable insight, but I might be able to help him feel like his mom matters to someone, and that… is still worth it to me.”

God. How would Bo feel if he found out his kindred spirit was a fucking plant in his life? A plan drawn together by just about every damn person he trusted? The very thought of it made him sick to his stomach.

“Yeah,” David whispered. He cleared his throat and tried again, a little louder, “Yeah. Absolutely. I can take you. Do you want to grab supper on the way? Take something for you to eat? Maybe for him?”

“That’s okay. I’ll have him order something for delivery if he’s hungry.”

David nodded. “Okay. Let’s roll. Yeah?”

Bo offered a smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Bo.”

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NOT EDITED

Chapter Fifteen

1:57 PM; LOS ANGELES, JUDY CRANE’S APARTMENT, ENTRYWAY

David had insisted on carrying Bo’s satchel and camera case to the sixth floor of the apartment building, and Bo felt incredibly vulnerable and naked without either accessory draped over his shoulder. It was kind of strange, really, how much those things seemed to define him. The man with the camera. The man with the satchel. The man with the notebooks.

The man with the serial killer best friend and the death wish.

“What’re you thinking?” David’s voice pulled Bo back from dangerous territory.

He blinked, clearing his throat as his blue eyes scanned the part of the apartment visible from the entryway. “From here, the place looks clean. The door was locked. There aren’t any signs of a break-in via the door. There isn’t a sign of a struggle here. That’s not to say we won’t find one in the bedroom or the bathroom.”

“But… you don’t think we will?” David asked.

“I’m not sure that I ‘think’ anything.”

David snorted. “You do. You always do. You just don’t trust yourself enough to allow yourself to be led in any direction.”

Well. That was certainly accurate. David had unfortunately always been good at that, pinning down the exact thing Bo was feeling before even Bo could positively identify it.

“I trust you, for what it’s worth. I trust you, your mind, and every ounce of forensic knowledge you have tucked away in there. Depression didn’t erase your intelligence or your skill. It just made you doubt it. But I promise you, Bo, it’s still there, just as clear as it was when I first met you at the West Department.”

Bo shook his head and stepped further into the apartment, knowing if he didn’t engage any further in the conversation, neither would David. He didn’t understand where it kept coming from. The faith. The trust. Aramis, an older forensic tech with the LAPD when Bo had first been hired as a teenager, had trusted him and his eye almost immediately. So had Russ, the police officer—and later detective—he had worked with around the same time, before he had transferred departments to get away from Bo. But that was a whole other can of worms that Bo did his best to keep the lid on nowadays.

Dallas had trusted him. Or, so he said. He must’ve, to let him live in his home. But not enough to let him know who Dallas truly was.

His parents had trusted him when he had decided to move to California for college and apply at the LAPD. Jamal had trusted him enough to put his ass on the line and hire a teenager to the forensic department. Bridget had trusted him from the moment they met as children, through their time together at the station. Even now, after months of abuse and isolation, she had still trusted Bo enough to call him when she needed an escape. And David. Jupiter, David trusted him beyond anything Bo could even find a comparison to.

Even Jensen, a complete stranger, claimed to have faith in Bo. Trust. And then there was Bo, who couldn’t even muster up enough of either to do the only goddamn thing he loved.

“What do you see?” David eventually asked. “Not what you think or feel. Just what you see.”

Bo scanned the kitchen. “There are no dishes in the sink or left out on the counter.”

“So she wasn’t surprised in the middle of eating or putting things away,” David said. “No pots or pans on the stove either, so no one knocked or broke in while she was making food.”

Bo nodded, turning toward the living room as he fidgeted with the blue rubber band around his wrist. “The furniture in the living area looks… normal. Nothing seems toppled over or out of place. No books knocked out of the bookcase. No magazines pushed off the coffee table.”

“So if there was a struggle, it didn’t take place in the living room,” David said.

Bo walked off toward the short hallway and leaned into the bathroom. With his gloves tucked inside his camera bag, draped over David’s shoulder, he had no intentions of touching anything. David was right. It was unlikely this apartment was the scene of any part of the crime, but it would always be better to be safe than sorry. The sunlight filtering through the small, single window in the bathroom was enough to get a clear view of the room.

“Her hairbrush is put away. There aren’t any towels on the floor or hung up to dry, save for the hand towel by the sink here. No curling iron or blow dryer plugged in.”

“So… not getting ready to go somewhere when someone interrupted her.”

Bo took a small step back and headed to the end of the hallway. The bedroom. The bed was made. Her phone wasn’t charging on the nightstand. Even her tower fan was unplugged. The lack of light on the extension cord switch indicated she had turned that off too. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“Nothing in particular.”

David laughed. “There’s no way in hell you’re gonna stand here and ‘hmm’ and tell me you aren’t thinking anything ‘in particular’.”

“It was… an unintentional slip.”

“Unless you can go suck it back outta the air, I want to hear the thought.” Bo snapped the rubber band against the inside of his wrist a few times, eyes darting to David’s face when the detective laid a hand over his. “The fidgeting is okay. I’m not going to let you welt your wrist while I’m standing here watching you do it.”

“I’m sorry,” Bo whispered.

David shook his head, his brow furrowed. “You don’t have to be. I’m not even sure you’re totally aware you’re doing it.”

“Sometimes. Only… sometimes,” Bo mumbled. He stepped into the room, closing his eyes briefly as David’s hand dropped back to his side. “The bedroom is very tidy. Appliances unplugged, extension cord powered off. That was my ‘hmm’.”

“Those were the things you saw that led to the ‘hmm’,” David corrected. “But I can still work with that.” He took a slow look around the room. “You wanna check the closet? See if she packed a bag to get outta here?”

Bo smiled, though his back was still to David. No one had ever been able to read Bo quite the way David could. It had always been impressive, if not a little unfortunate. Well. Incredibly unfortunate. If David had put even ten percent of the effort he’d put into Bo into understanding someone else instead, the man would have friends. So many damn friends. And Bo wouldn’t be his ride or die. His sink or swim.

He wouldn’t be aboard the ever-sinking vessel that was Bo’s mind, and Bo wouldn’t be able to drag David down with him any further.

But David had never done that. He had never strayed far from Bo, never taken the time to ‘get to know’ much of anyone else at the station. Bridget, of course, didn’t count. David only had taken the time for her because she had been Bo’s friend, because he had invited her out for drinks with them, or because she had invited them out with her. It struck him then and there, in Judy Crane’s apartment, that he had never really wondered why David had focused all of his befriending efforts on him. Even Jacob Mason hadn’t ostracized his other friends simply because Bo had arrived, despite how badly the detective had seemed to want another station buddy. Bridget had always had other friends. So had Russ. Everyone always had.

Except for Dallas.

Bo turned to face David, fingers moving back to the rubberband. “You’d tell me if you were… different, right?”

David tilted his head to the side. “Different how?”

“Different… in the head? If you were…?” Bo shifted his weight between his feet. “If you were like Dallas, let’s say. You would tell me?”

He raised a brow. “Are you asking me if I’m a murderer?”

“Umm… I don’t know that I want to phrase it that way.”

“I’m not a serial killer, Bo. If I had a secret like Dallas did, I would tell you. I saw what learning Dallas’s secret through other people did to you. I would not put you through that a second time.”

“You… you promise?”

“I promise,” David whispered. Bo nodded, gaze falling to the floor. “Are you just… in your head? Are you reliving something I can help you through?”

“No. I’m not… No.”

“Okay. That’s something. Can I ask why you thought of it then?”

