Highway Butcher – Chapter Eight

A/N: As a heads up, I’m currently in and out of exhaustion and fatigue flair-ups pretty frequently, as one of my girls has been sick for the last two months now and just had a feeding tube with that so far has just kind of been a host of problems, and the constant in and out at the vet wears me out pretty fast, so I’m not writing a ton. Which is why I spaced this chapter out from the others, so that you wouldn’t have to go several weeks or months without an update this time around. I have another completed chapter after this one and am working on chapter ten, which I’ll also plan on spacing out by a week or so until I get back on a big writing kick.**

NOT EDITED

Chapter Eight

10:30 AM; WEST LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT, DETECTIVE DAVID QUINN’S DESK

David was doing anything and everything he could think of to keep his mind off last night, Bo, and the hospital. It wasn’t working, but nobody could fault him for trying.

Not for the first time since yesterday morning, David left a voicemail for the person who had found Jane Doe Two. He hadn’t gotten a straight answer on if he hadn’t remained on scene until police arrived or if the responding officers had let him leave instead of holding him or sending him to the station, but either way, David had never seen him or spoken to him about what he had seen before calling in the body.

It was unlikely the caller had seen anything other than an armless corpse. They rarely saw anything of genuine importance to finding the killer. But it was still an I to dot and a T to cross. Without it, any investigation he did would always be missing a piece, and years down the line, when the killer was caught and the case went to court, a damn good lawyer could use that missing piece to instill doubt in the jury.

And David sure as hell wouldn’t have any of that.

David lifted his head as a folder landed on his laptop’s keyboard. His eyes met Travis’s. “I am so not in the mood.”

Travis shrugged, dropped his ass into the chair in front of David’s desk. “Heard I’m not allowed to work the case anymore. Told I needed to hand over all information to you.”

“Kind of already should’ve been doing that, but thanks.”

“Since I didn’t lose my actual job, I can only assume you didn’t give Jamal any information about our chat. Appreciate it.”

“I didn’t do it for you. You’re not worth the headache it would’ve caused.”

Travis chuckled. “Still had him remove me from the case, though. Seems like a headache to me.”

David moved the manilla folder to the top of his evergrowing stack of paperwork. Anything to cover up the incident report of Bo’s morning adventure that he still needed to hand over to Jamal. “I told Pitman that I wouldn’t work the case anymore if you were on it. What he did with that information is his business.”

“You have an office, Travis. Stop loitering and bothering my detectives.”

Travis held up his hands, pleading his innocence as he stood up. “No harm, no foul, Chief. Just handing over the case file like you asked.”

“Mmhmm. You’re dismissed, then.”

Once Travis had walked away, David cleared his throat. “The incident and arrest report for Bo and Bridget’s ex are in there.” He jerked a thumb toward the pile of papers and folders, gaze staying on his laptop screen.

“Thank you.” Jamal sifted through the pile without question, pulling out the reports he needed. “Are you all right, David?”

“Yep.”

“You watched your best friend get stabbed thrice in the side and couldn’t do anything about it. It’s all right not to be fine.”

David shook his head. “Bo and Bridget got the short end of the stick. Just got a little elbow to the nose, myself. I’m fine.”

“Well, you’re far stronger than me, Detective. I was never okay when I had to watch something like that go down with one of my own.” Jamal gave his shoulder a tight squeeze. “If you decide you aren’t okay, you know where to find me, and where to find help.”

After a moment, David nodded. “Thanks, Chief.”

“Of course.”

David let him take all of two small steps away from his desk before managing to ask, “Is he okay?”

“He had his spleen removed.”

“Jesus,” David whispered. “God, I should’ve gotten out of the car. Soon as the fucker ran at him the first time. I shouldn’t have let it play out as long as I did.”

“David, it’s the first time Bo has been outside of that specific hotel room in over a month. It’s the first time he’s gone anywhere with you in even longer. If you had ignored him and gotten out of that car after he begged you not to, he would’ve lost every single drop of trust he has in you. He needs someone he can trust. He needs you being someone he can trust. You did the right thing, even if it doesn’t feel like it.” Jamal nodded toward his office. “I have a conference call to attend. But any time after noon, I’m free, if you were to need anything.”

“Thanks, Jamal. Really. Thank you.”

Jamal did that very Pitman-esque thing he’d always done, skimming his tongue over his top row of teeth, his eyes focused on the ceiling. David had never quite been able to pinpoint it. Nervousness, biting back a nasty comment, brushing off a thank you, ignoring a compliment, fighting off something else entirely. He had no idea. But the man had been doing it for as long as David had known him. “You’re welcome, Quinn.” He tapped the folder atop the paperwork stack. “Keep me posted.”

“I will, Chief.” As Jamal looked away, David looked back at his phone, just in case a call had miraculously come through while Travis or Jamal were holding his attention. Unsurprisingly, one had not.