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s trauma, Bo. Whatever you’re thinking and however you got there — it isn’t stupid. It’s your brain’s response to trauma. It literally changes your brain, Bo. Fundamentally, it’s changed forever. You aren’t stupid for being traumatized.”

Bo chewed on that thought for a moment before forcing himself to nod. David was right. At one time, Bo had been the one to tell him that, about the brain scans of people who survived trauma. Somehow, knowing it was true for other people and accepting it was also true for himself, that his brain wasn’t different just because he was an idiot who couldn’t stop thinking about everything revolving around Kathy and Dallas, were two entirely separate entities. Understanding it for other people and their trauma was easy. Accepting it for his own was… impossible.

“I was thinking about how you can read me better than anyone else. I wanted to check the closet. You knew I wanted to check the closet, and you knew the reason why. Even though I wouldn’t say it. And then… I thought about how if you put even the smallest amount of effort into reading someone else like that, you’d have friends. Normal, healthy, and mentally-sound friends. But you don’t have any other friends. You’re like Dallas. It’s just me. And…”

“And Dallas is the only friend who only had you,” David finished.

“There you go again. Reading me.”

David offered a smile. “You pay enough attention to a person, and reading their quirks or their thoughts isn’t super difficult. Most of the conclusions I ‘read’ from you are just the end of the path you walk me down. I don’t pull them out of thin air. You look at something when you’re thinking about it. You might not know you did, but you turned your head toward her closet. That’s all.”

“Why just me?” Bo asked after a moment.

“I’m quick to pick out things I don’t like about other people. Maybe they’re at the bar too many nights or they brag about the things they did to avoid their spouse and their kids for a couple hours. Maybe I’ve seen the way they talk to victims and witnesses, or the way they talk about them behind their back when the interviews are over. But you…” David blew out a breath, shoving his hands into his pockets. “My first partner, before I came to California and joined the LAPD, was autistic. I knew him from the day we started kindergarten to the day he died. Before he was officially diagnosed, before he was given tools to help him cope with the way the rest of the world treats autists, before he was given access to help in school specific to the things he struggled with because of his autism, I saw the way the world treated him and shoved him around and pushed him to the ground and kicked him once he was there. I couldn’t help him, not like I wish I could’ve. But I can help you. I can be there for you. Always.”

Bo watched him for a moment. “So I’m… grief relief?”

“I stuck to you in a very dark time in my life, when having a second chance with someone like him was the only thing keeping me from drowning. After that? No. You were just my best fucking friend, and I saw no reason to seek out another. I mean, what cop can balance two healthy friendships anyway?”

Bo couldn’t fight the little smile that tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I suppose that’s fair. The seond part. The first part, I… I’m sorry. I appreciate you sharing that information with me.” He cleared his throat, looking down as he shifted his feet. “Thank you for not being mad. That I… That I asked.”

“It’s good to talk about things like that, especially when they’re bothering you or weighing on you. Keeps them from festering,” David said. “You didn’t pull the idea out of thin air. You didn’t make it up just for the hell of it. You’re traumatized, Bo. You suffered trauma. You made a connection between me and the thing that the trauma stems from, and you needed to know you were safe here. That this wasn’t going to be more bad stuff. I’ll never penalize or demonize you for that.”

“Thank you,” Bo whispered, eyes lifting back to David’s face.

The detective smiled softly. “No problem.” He nodded toward the closest. “So, you wanna check out your ‘hmm’ and see if you can get a satisfactory answer?”

Bo nodded. Before he could even ask for a pair of gloves, David was already pulling a pair from his satchel. Bo offered a smile as he reached for them. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Bo pulled them on as he walked over to the closet. He fidgeted with the cuff of the glove on his left hand. His ongoing theory about this house specifically seemed so incredibly asinine. Once he opened the closet door, and the closet inevitably revealed that it was asinine, he’d be able to show David irrefutable proof that he wasn’t the Bo Austen everyone so desperately seemed to believe him to be. That would at least be one benefit of being wrong. Everyone would quickly tire of propping up the genius who wasn’t one anymore, and he could… leave. Leave with the peace that no one he loved would be hurt by his departure.

Bo reached out and pulled open the closet doors. “Holy shit,” he whispered.

“What?”

“I was… right.”

“Told ya,” David said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He stepped up beside Bo, one eyebrow raised. “The closet’s empty. Like… empty empty.”

Bo only nodded.

“So… since you predicted it’d be empty, what does that mean in your current working theory?”

Bo was a little too stunned to offer up his usual excuses for not telling a detective about his theories. “Umm, that she packed up her things and just… left. Just like the first victim did.”

“How do you know that?”

“Umm.”

“Oh, my God. You broke into her house after you ID’d her.”

“Technically… her door was unlocked.”

David snorted. Lightly, he backhanded Bo’s upper arm. “Y’know, when you have a detective for a best friend, and when that detective is the one working the homicide you’re interested in, you don’t have to go sneaking around into the victims’ homes to look for clues. I’ll go with you, every single time.”

“That kind of defeats the purpose of me doing it in secret.”

David rolled his eyes rather than offering any sort of verbal response. “They both packed up for something and then were murdered and tossed out like garbage” he said after a moment. “Or it’s the killer’s hallmark. Comes by and cleans out their places, make it look like they went somewhere willingly?”

“It’s a possibility. Hell of a lot of work though, especially since the only way we’d end up here is either because we identified the victim or because a family member or friend called for a wellness check. Why go through the trouble of cleaning up and making it look like they left when the only reason we’d even look is if we already knew they were dead?” Bo asked.

“That’s fair. Solid points.” David lightly elbowed his upper arm. “See? Your brain works just fine. I know it feels like you’re broken or you’re not the Bo Austen you once were. But you’re not broken. You’re just depressed.” A pause. “ ‘Just’ isn’t the word I want. You aren’t ‘just’ depressed. Depression is fucking horrible. But it doesn’t mean you’re broken or that you aren’t Bo anymore. It just means… your head’s a little darker these days, a little heavier. But it doesn’t make you stupid or worthless. You’re the same damn genius I met when I first came to L.A., no matter what everyone put you through.”

Bo didn’t quite have a response to David’s seemingly never-ending confidence in him. How the hell was he supposed to have a response? Nothing he could conjure up would ever match the overwhelming pride and joy David apparently felt for Bo.

He settled for reaching out to squeeze David’s arm. Anything to move past it without addressing it. “I need to sit for a few, and then I’ll grab some photos.”

David nodded. “Of course. Let’s go sit. Take all the time you need.”

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Enjoying the story? Consider dropping a comment or a like down below!!

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**A/N: I usually keep my chapters around 1-2K words so they’re easier to read for people like me, but this one didn’t have any good break points until the end, so this one’s around 5K. Enjoy the honker ❤

NOT EDITED

Chapter Fourteen

9:02 AM; WEST LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT, CHIEF OF POLICE JAMAL PITMAN’S OFFICE

“Jensen. Have a seat.”

Jensen swallowed before forcing himself to cross the room. He lowered himself into one of the chairs in front of Jamal’s desk, dropping his hands into his lap. “I’m sorry for not coming by sooner. I didn’t have my phone… on me. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“It wasn’t urgent. But yes, if we can always have the phone on your person, that would be preferred.”

Jensen nodded. “Of course, sir.”

Jamal waved a dismissive hand, seemingly requesting Jensen drop the ‘sir’ title. “Jensen, I had you stop in because I wanted to apologize face-to-face for the way I’ve talked to you now and then. I’m truly sorry for that. It isn’t your fault, and you knowing that is important.”

Jensen watched him for a moment. “So, umm… you must know I visited Kathy then.”

Jamal’s brow furrowed. “When?”