David closed his laptop and pushed himself to his feet. He needed something to do. He’d start with the witness’s house and go from there.

11:59 AM; WEST LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT, PARKING LOT

The 9-1-1 caller’s house had led David nowhere. No answer to the door, the curtains to the windows had all been drawn, there were no signs of forced entry or imminent danger to allow him to go inside and see if the man was home despite the lack of response. David had tried his place of work too, just in case, but the receptionist had said he was on vacation for the week, something that had apparently been planned for months and not an impromptu, unscheduled vacation post-corpse-sighting.

It was possible he’d had a flight to catch and hadn’t wanted to miss it for a police interview. David didn’t exactly blame him. But it still would have been nice for the guy to let someone know the best way to reach him. Or when the hell he’d be reachable.

David pushed open his car door, stopping mid-exit when his phone rang. He grabbed it from his pocket. Bridget. He pulled his leg back into the car and closed the door. “Please let everything be okay,” he whispered as he accepted the call. He pressed his phone to his ear. “Hey, Bridget. Everything good?”

“Yeah, just, umm, just left to give Renee and Denzel some time alone with him.” She laughed, light and airy. Barely there. “I came out to the snack machine, and I realized that… that I haven’t been allowed to use a snack machine in over six months.”

“I’m so sorry, Bridget.”

“I didn’t call you for that. It’s not like it’s your fault. I’m a detective. I used to work cases like this, you know? I-I knew all of the signs and all the red flags, and I ignored every single one. It’s not something you need to apologize for.” She cleared her throat. “I just wanted, uh, to let you know that he’s still mostly sedated. The nurse says he was real agitated coming out from the anesthesia, and the sedation is the safest thing for him right now. I wanted to know if you want me to call when he’s awake.”

“Umm…” David shifted in his seat. “I, uh, I’m not sure that I can… manage sitting in a hospital with him. I-I want to. I do. But I don’t think… that I can?” He cleared his throat. “I know that sounds horrible.”

“It doesn’t. Bo told me. I know why you don’t wanna be here. Nobody can blame you for that. That’s why I’m asking if you want to know or if there’s just certain stuff you want me to update you on. I’ll keep you posted, whether or not you can make it in.”

“Thank you, Bridget. Thank you.”

“You helped save my life this morning, David. The least I can do is keep you posted on when our friend is okay.”

David closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat. “If you could just text me when he’s awake and when you know more about when he’ll be released? I’ll be there to pick him up. H-he won’t like it, but he can stay with me. There’s no way in hell we’ll talk him into staying with one of his parents, but I think I can talk him into staying with me for at least a day or two.” 

“I’ll let you know when he’s up, then. I think he’ll be out of here as soon as they let him. Google said sometimes you go home the same day after a splenectomy.” He could hear tapping on her end of the line. Maybe she was still at the snack machine, drumming her fingers against the side. “I don’t know how that works if they have to… to do anything more, like… exploratory.”

“Let me know what goes.”

“I will.” A pause. A hell of a pause. “Thanks for helping him save me, David.”

“I wish we’d been able to sooner, sweetheart.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But still… thanks.”

David nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “You’re welcome, Bridget. Anytime.”

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Chapter Seven

Chapter Nine

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Highway Butcher – Chapter Seven

NOT EDITED

Chapter Seven

9:01 AM; LOS ANGELES TRAUMA CENTER, CARE ROOM SEVEN

Jamal had stayed with Bridget until Bo’s parents turned up. At the very least, she wouldn’t be alone during Bo’s medicated slumber. He wanted to stay until Bo was awake, but truthfully, even he knew Bo was likely still better off not seeing him.

Out in the hallway, after Bo’s adoptive father walked into the room, his mother stopped Jamal, arms crossed over her chest. Jamal didn’t really have to do much scanning of Renee Austen’s face to determine the stop was anger-induced.

“Good morning, Renee,” Jamal said.

“Are those really the goddamn words you wanna throw my way, Jamal?”

Jamal let out a breath. “No. I’m truly sorry about what happened with him this morning, Renee.”

“You should be. I spoke to David. I spoke to Bridget. He intentionally put himself in harm’s way with a man drunk and high beyond words. A man with a knife, Jamal.”

“I know.”

She uncrossed her arms to shove at his chest. Jamal took a step back. Whether she wanted space or satisfaction at shoving him, he’d give it to her. “If you hadn’t treated him like he was a worthless pile of shit—”

“He might have felt differently about the way he handled the… situation this morning. I know.”

“If I lose my son—”

“You won’t. I have the best doctors in California here, Renee. He’s under very good care and very knowledgeable people.”

“I’m not just talking about today, Jamal,” Renee whispered.

Jamal cleared his throat. “You won’t. Bo will be… safe. You have my word.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“Now that I know where he is? I certainly can.”