Jensen’s chest tightened. Oh, God, he hadn’t known. Kathy had been wrong. “I’m so sorry. I just—”

Jamal held up a hand. “I never forbade you from visiting her. It’s fine. I just don’t understand why an apology is indicative of me knowing you visited Katherine. I’m apologizing because you’re an employee who did not deserve the way I’ve spoken to you on occasion. Are you all right? Did she say something to you? You look incredibly on edge.”

“N-no, she didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m not here to crucify you for visiting her or for listening to what she had to say. I’m not even here to crucify her for it. I just want to know you’re okay.”

Jensen nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Totally. Yeah. I’m good.”

Jensen was very much not good. Which giant lurking mound of evil-not-evil was he supposed to believe? Jamal’s eyes seemed more genuine, more in-tune with the words he spoke, but that didn’t mean anything. Not really. Right? He was so much older than Kathy. He’d had so much more time on Earth to practice his deception, to perfect it to a T. Kathy hadn’t. The anger in her eyes was probably from being in prison, not because of how she felt about Bo or Jamal or Jensen. Not because she was lying. Just because she hadn’t had enough time to force her eyes to mask that imprisoned anger. But Jamal had had so much time to learn. To hone. To perfect.

“Kiddo, you don’t have to tell me what she said. But if you need to talk about something—”

“Was Kathy even there at the apartment the day I was found?” Jensen asked.

“Yes. I drove her there myself.”

“Did you go in with her?”

“No, she didn’t like when I did that. I stayed in the parking lot.”

“Who brought me out of the apartment?” Jensen asked.

Jamal tilted his head to the side. “What’s this all about, Jensen?”

“M-Mister Quinn got into my head. H-he said I’m not the guy for the job because I don’t hate Kathy, and if I don’t hate Kathy, I can’t help Mister Austen. A-and then he asked if she actually saved me or if she just took the credit for it. And he told me to go talk to Kathy and look at her eyes because her eyes always give her away. So I did, and her eyes were so empty and angry and… and not the eyes of someone who loves the person they’re talking to.” Jensen forced himself to meet Jamal’s gaze. “Is my whole life a lie, Mister Pitman?”

Jamal cleared his throat, reaching up to adjust his tie. “I don’t know what you want me to say, kiddo.”

“Which one of you is manipulating me against the other?”

Jamal looked over at Franklin. “I do not know what to say.”

Franklin pushed himself to his feet and laid a hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “Walk with me, kid.”

Jensen stared at Jamal for a moment longer before standing up to follow the older man out of the room. In silence, he trailed Franklin through the station, down to the basement, through the lab, and into the file room. There, Franklin walked his fingers across several boxes before pulling one off the shelf. He set the box down on the cold metal table in the room, pulled off the lid, and slid the box over to Jensen. “Your mother’s caseload.”

“This is… this is it?” Jensen asked.

“The case went cold pretty fast. Most everything here is from the apartment itself.” Franklin pulled out a folder and set it down beside the box. “The answers you’re looking for, in regards to Kathy, at the very least, are in here.”

“How?”

“There are detailed accounts in there from every officer and detective that was at the scene that day. That would include your appearance and… retrieval. If you want to know how true Jamal’s story is, or how true Kathy’s story is… Well, aside from time travel, this is the best way to find out.”

Jensen tentatively picked up the folder. “Can I…? I don’t know if I can open it.”

Franklin laid a hand on Jensen’s arm. “Take it home with you. Think on it. Decide if you’re ready for whatever may or may not be in there. I’ll have Jamal sign it out so you can take it without causing any sort of stir.”

“Thank you.” Jensen hugged the folder to his chest. “I never thought you were a monster, Franklin. I-I’ve always known you were one of the good guys.”

Franklin offered a soft smile. “I prefer to be… good when the situation allows it. This one does.” He put the lid back on the box and tucked his hands into his pockets. “I know it’s easier said than done, but try not to let Kathy into your head. It’s what she does. Whether it’s with the truth or with lies, she makes sure to get in there and fuck around, mess things up for you, turn your world upside down. I was forced to stand idly by while watching her do it to Jamal over and over again. I will not do the same if she’s doing it to you. So. Is she?”

Jensen tapped his fingers against the folder still hugged tightly to his chest. “I guess we’ll see.”

11:50 AM; LOS ANGELES, SLICE OF LIFE DINER

Bo lowered himself into one of the booth seats with a soft grunt. David sat down across from him, sliding a coffee cup over to the blonde. “Should you really be having coffee?” he asked.

Bo picked up the cup and took a sip. When he didn’t immediately die, he gestured to the cup with his free hand. “Looks like it’s a-okay.”

David rolled his eyes. “Ass.”

Bo took that as another sign that he must have been masking everything okay. At the very least, well enough to skate by. That look David kept giving him hadn’t made an appearance yet this morning. That had to be a good thing. Anything that wasn’t David looking at him like he was bleeding out on the sidewalk was an improvement.

“That our gal?” David asked.

Bo lifted his gaze to follow David’s vague coffee cup gesture toward the counter. “Yes. She should be off shift in about ten minutes.”

“What’re you thinking is our best method of approach?”

“I feel like that’s your department.”

“Rude. Now we can’t brainstorm together?”

“I kind of… feel like I’ve done most of the brainstorming?” Bo raised a brow. “And most of the algorithm-ing. And the finding the victims and their friends… ing.”

“Rude. We can’t all be algorithm geniuses, Bo.”

Bo snorted, turning to look out the window as he took a sip of his coffee. Whatever smile had been on his face faded.

He was in the parking lot. His fake reporter stalker. His ‘kindred spirit’. His maybe-real-maybe-a-hallucination hospital bathroom lurker. ‘Jensen’. He hadn’t even tried to hide himself today. Rather than hidden toward the back like he usually was when Bo spotted him, his car was parked in the middle of the parking lot. He wasn’t slouched down and hidden away in the front seat. Instead, he sat on the hood, leaned over his phone.

Maybe… today was a coincidence? Maybe he simply wanted a coffee and happened to be at the same shop Bo and David were? Surely that was a possibility. There had been stranger conicidences.

But still. The man had been stalking him for six months. A coincidence seemed nearly impossible.

Bo pulled his attention back to David, who was typing on his phone. “Who are you texting?”

“Your mom.” David glanced up at him. “Like, for real. She wanted to know how you were doing.”

Bo nodded, turning to look back out the window. “Do you talk to her often?”

“As of late, yes.”

“How far back is, ‘as of late’?”

David blew out a breath. “I dunno. When the manhunt for Dallas began, I guess. Thereabouts.”

“Mostly about me?”

“And her fudge recipe.”

A little smile tugged at one corner of Bo’s mouth. “Thank you for… I don’t know. Taking care of her wellbeing, I suppose. Making sure she knows I’m okay. Knowing I’m okay does more good for her than I’ll ever be able to myself.”

“You underestimate how much she loves you, not just the idea of you. Same with your dad. I know you have that… fear of them leaving you, but those people, Bo, they’re never going to get sick of you.”

“I know that. I mean, on a surface level, I’m aware of it. But deep down, it still doesn’t feel like a reality where I can exist.” Truthfully, there was no reality Bo felt he could exist in these days. He tried very hard not to think about his time in the hospital after his suicide attempt, but David and Bridget’s faces while he was bleeding out on the sidewalk were still horrifically fresh in his mind. The faces of his parents when he’d woken up after surgery. He could not be the reason for those faces again. Even if it meant staying in a world he didn’t belong in.

What other damn choice did he have right now, while the damage was so fresh?