Renee stared so intently into his eyes that he was a little worried she was still planning an attack. Instead, she nodded. “Of course. You were lying when you told me you weren’t the one following him.”

“Not… necessarily. It wasn’t me. It was one of my men.”

“So your man’s job is to sit back and watch him get shanked? Did he at least take good pictures of the incident for you?”

Jamal cleared his throat. “My man is relatively new to this. Bo is his first… client. Your son got the drop on him and escaped his tail. This is unfortunately how we re-discovered where he was. That isn’t exactly how I saw it going, but my guy won’t lose him a second time. He’s now personally aware of Bo’s smarts. That kind of lesson sticks a little better than reading about it.”

“Well, that definitely sounds like my Bo,” Renee said quietly. “This man. Why is he stalking Bo?”

“He isn’t stalking him. Consider him… a bodyguard from afar.”

“Sure. When he knows where my son is, anyway.”

“This is his first time… misplacing Bo in entire six months he’s been tailing him. He’s doing a damn fine job, Renee.”

She only shook her head. “What have you done, exactly, that requires you to have a secret bodyguard for my son? What have you done to put him in danger?”

“My intentions aren’t to protect him from any danger because of my… affiliations. Bo’s in danger because of himself, and he will not…” Jamal cleared his throat again. “I will not let Bo die thinking he does not belong on this Earth. My man’s job is to make sure Bo doesn’t die, even at his own hand.”

Renee closed her eyes for quite some time before meeting Jamal’s gaze again. “A bodyguard isn’t enough to help him. He gave me Acamas. His cat? He said she deserves better than having him as an owner. That she needs someone full of life to take care of her. He needs help, Jamal. Not a fucking bodyguard from afar.”

“I know he does,” Jamal said, his voice soft. “I’m working on it. The last time I offered, the last time I begged to let me help him, he didn’t want it. As much as I hate it, I can’t help him if he doesn’t want to be helped. But I’m working on it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Jamal nodded toward Bo’s door. “He’s been sedated, so he’s mostly asleep. I’ll find out when that should wear off.”

“Thanks,” Renee whispered. She gave his arm a gentle squeeze before walking past him and into Bo’s hospital room, closing the door behind her. Jamal drew in a long breath, slowly letting it back out as he smoothed his hands down the front of his suit jacket. He needed to speak with Jensen, and then he’d come back and find out what they sedated Bo with and when he was expected to wake up. In the meantime, based on everything David and Jensen had relayed over the last six months, the man needed that sleep—medically induced or not—more than anyone would ever know.

In the parking lot, Jamal made his way to the far end, where the car was parked. Franklin leaned over the center console to open the passenger door before Jamal could grab the handle. He slid into the seat and pulled the door shut behind him.

“Is he okay?” Jensen asked the very second the door locked. “I’m so sorry I lost him, sir. This never should’ve happened. I’m so sorry.”

Jamal twisted in his seat to face the young man. “Jensen, there is no universe in which this is your fault. I don’t want you thinking for a single second that I lay any blame on you for this.”

“Y-you don’t?”

“No. Bo was there with two cops, Jensen. Two. He locked one in the car and begged the other not to come out. All he needed to do was get into the car himself. He chose not to, and I think you know why.”

“Yeah,” Jensen whispered.

“Bo… went out looking for trouble with a man he knew was trouble. When you have a man on a mission like that, there’s no stopping him. I know it. Franklin knows it. Now you know it. You wouldn’t have been able to change anything.”

Though he didn’t look entirely convinced, Jensen nodded.

“Once Bo is released, I would like to switch gears a little. Now that you’ve made contact with him, I’d like you to again. Intentionally, this time. It will give you time to come up with something far more believable than you being a reporter. He saw through that the instant you said it.”

“Well, do you have any ideas for something ‘far more believable’? Because I don’t really see any good reasons for stalking him for the last six months.”

“Tell him that your mother was murdered or that you’re Katherine’s son.”

“But those aren’t lies.”

“Exactly. You’re a terrible liar. The fewer things you’re hiding from him, the less detectable your lies will be.”

“Umm, you don’t know that I’m a terrible liar.”

Jamal chuckled. “Oh, I definitely do, kiddo. That is but one of many reasons I didn’t want you making contact with Bo yet.”

“Rude.”

From the driver’s seat, Franklin snorted. “It does get easier. The lying. Coming up with the lies, the backstories. It gets easier, and you get better at hiding your tells. But it takes time and practice. Until then, sticking with a story that’s easy to remember and easy to tell is the best idea,” he said.

“But… talking about Mom isn’t easy. I mean, it…” Jamal glanced up at the rearview mirror. Jensen had turned his head toward the window slightly, a faraway look in his eyes that Jamal knew a little too well. “It’s not a story that’s easy to tell.”