“Our victim has a tattoo on her ankle,” Bo said, clearing his throat as he turned away from the window again, back toward David. “I wouldn’t be surprised if our barista is able to successfully identify it. Travis has a picture of the tattoo, which is in your case file there. If she can give us a ‘yes’ based on the tattoo, then she doesn’t have to come to the station.”

“And we don’t have to go to the station,” David said.

Bo offered a smile. “You caught me.”

“For what it’s worth, no one would be angry to see you at the station. Except maybe Travis, but that would sorta bring me great joy.”

Bo snorted. “You are not a teamplayer, David Quinn.”

“Ah, if I was, how would you have ever gotten stuck with ‘babysit Detective Quinn’ duty, eh?”

“Once upon a time, I got ‘stuck’ with babysit Detective Silver duty too, you know. It might just be my thing, babysitting.”

“Yeah, adult men, anyway.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a rude dig or simple fact-stating.”

“It can be both,” David assured.

“Rude.” Bo nudged the case file a little closer to David. “I’m going to, uh… go to the bathroom. You can talk to her, yes?”

“Of course.”

Bo nodded, sliding out of the booth seat. He hated himself for it, but he just couldn’t do… this. There was a time when Bo would have never turned down the chance to sit in on any sort of investigative work with his chosen detective. But now he felt like sitting in on it risked ruining everything, as though his very presence would somehow make the barista unwilling to speak to David or tell him the truth about anything she knew. As though his presence would shift the very foundation of the case.

True or not, Bo had no intention of destroying the case for David. Ruining the chance of justice for the victims.

David watched Bo head back toward the bathrooms. He knew the blonde well enough to know there was no way in hell he actually had to pee again, but needing to excuse himself from the investigation made sense, unfortunately. Bo had utterly no faith in himself left, and one needed at least some faith or trust in themself in order to fully investigate a homicide or two. He would try to talk to Bo about it later. Gently. If he could coax his true feelings out of him without having to shove his own thoughts on the situation down Bo’s throat first, that would be best. He just wasn’t certain he could make it happen. But he’d try.

Right around noon, when the baristas switched out and their victim’s friend hung up her apron and came out from behind the counter, David slid out of the booth and met her before she could reach the door. He offered a smile. “Hi, ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you. I’m Detective Quinn with the LAPD. I was hoping I could show you a picture and see if you can identify something for me?”

She clutched the strap of her purse, brow furrowing. “I-is everything okay? I-I mean, what kind of picture? Like, a body?”

“It’s a tattoo.”

“Umm… o-okay.”

David pulled the picture out of his folder and held it out to her. “This is a tattoo on the ankle of a Jane Doe. Do you recognize it?”

“Oh, my God. Judy,” she whispered, carefully taking the picture from him. “I-it’s my friend’s tattoo. Judy Crane.”

“You’re certain it’s hers?”

She pulled up her sleeve, exposing the tattoo on the underside of her wrist. “We got matching tats when we turned eighteen. W-we share a birthday. We’ve been… attached at the hip f-for as long as I can remember. We were born in the same hospital. Our moms were… were just a few rooms apart. We were born within minutes of each other. Oh, my God.”

“Here, come sit down,” David said, his voice soft. A hand on her elbow, he guided her back to his booth. “I know you’ve kind of put the pieces together on your own, but… to confirm, Judy is dead. And I am so incredibly sorry for your loss.”

“Was she…? What happened?”

“Judy was murdered.”

“Jesus,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry. Is it all right if I ask you a few questions about Judy?” Gaze on the photographed tattoo clutched in her hands, she nodded. “What did Judy do for work?”

“She was between jobs, umm… most recently. She had been doing transcription work, and the hospital decided to downsize the department. Or do away with it? I don’t know. She was let go though because of it. She’d been out of work for about two weeks, I think. I was trying to get her to apply here, but she hated dealing with the public.” She laughed, soft and light. “Who could blame here, right?” she asked, brown eyes flicking up to David’s face.

“I certainly couldn’t do the work you do,” David agreed. “I’m sorry that this is kind of a sensitive question, and I’m pretty sure I already know the answer. But, uh… was Judy doing any sec work? Online or in person? Anything like that?”

She shook her head. “No. We used to joke about doing feet pics.” She laughed, shaking her head again. “But we never actually did anything. And JuJu wasn’t big on sex anyway. She thought maybe she was asexual, or that maybe her meds were affecting her libido. Or both.”

“Do you know what kind of meds?”

“I don’t know the same. Something for pain.”

“Acute or chronic?”

“Does it matter?”

“I like to be as thorough as I can.”

She nodded. “Chronic pain. She was in a minor car accident when we were in high school, and the pain afterward just never really went away. The doctors brushed her off left and right and eventually just called it chronic pain syndrome, which is basically just a bullshit catch twenty-two thing for when they don’t give enough of a shit to dig into it more. She’s been on probably every damn pain med they can prescribe a person. None of it really helped, but this most recent one was helping reduce the frequency of her super bad flair days.” She fiddled with the photo for a moment. “You don’t think that was a factor or something, right?”

“Not… necessarily the medication, no. But knowing that she was a chronic pain patient opens up a few new paths for investigation. Every open a path is another chance at finding her killer and bringing her justice.”

She nodded. “Well… ask any questions you have, then. I’m an open book. I want the bastard who took JuJu out of this world to pay.”

“You and me both. Let’s see how many paths we can find, yeah?”

She offered another nod, gaze still on the photo. “Let’s.”

Out in the parking lot, Jensen ignored yet another call from Jamal and messaged Frank instead to ask if the old man could please just give him a damn lunch break without introduding on it. Though Jensen still hadn’t worked up the courage to dive into his mom’s case file, he still felt like his whole world had been flipped upside down. Like his whole life had been a lie. Like everything had been a lie. And whether Jamal liked it or not, he was a part of that lie. No matter who was the actual villain in Jensen’s life, Jamal had been part of that lie since day one. So had Kathy. They both had their hands in his life, swirling around the water and making everything all murky.

So he just wanted one damn lunch break that didn’t revolve around Jamal fucking Pitman.

Jensen slid off the hood of his car, shoved his phone into his pocket, and tossed his mostly uneaten sandwich in the garbage. Sandwiches were apparently something Jamal could ruin for him too. Or Kathy. He wasn’t sure which of the two were ruining sandwiches today. Jensen unlocked the driver’s side door, but before he could pull it open, he was pushed against it. He grunted as his attacker yanked one arm behind his back, keeping his hand off his gun. A firm hand wrapped around his wrist kept his other arm pinned at his side.

“How blind do you think I am?”

Shit.

“Wow. Talk about a kawinkydink, huh? All the little diners in L.A., and we’re both at this one,” Jensen said.

Bo tugged on his arm just a little harder. “Don’t think for a goddamn second that surgery will stop me from kicking your ass, Jensen. You’ve made me feel out of my mind crazy for months. What the hell do you want from me?” He kicked Jensen’s feet apart, like a cop preparing for a pat down. The lab geek had seemingly spent just a hair too much time following his detective buddies around over the years. “I want a real answer this time. Not your reporter bullshit. You’re a horrific liar.”

“First… rude. I’m an excellent liar.”

“Even that one has liar written all over it,” Bo said.

Jensen grunted, turning to look over his shoulder as far as he could. “You look nice. Showered. You washed your hair. That’s good.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t feel like an answer.”