“He doesn’t mean like that. Just that your words about her won’t have to be lies. You won’t have to think about everything you’re going to say beforehand because all of it will be the truth. What you decide to share about her, about her death, when you share it, the hesitation in your sharing. All of that will be honest. That’s the easy part. The honesty,” Jamal said.

“Yeah,” Jensen said quietly. Eventually, when the freckle-faced man blinked his way back into the present rather than the past, he met Jamal’s gaze in the mirror. “How would telling him about Kathy help?”

“Well, you could chat about the wrongdoings she’s done to both of you.”

“She saved me.”

“Yes, technically. But it’s the one and only positive thing you can say about her.”

“That’s not true.”

“Name a second.”

Jensen stared at him for an absurdly long amount of time before leaning back in his seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“You’re allowed to think highly of her. You’re allowed to love her. You can call her your adoptive mother, you can call her Momma K, you can say she’s the best woman in the whole world. It just… doesn’t change the fundamentals of who she is. Katherine has always been like a daughter to me, and she always be. But it doesn’t change the fact that she treated me like the most inconvenient part of her life from the very second I gave her the first thing she asked for. From then on out, she knew how to use me, how to get what she wanted, and she did. She knew how to use you too. And she did. She did the same with Dallas, the same with Bo. She did it with her children.” Jamal cleared his throat. “It’s hard to let the image of someone you love be tainted. And that’s okay. You don’t have to let it be. But if you ask me a question, I’m going to answer it.”

Jensen grunted his response, head turned toward the window.

“What you tell Bo is your choice. The fewer lies you have to share, the easier it will be for you and the harder it will be for him to see right through you. My only real requirement is that you don’t tell him you work for me.”

“Okay.”

“When you have successfully bonded with him, we’ll be moving onto a secondary mission of getting him the help he needs. He won’t accept my help, but if it comes from someone else, he might.”

“Why not ask Detective Quinn? Or Detective Decker? Or Dallas?” Jensen asked.

“Because I already have. I’m hoping a new person in his life, a person who doesn’t know what he used to be like or how he used to be, suggesting he get help will be a nudge in the right direction. As is, people who already know him are… are people associated with me,” Jamal said. “And I don’t think that’s helping.”

“Which is why he can’t know I work for you.”

“One of many reasons.”

“Mm.” Jensen cleared his throat. “You know earning his trust isn’t going to be easy, right? I mean, up until last night, he hadn’t left that hotel in a month. He’s not exactly a sociable guy looking for new friends.”

“As long as you do everything you can to keep him alive, I don’t care how long it takes. You do the job, you get paid for the job.”

“My concern wasn’t the money. My concern was the low probability of completion.”

“Do your best, or I will hire someone who is capable of it. I do not give a shit how you do it as long as you fucking do it. Am I clear?”

“Fucking crystal.” Jensen practically threw open the door and slid out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

“You’re an ass,” Franklin said.

“I’ll hire someone capable of doing your Goddamn job too.”

Franklin snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”

Unfortunately, his past temporary firings of Franklin were more than enough proof of the man’s job security. “Do you know how hard it is to not be an ass when all you can think about killing the next motherfucker that stands in the way of you and two fingers of Scotch?”

Franklin cleared his throat as he reached out to start the car. “I know that it’s—”

“No, you don’t know shit, Franklin. Are you a fucking alcoholic? Ever been one? Are you recovering?”

“No, sir.”

“You don’t know shit,” Jamal repeated. He closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Could you please go inside and find out what they sedated Bo with and let his mother know when to expect him to wake up?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Franklin nodded. “Of course, sir.”

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Chapter Six

Chapter Eight

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Highway Butcher – Chapter Six

NOT EDITED

Chapter Six

Monday: June 15, 2020

12:20 AM; LOS ANGELES, BRIDGET DECKER’S HOUSE, MASTER BEDROOM

Bo helped shove what felt like the millionth bra into one of David’s duffle bags before zipping it up. Bridget did the same across the room. Socks, shirts, jeans, makeup. Anything. Everything. She wanted as much of it as she could. Bo had only gotten bits and pieces, but if he had heard her right, nothing Bridget owned was in her own name anymore. Not her car, not her phone, not her own damn bank account. The more things she left behind, the more things she had to replace, the more fucked she was.

And quite frankly, Bo wasn’t sure it could get much worse.

He had tried avoiding looking up at her as many times as he could, but even the one or three times he hadn’t been able to prevent it had been more than enough to give him a horrifically clear view of the double black eyes and likely broken nose she was sporting. Her left arm was in a sling. How long it had been like that, he didn’t know. What the bastard had done to her arm, he didn’t know.

But if he ever saw that bastard again, he’d kill him. That, Bo did know.

“What else do we need, Bridge?” Bo asked, eyes on the duffle bags.