Unfortunately, it seemed as though Jensen wasn’t going to get any time to practice his lie before he tested it on the man himself. He’d have to go for a little more honesty than he’d hoped for. “My mom was murdered when I was young. I-I was trapped in the apartment with her for days before someone called the cops for the smell. Kathy Baker worked the case and then she adopted me and now I think it was some weird power-play against Jamal Pitman, a-and it feels like my whole fucking life is falling apart. There’s no one in this world that can help me fix everything that’s going on or help sort through whatever shit Kathy and Jamal did or what bullshit they pulled me into, b-but if there’s someone who can solve my mom’s murder once and for all, it’s you. I-I’ve spent years reading about the cases you’ve worked, what you’ve done for the victims, what you’ve done for the living family members and friends. My mom was a nobody. She wasn’t rich or famous or a hot blonde they could bring in the pity party for, s-so she slipped through the cracks, and the only person who still gives a shit is me. But if there’s one person out there who will give a shit too, it’s you, a-and I need… someone else to give a shit about her, just this once. Please.”

Bo stayed silent for what felt like far too long before releasing his hold on Jensen and taking a step away from him. Jensen turned to face him, one hand instinctively falling to where his gun should have been if Bo hadn’t stolen it from his damn holster. Bo cleared his throat, tucking the gun into the back of his waistband, like it was a totally normal and natural thing for the lab geek to do.

“I’m sorry about your mom, I really am. But my crime-solving days are… Well, they aren’t these days. I’m not the person you’ve read about. I am… a shell. A ghost. Waiting for my body to finally die and join the rest of me. I’m not who they used to write stories about. I haven’t been him in a very long time.”

Jesus. Most of Jensen’s ‘bodyguarding’ didn’t involve listening to Bo’s conversations or intercepting his texts and emails. He hadn’t quite gotten the insider scoop on his state of mind. But Jamal was right. Going like he was, there wouldn’t be a world with Bo still in it for much longer.

Jensen cleared his throat, nodding back toward the diner. “You came here today with your detective friend. Based on how long he’s been questioning the waitress, I’d say whatever intel you gathered for him was spot-on. I don’t think you’re the washed-up has-been you think you are. I think there’s still a genius crime-solver tucked away in that head of yours. And if you’d let him out, I’d love for the genius to help give my mom the justice she never got when she was cleaved to death in our kitchen.”

Bo lifted his head, blue eyes finally meeting Jensen’s gaze. “Cleaved?”

“He… Yeah. He had a meat cleaver. H-her face was….” God, could he really do this? Use his trauma — use his mom — to get to Bo? Was there any chance digging all of those memories back up wouldn’t fuck him up for the rest of his life?

“I’ll need her name and the date of her murder so I can get my hands on the case file,” Bo said.

“What?”

“The case file? So… that I can see what evidence was gathered during the investigation?

“N-no, I… I know what the case file is. I just… You’ll help me?”

“Consider me intrigued by the details at hand,” Bo said. “So?”

“I-I have the… the case file.”

Bo raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so stalking isn’t the only crime you partake in?”

“It was more like observing.”

“Yes, observation via stalking.” Bo pulled a pen from the pocket of his jeans. “My old house hasn’t been bought yet. We can meet there. Do you know the address, or do you only know how to get there when you’re ‘observing’ me as I go there?”

“Umm…”

“Mmhmm. Thought so.” Bo grabbed Jensen’s hand — and just why did Bo’s have to be so nice and warm? — and wrote out an address on his palm. “I will meet you there. And I’m holding onto your gun in the meantime.”

“When?”

“When David and I are done. Given how much time you spend ‘observing’ me, I have a feeling you don’t really have anything else important going on to worry about a specific time.”

“Rude.”

“I’m not sure it’s all that rude if it’s true,” Bo said.

Jensen honestly wasn’t sure either. “I will… see you, umm… eventually, then. Today, though, right?”

Bo nodded. “Today. Wouldn’t want you ‘observing’ your next target without your gun. Which you’re very much not well-equipped to use, by the way.”

“You’re just a faster gun nabber than I am.”

One corner of Bo’s mouth lifted. “Apparently so.” Fingers wrapped around Jensen’s wrist, he held his hand up, address facing Jensen. “Keys are in the mailbox. There’s nothing in the house for food or drinks, so if you’re going to be hungry or thirsty, I’d grab yourself a snack on the way.”

“Okay.” Jensen offered a smile. “Thank you, Mister Austen. For… for being willing to look at her case. And, y’know, not shooting me with my own gun.”

“Well, I’m more bark than I am bite. And don’t thank me yet. Willing to look at it is one thing. Bringing her justice is another.”

“Maybe so, but I have faith in you.”

“I suppose it’s good that one of us does.”

“I have enough for both of us,” Jensen said.

Bo shook his head, taking a small step back. “I’ll meet you after David and I have gotten through whatever else we need to today. I make no grand promises about your mom’s case, but I do promise to meet you today and look at her file.”

“Thank you.”

Bo offered a nearly imperceptible nod. “I’ll see you later today.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

1:15 PM; LOS ANGELES, SLICE OF LIFE DINER, PARKING LOT

David found Bo in the parking lot, seated on the ground, leaned back against the passenger door of David’s car. His knees were pulled up toward his chest, one arm resting across them, a cigarette held between his fingers. David had known that the glimpses of ‘old Bo’ were just a facade, but he had hoped and prayed and begged whoever the hell was out there listening that the facade would carry Bo through the day with at least some ease. Needing to leave before the interview and spending an hour in the parking lot with a cigarette gave him more than enough to know there was no ‘ease’. Not for Bo. Not now. Probably not anytime soon.

But as long as he was alive, they could work through it. They could help mend the pieces of him that weren’t quite put together the right way anymore. David knew it wouldn’t be easy or quick, but he’d walk through Hell to help Bo if he’d let him, and he had every intention of walking through those rusted iron gates every damn day if he had to in order to pull Bo back to the surface.

David sat down beside him on the asphalt. Without lifting his head or opening his eyes, Bo lifted his arm and held the cigarette out to David. David grabbed it, took a drag, and slipped it back between Bo’s fingers. Blowing out a curl of smoke, David leaned his head back against the car and closed his eyes. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m all right.”

“You’ve been out here an hour.”

“I’ve spent longer in worse places.”

“Yeah,” David whispered.

Bo cleared his throat. “What did you find out?”

“She positively identified the tattoo. It’s a matching tat. They got them together for their eighteenth birthday.”

“Jupiter. That’s… rough.”

“Yeah. Judy was a chronic pain patient. She had recently started on a new medication to help manage the really bad flair days, but before that, she had been attending a pain support group. I don’t know how likely it is that someone at a chronic pain support group is out here brutally killing women, but I think it’s worth seeing if anyone there was good friends with her, see if anyone knows anything that maybe she didn’t share with anyone not suffering with pain.”

“It’s not a bad idea. There are undeniably certain things that people only share with specific groups of people. I do agree that it’s unlikely anyone in the group is the killer, but my killer radar isn’t exactly well-intact.”

David stole Bo’s cigarette, taking a long enough drag to give himself time to come up with a good response. “What Dallas did or didn’t do wasn’t and never will be your fault. Not beng able to detect what he was doing when he was off the clock isn’t your fault either. Dallas was damn good at tucking that part of his life away from anyone and everyone that knew the other part of his life. I hate to bring her up again so soon, but the only person out there that really should’ve known was Kathy. They shared everything in the end. A job, a house, a bed, a family. Your husband disappearing for hours at a time on random nights and a Hangman murder always being displayed that same night has to set off every damn red flag in the book.”

“Maybe. Or she was like me and was too obliviously in love with him to know. Or care. Sometimes I wonder if I knew about it, deep down. If I just pushed it aside because I loved him. Ignored it because I loved him.”

“Kathy isn’t obliviously in love with anyone. You were right, about her and Travis. That she’d sleep with anyone if it served her in some way. I just… don’t know what she got from Dallas.” David had theories, of course, the ‘sleep with Hangman so he’ll kill my husband’ of which he had already accidentally let slip. He had no intention of letting it out a second time. Not to Bo, anyway. That theory would always hurt Bo far more than it would help him.

“I don’t know. I like to think she truly did love Dallas. Does love Dallas. I want… I know you hate him, and I understand why, but I want to believe that he had a family with someone who loved him. Had kids with someone who loved him. Ran away with someone who truly loved him. I don’t want Dallas to be just another one of her pawns, someone she uses when it suits her and throws away when they don’t. He deserved to finally be loved, and I want to believe he found it.”

Though he assumed Bo’s eyes were still closed, David nodded. “Maybe he did.” He opened his eyes, placed the cigarette back between Bo’s fingers. “The waitress didn’t have any ideas of people who would hate Judy enough to kill her, especially so brutally. She said Judy didn’t really go out of her way to interact with people but was always polite and friendly when she had to be around others.”

“I think a lot of chronic pain patients are. You see the stereotype of the grumpy old man whose in pain and takes it out on everyone else, but most of them just suffer in silence because telling your peers you’re in pain isolates you once they realize it isn’t temporary. That you aren’t going to feel better soon or ‘get over’ it. I’m not too shocked she was that way too.”

“Are you… that way?” David asked.

Bo shrugged, opening his eyes long enough to watch as he tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette. “My pain isn’t physical. But… less so these days. I don’t care if I chase off my peers or isolate. I just… don’t want to cause anyone else any pain.”

“Which is why you’re only passively wishing you were dead instead of doing something about it.”

Bo blew out a sharp breath. “Wow. Hard hitter.”

“Sorry,” David whispered.

“It’s all right. I’m aware it’s still a form of suicide ideation. I know it isn’t healthy, and I know being aware that I do it is…” Bo cleared his throat. “I know it’s hard for you.”

“It’s harder for you. You’re the one living with it.”

“I’m numb to it. I’m aware I don’t want to be here, and I no longer care that I feel that way. I’m not yet numb to the way it affects you or my parents. Or the look on Jacob Mason’s when he asked me about it. Or the look on Bridget’s face when I was stabbed. Even the bartender I told about my end of life intentions. I’m numb to how it makes me feel. But I’m not sure there’s a numbing to the way I feel knowing how… the rest of you feel.”

“So that’s what’s keeping you alive?”

“Right now? Yes. When you grieve the end of my life, it won’t be because I took it with my own hands. I can’t be the person responsible for making you all look the way you looked while I was bleeding and when I woke up in the hospital, or the way you looked after I woke up from the overdose attempt. I can’t be the reason people I love experience that kind of anguish again.”

“I wish… so goddamn desperately that you wanted to be alive just because you love life so much. But for right now? I’ll take any reason that keeps you here.” David cleared his throat. “Maybe that’s selfish. I don’t know. I just… I don’t know how I’d survive without you.”

“You’ve done it before. Most recently, when I was in Clinstone.”

“Yeah, I, uh, definitely harrassed that detective there until he told me you were okay.”

Bo opened his eyes, finally turning toward David. “Jacob?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s why he wanted to be friends?”

David shook his head, brow furrowed. “No. God, no. I wouldn’t do that to you. By the time the lieutenant finally told me which detectives you were working the case with, he’d already been trying to befriend you for days. He said you were playing hard to get.”

Bo chuckled softly. “I suppose I was.” He took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it to the pavement and grinding it beneath his shoe. “Do you still talk?”

“He texts me every afternoon to see if you’re okay.”

“What do you tell him?”

“That you’re alive.”

After a moment, Bo nodded. “Well, it’s accurate, at least.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for all the extra… paperwork I’ve given you.”

“You didn’t give me shit. I handed that over to Jamal days ago.”

Bo shook his head. “Not literally. Not about the stabbing. Just the… extra work, I suppose. Having to tell my mom and my dad and Jacob I’m okay. Or alive. However you want to phrase it. I’m sure you talk to Bridget about me now too. Having to field texts and inquiries about me like you’re my babysitter. You’re not… You aren’t a babysitter.”

“You were my babysitter once. I’m okay with being yours right now if you need me to.”

Bo reached out and squeezed David’s arm, more than enough to let David know he wasn’t going to get an actual response on that one. “Now that we have our positive ID, let’s go check our victim’s house.”

David blew out a breath, but he nodded. “Yeah, let’s roll.”

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NOT EDITED

Chapter Thirteen

Friday: June 19, 2020

8:00 AM; LOS ANGELES PENITENTIARY, VISITING ROOM

Kathy Baker dropped into the chair across from Jensen at the cold metal table, one eyebrow raised. “Jensen.”

He offered a smile. She looked noticeably thinner than he remembered. Given the cancer diagnosis, he hadn’t quite known what to expect. But she didn’t look nearly as ill as he had prepared himself for. “Hey, Momma K. You look good.”

“I have cancer, Jensen.”

“I-I know. I just… You look better than I thought you would. Y-you don’t look, y’know…”

“Like I’m dying?”

“I, umm, I guess? I’m sorry.”

“Right. What are you doing here?”

“I just, umm, wanted to see you. It’s been a while.”

“Right,” she repeated, much slower this time “You didn’t visit Dallas, did you?”

“No. I-I wouldn’t do that without your permission.”

Finally, she smiled. “That’s my good boy.” She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “What’re you doing these days?”

“Looking for a job. I graduated police academy and—”

She laughed. “Why on Earth would you do that?”

“Look… for a job?”

“Police academy. Become a police officer.”

“I-I wanted to be like you.”

“You’re sweet. A little naive, but sweet.” She looked down at her hand, curling her fingers to run her thumb over her nails. “I heard you were actually working for Jamal.” Brown eyes shifted back to his face. “Are you?”

Jensen searched her face. David was right about one thing. Her eyes gave her away. The almost dangerous glint in them dared him to answer. Truthfully sure as hell wasn’t an option. “To try and persuade him to get you out of here. You don’t deserve to be here, Momma.”

She smiled again. But her eyes didn’t. “Always my good boy. I knew I could count on you. How has that been going?”

“He’s just been trying to convince me you’re a bad person. That my childhood memories of you are lies and that you aren’t really the savior I pretend you are.”

“Well, try to remember that Jamal is a conniving bastard who tortures and murders people for the mob in his free time.”

“Bad people.”

That judgmental eyebrow raised again. “Are you defending Jamal fucking Pitman to me? To me?”

Jensen shook his head so fast it made him dizzy. “No, ma’am. J-just repeating what he’s said to me.”

“Good. Jamal’s a liar. Always has been, always will be. He’d slit your throat the moment you no longer served him.” She laid a hand on her chest. “Just to get back at me. To take you from me.”

God, why were her eyes so… empty? Empty of the sadness the rest of her body was cosplaying. Had they always been that way? They couldn’t have been. Right? He would have noticed. Surely, he would’ve noticed. Prison had changed her eyes. It was just prison. Prison had to change you or you wouldn’t survive it. That was all.

“You… you saved me, Momma K, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. Why would you ask me that? God, what has that monster done to my baby boy? He’s turning you against me too? Taking my very last child away, like he hasn’t done enough damage already?”

“N-no, it’s okay. I don’t believe him. I don’t believe any of it.”

“Good,” she whispered. “What has he told you?”

“I-it was suggested that you just took credit for it. Saving me, I mean.”

“Please. Jamal would’ve handed you right over to social services and thrown you into foster care if it hadn’t been for me. You would’ve been there until you aged out, and you would’ve been tossed onto the street the second the government stopped paying your foster parents for having you. I’m the only one who wanted you, Jensen. It was me.”