“I think I have everything.”

“Let’s get you the hell out of here, then.” Bo grabbed all but one of the duffles from the bed, only because Bridget grabbed it first. She wrapped her free hand around his arm, just beneath his elbow, and followed him back through the house and to the front door.

“Oh, my God,” Bridget whispered as a truck swerved into the driveway.

“Get in the car.”

“You should just go. I-I’ll be okay.”

“Get in the car,” Bo repeated. Bridget froze long enough for Bo to drop one handful of duffle bags and yank open the door. He tossed the rest of them in and gently pushed Bridget toward the backseat. “Get in, Bridge.”

“You’re coming too, right?” Bridget asked as she slid into the car. She flinched as the truck door opened and slammed. “Bo?”

Bo leaned into the backseat to meet David’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Lock the doors.”

“Bo!”

Bo closed the door, watching the locks click down before he turned toward Bridget’s high-as-a-kite piece of shit boyfriend. “Roy.”

“Fuck you doin’ with my girl, bitch?”

“She’s not your ‘girl’, for starters. If I ever see you anywhere near her again, I will kill you. I don’t care if you accidentally walk into the same fucking grocery store as her. You walk your ass right back out, or it is the very last time you’re seeing the goddamn light of day. Do I make myself clear?”

Roy snorted. “You really think there’s any chance I’m scared of you, you fuckin’ Munchkin?”

“Okay… canonically speaking, I am most certainly taller than a Munchkin.”

Roy swung at Bo. Bo drove a foot into his stomach, pushing him—at the very least—away from David’s relatively new car. Damage control. Tonight was damage control. Killing Roy for ever laying a hand on Bridget could come later, when Bridget wouldn’t have to watch.

“Bo! Roy!” Bridget banged on the window. “Don’t hurt him! Oh, my God.”

Bo ducked beneath a second punch. Roy charged at him. Once he was close enough, Bo shoved him to the side. Not hard enough to knock him down, but hard enough to make him stumble. Bo had begged David to stay in the car and not look at Bridget no matter what, and thus far, he had listened. Still, he could practically feel David’s anxiety when their eyes met through the windshield.

The click of a switchblade drew Bo’s attention back to Roy a fraction of a second too late. Roy charged him, tackling him back against the tree in the yard, and rammed the knife into his side. An explosion of heat pierced his side. Again somewhere in his rib cage. Again near his hip.

David yanked Roy away, shoving him against the hood of the car. Bo sank to the ground, both hands working to find the best places to be to try and stop some of the pain, contain some of the blood. He didn’t really want Bridget to see this either. Or David.

Roy elbowed David in the nose, earning himself a shove to the ground and a knee between his shoulders to keep him there. Bo could see Bridget leaned over between the front seats, David’s radio held up to her mouth.

“Bo!” David called. Bo blinked a few times before dragging his gaze to David’s face. “Is it bad?”

“Umm…” Bo looked down, tipping one hand back enough to watch blood pool into his palm. “Well, uh, it’s not good.”

“Bo, I don’t know what to do,” David said, the words a little shaky. “I can’t transport him in my car. P-protocol is to wait for back-up to arrive. A-are you gonna make it for back-up and an ambulance?”

“Fuckin’ hope not,” Roy muttered.

David responded with a near growl rather than words. “Bo. I don’t know what to do.”

Neither did Bo. His pulse was rapid, if the constant rushing and pounding in his ears were anything to go by. He was growing lightheaded, and the edges of his vision were beginning to blur. He couldn’t let Bridget and David watch him die. They would never recover. He would not let them watch him die. “Have… have Bridget call Jamal.”

“He’s home. He left the station right after I did.”

“He is, but… eyes and ears all over… the country,” Bo said slowly. He licked his lips. “Call Jamal.”

8:30 AM; LOS ANGELES TRAUMA CENTER, CARE ROOM SEVEN

“Detective.”

Bridget lifted her head from the bed, blue eyes shifting to the doorway and landing on Jamal. “Hey,” she whispered. “Th-thanks for, umm, for getting them to let me in to see him.”

Jamal nodded. “You’re his family, no matter what the paperwork says.” He grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside Bridget, dark eyes scanning over Bo’s sleeping figure. “Has he been awake yet?”

“For short periods. They have him sedated.”

Again, the man nodded. “They stitched up some minor damage to his stomach and his bowel, but the damage to his spleen ruptured it. They removed it.”

“Jesus. God, I never should’ve called him.”

“What happened here wasn’t your fault. Bo made his own decisions, and from what I hear, at least one of those was to lock you in David’s car. You aren’t responsible for Bo’s actions or for Mister Farstead’s actions.”

Bridget sniffled, lifting her hand from Bo’s long enough to tucked her hair back behind her ear. “What… what happens now?”

“Well, Mister Farstead is in a holding cell for now. He’ll have his arraignment later today. This time, there’s going to be charges, and they’re going to stick.”

“Okay,” Bridget whispered.

Jamal laid a hand on the back of Bridget’s neck, gently pulling her to his chest. She threw her good arm around him, his suit jacket twisted between his fingers. “You deserve so much better than that piece of shit, Detective. I know that bastard convinced you that you were worthless and were nothing without him, but it’s all lies. You are an intelligent and beautiful young woman with a career all her own and her whole life ahead of her.”

Bridget nodded against his chest rather than responding. Jamal figured that was response enough. By the looks of her face, and the looks of Bo, she’d had a hell of a night.

“I don’t want you at any of your shifts this week. I want you to take the time off to rest, to heal. To breathe. You need to breathe. You need to allow yourself to exist for a few days in the way your world feels… differently now before you come back to work. Until then, you’re on paid leave. Do you understand?”

“Thanks, Chief,” Bridget whispered.

“Of course, sweetheart.” Jamal rested his chin on her head, unable to stop himself from staring at Bo again. He was so much paler than the last time Jamal had seen him, and even with the hospital blankets covering his body, it was clear he’d lost weight, not that a high metabolism and skipped meals had given him much to lose to begin with. David had said he’d seemed sober, and Jensen’s account of their little tackle in the alleyway insinuated much of the same. Still, even without living up to the binge-drinking rumors roaming around the station, the boy looked like hell.

“Do you need a place to stay, Decker?” Jamal asked.

“I-I don’t know. I’ll let you know?”

“Of course. If you need a hotel room or anything of the sort, you let me know. My LAPD family is… is always taken care of.”

Bridget shook her head against his chest. “You were so cruel to Bo when Kathy ran away.”

Jamal closed his eyes. “I know.”

“Y-you won’t turn on me too?”

“No,” Jamal whispered. “No, sweetheart, I won’t turn on you. You’re safe.”

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Chapter Five

Chapter Seven

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Highway Butcher – Chapter Five

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Chapter Five

8:00 PM; LOS ANGELES, DAVID QUINN’S APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM

From his place on the couch, Bo lifted his head as David came back into the room with two blankets and a pillow. “Thank you for offering to let me stay the night. I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”

David set the blankets on the arm of the couch before sitting down beside Bo. “You aren’t in my hair. Having you here isn’t a problem, Bo. You’re the little brother I always wanted. You aren’t a problem or an annoyance. I love you. I’d house you here forever if you’d stay.”

“But… you know that I won’t,” Bo said quietly.

“Unfortunately.” When Bo held onto his silence, David cleared his throat to break it. “So, umm, who do you think that guy was?”

“I think ‘Jensen’ isn’t a popular enough name in the U.S. for it to have been a lie. Most people giving fake names choose popular names, easy-to-forget names. Regardless, even if I had believed the reporter lie for half a second, there are no reporters in L.A., or even California, named Jensen.” Bo sighed. “If you want the truth, I believe Kathy sent him.”

“Sent him for what?”

“To kill me. Maybe just threaten me. Maybe to befriend me before revealing he’s been a serial killer this whole time. I don’t know. But I do know she claims to have people on the outside who would do to me whatever she ordered them to.”

“Jesus.”

“Yes, she… is not my biggest fan, to say the least.”

“Yeah,” David said, his voice quiet. “If she was ordering someone to kill you, he would’ve done it already. He’s been following you since Clinstone. So what, six months?”

“Approximately.”

“And if he was here to threaten you, he would have.”

“I suppose.”

“And the killer thing. I don’t… I don’t think she’d do that.”

“What, you think she’s above it?”

“No, not even a little. But I know that she probably knows you aren’t out here looking for new best friends. If that was her plan, it’s a complete waste of six months. If she’s looking to torture you or make you miserable, she doesn’t need to waste any time or resources. She just needs to be herself.”

“That’s… fair,” Bo said after a moment. He let out a breath. “Whoever he is, thank you for helping me get away from him. I can only imagine he’ll find me again, but it’s… On the drive from the hotel to here, I didn’t feel like I was looking over my shoulder or being followed or being observed like some sort of caged lab experiment. It was nice. I missed that feeling. That… peace. Tranquility. Thank you.”

“No problem. If you notice him again, you let me know. The next time you tackle him, I’m arresting the bastard.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Bo said. He wasn’t making any big promises that he’d call David for help, but he’d at least try to if it felt right at the time. “Do you… have any new games?”

“Man, I sure fucking do. The new Darksiders game came out in February. We could test out the co-op feature and kill some demons.”

“I would love that. Let’s fight Heaven and Hell.”