Had she always talked to him like that? Told him no one else would want him?

“Why do you hate Bo Austen?”

All traces of sadness vanished from her face. “Tell me you are not working with that fucker.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good. Why are you asking me about him?”

“Mister Pitman never… never stops talking about him.”

“Jamal thinks Bo is God’s gift to the LAPD. I think Bo made sure to ruin my life because he believes he should’ve gotten to play housewife to Dallas.”

“What?”

“Oh, did Jamal not tell you that in his never-ending speech about Bo’s amazing genius? He was in love with Dallas. Probably still is. Poor little guy.”

“Did you… know that before you started dating Mister Silver?”

The shocked sadness came back, a hand moving to cover her heart. “Who do you take me for? Of course I didn’t. I wouldn’t have stolen Dallas like that if I’d known. The love of your life talking to you about the love of his life all the time? I would never.”

But her eyes said she would.

Jensen shifted in his seat. His worldview seemed to be held together with hot glue and duct tape, and the seams were starting to pull apart. What other lies had she told him? What other bullshit had she fed him that he’d swallowed without complaint? Had she even been at the apartment that day, when the police finally found him trapped inside with his mom?

“Mister Pitman says you hated Austen before all of this too.”

“Jamal is a liar,” she repeated. “I did nothing but put Bo on the same pedestal Jamal did. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t believe he needed it. He was a genius, and he did a damn fine job. If Jamal wanted him to be treated like a place of worship, so be it. I would have done anything for Jamal back then.”

But her eyes seethed with anger. Hatred. Something dark and a little dangerous, whatever it was.

“What job are you doing for Jamal?” Kathy asked.

“It’s classified.”

“Oh, please, you can’t even tell your momma about it?”

“N-no, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“Mm.” Kathy leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. Immediate distance. Closing herself off. Just because he wouldn’t spill Jamal’s secrets. “So you came here to interrogate your poor old mother for Jamal, but I’m not allowed to ask even one question about you because it might relate back to him?”

“Mister Pitman doesn’t know I’m here. I wanted to ask questions for me. Not him.”

She laughed. “Oh, baby. That pretty little head of yours isn’t much for critical thinking, is it?”

Ouch.

“Jamal always knows where you are, I promise you that.”

“He has no reason to believe I would do anything to warrant constant tracking. I’m the one doing the tracking for him.”

She shook her head, a little smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “It’s a damn good thing you’re handsome, Jensen. My God.” Another shake of her head. “He hired you to get back at me. Not because he likes you or trusts you or gives a shit about your future or ability to keep a roof over your head. He has every reason to believe you’re a failure, that you’re going to slip up, that you’re going to do something stupid. He has someone tailing you. There is no world in which Jamal Pitman is stupid enough to think you’re amazing at your job.”

“Ouch,” Jensen whispered.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like that. You just can’t be amazing at being one of Jamal’s little soldiers. You’re too good for that. You’re above it. Above him. And he knows it.”

Jesus, it was like constant whiplash. Surely she hadn’t always been this way. Not to him. He couldn’t have missed all of this, been won over by the occasional nice words and soft smiles. Right? Surely he wasn’t that stupid.

Or maybe she was right, and this ‘pretty little head’ of his wasn’t really used for thinking. Maybe he was just reading into it all too much because Jamal and David had gotten into his head. That had to be it. Kathy wasn’t evil. She had saved him. Given him a home. A place to be safe with the Taylors, protected from the dangers that would come from living with her or being attached to the Baker name. She had done that for him. To keep him safe from all the evils in the world.

“I’m bodyguarding for him,” Jensen finally offered.

Kathy raised a brow. “Did Frank finally kick the bucket?”

“No. I-is Frank dying?”

She shrugged. “Not that I know of. Just figured Jamal would’ve killed him by now, is all.” She cleared her throat. “So he’s not your client. You’re just one of his little soldiers to send out on missions.”

“No, I don’t do missions. Not a soldier. Bodyguard. I’m a hired bodyguard under Mister Pitman’s… team.”

“I didn’t know there was a team. Just Franklin and the soldiers in his twisted little army of ‘sir, yes, sir’s.”

“People hire bodyguards from Mister Pitman all the time.”

“And you’re one of them.”

“Yes.”

“Who are you bodyguarding?”
“That part, I can’t disclose.”

“Mm.” She leaned back in her seat again, resuming her closed off stance. “So you just wanted to ask me about Jamal’s lies and about Bo Austen? Just because?”

“Well, I-I came here to talk. To update you on my life a-and to see how you were doing. You brought up Mister Pitman.”

“Not that I recall.”

“You did. You said—”

“You brought him up. Because you’ve let him play around in your head and convince you that the only person in this world that gives a single shit about you has been a monster this whole time.”

“I-I didn’t say you were a monster. Just that—”

“I can’t believe you’ve let him toy with your head like this, Jensen. I thought I raised you better than this.”

“I haven’t. And you did. I swear. I love you. I don’t believe anything he says about you. I just needed… needed to make sure. Needed to hear it from you.” Jensen reached for her hand, but she pulled it away and dropped it to her lap. “Momma, come on. I love you. You saved me. I know you saved me. Mister Pitman is a liar. I know he is. I won’t let him turn me against you, Momma. I promise.”

“Jamal doesn’t care about you, Jensen. He’s turning you against me, trying to cut you off from the one person who loves you. There is no one else out there waiting for you, Jensen. Just me. He wants to cut you off, isolate you, like any abuser would.”

Jensen nodded. “I know, Momma. I won’t let him cut you off.”

Kathy smiled, but her eyes still screamed danger. Whatever emotion was mixed in there with it, Jensen couldn’t identify. “That’s my good boy.”

8:27 AM; DAVID QUINN’S APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM

Despite Bo’s protests the night before, David had managed to convince him to spend the night in his room instead of the living room, and David had taken the couch. Of course, no longer doped up on whatever the hospital had given him, sleep hadn’t exactly come easily to Bo, so after David had fallen asleep, Bo had snuck out to the living room for his laptop before creeping back to David’s room. He had started the night with drawing up the rest of the algorithm to search the traffic cam footage for similar faces, and ended with finding out the work schedules of the second victim’s friend so David would know the best time to bring her in to identify the woman and question her about any dangerous people in her life.

When he heard David get up for a shower, Bo tucked his laptop away and pretended to be sound asleep. Once the shower started up, Bo had gotten his laptop and headed into the living room. Once David was done, he’d be able to pretend he had gotten a great night of sleep and felt energized for a round of internet sleuthing and hacking into things he admittedly shouldn’t. The nice thing about not working for the LAPD was that he could essentially pry his way into whatever he wanted without having to put it into a report for the lieutenant and Jamal to read.

David walked into the living room, his dress pants on, his white shirt over his shoulders but still unbuttoned, and his suit jacket thrown over his forearm as he used his free hand to finish scrubbing at his wet hair with a towel. “Morning. Sleep okay?”

“Yes. Did you?”

“Mmhmm.” David gestured to the couch. “I made sure that thing was comfortable to lay on when I got it for a reason.”

Bo raised a brow. “In case I got shanked and had to have my spleen removed?”

“Obviously.”

“A big brother who can predict the future? My dream.” Bo nodded toward his laptop. “Any chance you can put your powers to use and find this killer?”

“Ah, no can do, I’m afraid. That’s a little brother’s job.”

“Damn. Worth a shot.”

David smiled. The smile meant Bo was masking well enough to skate by for now. That was good. “Speaking of, I heard you click clacking away over there. What’re you working on?”

“I wanted to finish up my algorithm for the traffic cam footage, and I tracked down the work schedule of the second victim’s friend. She’s off at noon today. We could hang out at the coffee shop around then and catch her when she’s off, ask if she can have a look at a photo for us.”

“We?” David asked after a moment.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to assume. Only if you’re okay with it, obviously. I understand if you don’t want to work with me on this. Or have me come around with you on it, I should say. And if you think Jamal would be okay with it.”

“I always want to work with you and have you ride around with me and tag along for interviews and interrogations. Always. I just… don’t know that it’s the best thing for you right now.”

“I’m okay, David. I promise.”

“And I’m glad to hear that. I am. But I don’t just mean your mental health. I mean your physical health, like that incision site that probably doesn’t want you walking around all day.”

“We can sit at the coffee shop. Sitting is fine. And so is standing and walking. I’m supposed to be walking a little every day, just not past the point of fatigue and pain.”

David nodded before clearing his throat. “And the… the Jamal thing. Nothing would make him happier. He wanted me to tell you that you did a damn fine job yesterday. Attaboy, and all that.”

“He did?”

“He did. He wanted to tell you himself, but he was worried about, y’know, dropping in uninvited.”

“Because it might break me.”

“He just doesn’t want to be the reason you’re upset or anything like that. But he was very onboard with you helping.”

“So… it’s settled then?”

David watched him for a moment. “If you let me help you wash your hair before we go.”

“Deal.”

David smiled. “Great. Let’s go get you degreased.”

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NOT EDITED

Chapter Eleven

3:47 PM; WEST LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT, CHIEF OF POLICE JAMAL PITMAN’S OFFICE

Jamal lifted his head at the soft knock on his open door. He raised a brow. “Oh, so when the door’s wide open, you knock.”

David offered a smile. He had the grace to almost look apologetic. Almost. “Hey, if you want to have secret meetings with Bo’s stalker, close the door all the way. I didn’t knock because I could already see him.”

“I suppose I have to give you that one.” Jamal closed the folder in front of him, hiding some of his ‘extra curriculars’ that David didn’t need to also make himself a part of, and folded his arms over his desk. “I wasn’t expecting you back in today. Is everything all right?”

David stepped into the room, closing the door with a soft click behind him. “Bo ID’d both victims. He’s had the first gal identified since shortly after she turned up dead. He was hoping Travis would get her ID’d so that he wouldn’t have to steal his thunder. He had planned on calling it in anonymously, but then, uh…”

“Everything else happened?” Jamal suggested.

“Yeah.” David fiddled with the folder in his hands for a moment before walking over to Jamal’s desk and handing it over. “He did that social media scan thing. Our first gal, he found her through her profile picture. Second victim, he found a friend that had a public account and had posted pictures of them before. The victim’s account was tagged or whatever in the description, and even though her account was private and her profile picture wasn’t of her, she had her first and last name on it. I have last known addresses for both of them, and I’m planning on bringing in the friend for an official ID of the second vic.”

Jamal flipped through the printed off papers inside the folder. “I wish I could give him an official ‘attaboy’. He’s done an amazing job here.”

“Maybe you could. I mean, I know you’re worried about… about making him worse, but even when he was looking for Kathy and Dallas, his only high points were when you’d tell him he’d done a good job.” David dropped into one of the chairs in front of Jamal’s desk. “Respectfully, I don’t know why the hell he looks up to you so much. Craves your approval so much. But he always has, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he still does.”

Jamal had his own prominent theory as to the why, but it certainly wasn’t any of David’s business. A lie was, though. “I gave him his first chance at a real job at a real station putting his degree to real work. Are you truly shocked that he sees me as a leadership figure?”

“Leadership is one thing. His feelings toward you bordered on cult worship for a while there.”

Jamal couldn’t help but chuckle. “If you didn’t believe in the rumors about what I do outside of this station, would you still say it was cult worship?”

“No. Then I’d say his relationship with you is that of an abusive, narcistic piece of shit and their victim. So like his bio dad, I guess.”

“I have half a mind to shoot you for that comparison alone.”

David offered a smile. “But you won’t. I’m Bo’s only remaining link to this station, and you need me because you need him. It’s why I get away with coming in without knocking. For insubordination. For talking to you to way I do. You’re so caught up in this… desire to get Bo back to prove you’re a better person now, and you know you need me to fulfill it.”

“My desire to have Bo at this station isn’t to prove I’m a better person. Quite franky, Quinn, I… do not give a shit what you think of me. Would I like to be forgiven? Yes. But it certainly isn’t a requirement. My desire to have Bo back at the LAPD is because I know it is the one and only place he has ever felt truly at home, and the boy deserves to have a home. If he never solves a case again. If he never attends a crime scene again. If he just sits in his office all damn day until he retires. I do not care. If he feels at home, I’m happy. You can do with that what you will.”

“Goddamn, Pitman. All of your weird little highs and lows make you the most insufferable puzzle I’ve ever tried to piece together.”

Jamal offered a shrug before holding up the folder near his head. “Tell Austen he did a damn fine job. If for any reason he were to want to tag along with you somewhere, he has my approval to. I didn’t fire him, and I haven’t filed any paperwork for him to quit. As far as any attorney or citizen is concerned, he’s still a member of the LAPD, just on leave.”

“He just got out of the hospital, Jamal.”

“Given that I was unaware of his previous suicide watch, I’d say that hasn’t stopped him before.”

A far away look passed over David’s eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered. He pushed himself back to his feet, that far away look not quite gone. “I’m gonna… head home. See what Bo wants to do. Work out my next steps from there.”

“Sounds good.”

David nodded once before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. Across the room, Franklin sighed.

“What?”

“You were unnecessarily cruel to bring up Bo’s suicide attempt. You’re very aware that it was traumatic for both of them.”

“He started it, I finished it.”

“It isn’t a competition, Jamal. You’re just pissed because he called you abusive. Which you were. For years.”

“No. I’m aware of that fact. I’m pissed that he compared me to a man who allowed his wife to abuse their son for years before selling him for drugs.”

“I highly doubt Detective Quinn is aware of that version of events.”

“Oh, you mean the real version?”

Franklin sighed, rolling his eyes. “It’s not the story Mister Austen has been told, which means it isn’t the story he tells. Detective Quinn would know an abusive past, but not how he ended up, let’s say, in need of new parents. Torturing Quinn for that is cruel by any definition. Even you have to be aware of that.”

“If he doesn’t want shit thrown back at him, he should learn to walk around this station with even an iota of respect for me.”

“You abused his best friend for years. His best friend doesn’t even want to live anymore, and at least part of that is your fault. Expecting him to respect you is…” Franklin cleared his throat. “Respecting the person who tortured your best friend to the very brink is an impossible ask. I’m sure there’s at least one part of your past that allows you to relate to that.”

Unfortunately, Jamal was more than able to relate to David’s specific distain of him. But it didn’t make it piss him off any less. David’s hatred for him was a constant reminder of how he had treated Bo—what he had done to Bo—and seeing and speaking to that reminder every Goddamn day grated on his ability to cover the mafia’s influence with the charming Pitman facade of an exterior.

“I may need to request David only speak with me via email until Bo returns. I can control myself as long as I can’t see his face.”

“That could be never. I know you don’t want to consider that possibility, but it’s still a very real one.” Jamal let out a heavy breath. “I know. I’m just… hoping and praying that it doesn’t come to that. He doesn’t even want to live any more, and he’s still been secretly working this case. Through depression and paranoia and anxiety and God only knows what else. And he’s still working it. I don’t think he can truly survive without working forensics, and if he’s not doing it at the LAPD, where he used to feel at home, then I… I don’t know that there’s going to be a world with Bo in it for much longer.”

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