9:04 PM; SAN DIEGO, THE PITMAN ESTATE, JAMAL PITMAN’S OFFICE

Almost hesitantly, Jensen lowered himself into one of the chairs in front of Jamal’s desk. The older man simply stared at him, one slightly judgmental eyebrow raised. “To my credit, he tricked me,” Jensen said.

“He’s quite good at that,” Jamal said. He sighed. “We all… lose a client now and then. I mean, Franklin has certainly lost me a time or two.”

“Generally because you fire me, but okay,” Franklin said from the corner.

“I’m trying to make the boy feel better.”

Franklin met Jensen’s eyes. “He’s your first real client, whether he knows that or not. You lost a very intelligent, very skilled man. Bo has spent the majority of his life tracking down people that have slipped through our fingers. It’s what he does. I’d be more surprised if you hadn’t lost him.”

“Exactly,” Jamal confirmed. “Do I wish you hadn’t lost him? Of course. Will we find him regardless? Of course.” He held out a hand. “In the meantime, let me see the note he left you.”

Jensen pulled the folded note from his pocket and handed it over.

“Bo wrote this?” Jamal asked.

“I think so. It’s signed like Mister Austen wrote it.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“Well, it’s just… not his handwriting. It’s very shaky. Sloppy.”

“It just kinda looks like a guy wrote it,” Jensen said.

“My point exactly. Bo’s handwriting is very neat and tidy, almost like a computer wrote it. This is unfortunately very telling of his state of mind.” Jamal cleared his throat. “You said he was sober?”

“Well, he smelled sober. Maybe not showered or spritzed up with cologne, but I didn’t smell alcohol.” Jensen nodded toward the piece of paper in Jamal’s hand. “Do you have any idea what the hell he means?”

“About?”

“Kathy.”

Jamal seemed to read it over once more before sighing. “Katherine… has a habit of threatening to send ‘her people’ after someone she doesn’t like. Since she’s been imprisoned, it’s… sort of her go-to. I’ve heard it more than a time or two myself. I suppose she must be saying it to Bo, as well.”

“Why? He’s just a lab geek, right? And, I mean, he’s not even that anymore. Now he’s just… a dude.”

“I mean, he is a big part of why she’s in prison. She certainly hasn’t forgotten that.”

“She’s why she’s in prison. She harbored a fugitive and housed her children with a known serial killer,” Jensen said.

“Yes, but we wouldn’t have found her without Bo. I needed him for that, and he also testified against them in court.”

“So… she just drops all of her own responsibility to it and blames Mister Austen?”

“That’s kind of just… Yes. That’s what she does. It’s who she is. Katherine isn’t one who prefers to take ownership of the messes she has put herself in.”

“I-I don’t understand. Until she met Dallas, Kathy was great. I mean… yeah, maybe she didn’t make as much of an effort as she could have to see me, but she was busy working, and I was so far away, and…”

Jamal cleared his throat, turning away for a moment as he scratched the back of his neck. “Our perceived memories of people we care about are often less than honest. Katherine may not quite be the caring ‘Momma K’ you remember from your younger years, is all I’ll say.”

“That’s not ‘all you’ll say’. You can’t say something like that and then move the hell on with the conversation.”

“She made sure the strings I pulled were in her favor, that she was the one who adopted you. And then she dumped you on Chance and Mercedes the first chance she got and saw you, what, once a year? Generally plastered off her ass?”

Jensen’s brow furrowed before he shook his head. “No.”

“Right,” Jamal said, his voice soft. “Our brain is a self-protecting organ, Jensen. It does things to itself to protect us from what it’s seen and what it remembers. Your brain remembers Katherine as the detective who saved you from the worst nightmare of your life. It has gone to great measures to protect that memory.”

“Whatever.” Briefly, Jensen braced himself for whatever scolding would follow that particular comment, but it didn’t.

Instead, Jamal only nodded. “What Katherine does or doesn’t do isn’t important. The reality, no matter what she believes, is that she doesn’t have anyone walking around ready to kill people at her command. She’s just a middle-aged woman locked up in prison. Nothing more. Nothing less. Bo is safe from her. It’s himself we have to truly worry about. Which is why we’ll get him found, and we won’t let him lose us a second time. Okay?”

“Okay.”

11:57 PM; LOS ANGELES, DAVID QUINN’S HOUSE, LIVING ROOM

Bo grabbed his cell phone from David’s coffee table, brow furrowed. Bridget Decker’s name flashed at the top of his screen. He hadn’t spoken to Bridget since shortly after returning to Los Angeles post-Surgeon case. Her boyfriend had been pissed about her meeting ‘a fucking man’ at the airport and more or less forbade them from speaking again. Bo hated it, and hated him, but Bridget hadn’t been willing to listen to reason. Bo understood the psychology behind that, but it hadn’t made the clear-cut separation hurt any less. It hadn’t made him any less worried for her safety.

He glanced back at the kitchen to confirm David was still busy watching the popcorn in the microwave before accepting the call and pressing his phone to his ear. “Bridge?”

“Bo,” she whispered. “I need you.”

“What… what’s going on?”

“I need to leave him. I need to. Now. Right now. I need your help. I’m so sorry, Bo. You were right. Please. I’m so sorry.”

“H-hey, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, Bridge. I-I’m with David right now. I can bring David, a-and we can help. Okay?”

“I don’t want David to see me.”

Coldness settled in Bo’s bones. “I’ll kill him.”

“Bo,” she whispered. “It’s not bad. I-it could’ve been worse. But I don’t know Dave like I know you. I don’t want him to see me. Please.”

“I-I don’t have a car anymore. But I can have him wait outside.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Bo echoed. “Are you alone?”

“Yes. He’s on a booze run.”

“Okay. Stay on the phone with me. We’ll be there soon.”

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Chapter Four

Chapter Six

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Highway Butcher – Chapter Four

NOT EDITED

Chapter Four

7:00 PM; LOS ANGELES, THE ATLANTIS HOTEL, PARKING LOT

A young man sat in the driver’s seat of a car parked in the hotel’s front parking lot, one hand toying with his lanyard, spinning it around his hand, unwinding it, spinning it the opposite direction. It was more or less the only ‘entertainment’ he was allowed most nights. In January, Jamal Pitman had hired a bodyguard of sorts to watch over Bo, to make sure he didn’t do anything dangerous with that self-hatred and death wish of his. Of course, he had been hired without Bo’s knowledge, which made him more of a spy and less of a guard, but the man had adjusted quite well to that. Jamal had explained it wasn’t really spying if he wasn’t listening in on all of Bo’s conversations or taking pictures of him through car windows. It was simply guarding from afar in case of danger. He had grown to accept that line of thought the best that he could.

For the first time that day, his phone rang, Jamal’s name flashing at the top of the screen. He glanced up at Bo’s hotel blanket-covered window again before accepting the call. “Good evening, sir.”

“Jensen. How’s my boy?”

“Detective Quinn turned up at the hotel about half an hour ago. Mister Austen’s window is still covered, but I can only assume that’s where Quinn has gone. I haven’t seen Mister Austen today.”

“Did you see the prostitute again?”

“Yes, she had a forensic magazine with her today. There’s no way she’s there for anyone other than Mister Austen.”

“I want you to get pictures of her the next time she shows up. I want her name.”

“I feel like I’m probably cute enough to get that from her without running her picture through the system.”

Jamal snorted. “She likely doesn’t give her Johns her real name, Jensen. I need her real name.”

After a moment, Jensen nodded. He glanced out the driver’s side window. Briefly, it had almost sounded like someone had knocked on it, but no one was there. “Okay. Pictures the next time I see her. You got it.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“When he switched to this hotel.”

“Mm. So he’s not smoking anymore?” Jamal asked.

“I don’t know. I guess not. Sometimes I sit in the front, sometimes I sit in the back. He hasn’t come out since he arrived.” His green eyes snapped back to his window again. Another knock. Another absolute lack of the knocker. He cleared his throat. “Pardon my forwardness, sir, but… I still think it would be easier to bodyguard him and know how he’s doing if I were, umm, allowed to make contact?”

“Someday. As is, Bo would very much not be a fan of knowing I assigned you to him.”

Jensen closed his eyes as he scratched at his temple. “Do you think… that’s maybe a sign we shouldn’t be, y’know… stalking him?”

“I can hire a different man for the job if you’re incapable of doing it.”

“I’m capable,” Jensen said after a moment. “I’m just worried it isn’t the best approach.”

“Jensen, I’m choosing to be civil because you’re family, whether Katherine likes it or not, but I have been doing this far longer than you have been alive, and this is the best approach. When it is time to make contact, I will let you know. Until then, you sit, you watch, you protect, and you report. Are we clear?”

“Crystal, sir.” Jensen’s eyes drifted over to his window again. This time, he saw a rock hit his window before falling to the ground. “I’m sorry, sir, uh, someone is throwing rocks at my car. Is this a ‘drive to a different parking space’ situation or a ‘get out and see what’s going on’ situation?”

“Get out, find them, see what they’re doing there. Don’t let your guard down.”

“Okay. I’ll call you back in a few, sir.”

“Mmhmm.”

Jensen pulled his phone back and ended the call, tossing the device onto his dash. He climbed out of the car and locked the doors, just in case, before tucking his lanyard into the pocket of his dress pants. He pulled his flashlight from his jacket and flipped it on. He checked around the car and under it. At least he could rule out any lurkers there.

He spun around as a small rock hit him in the back. He locked eyes with a man across the parking lot. Quinn? “I can see you,” Jensen said.

David Quinn, or his imposter, bolted. Jensen groaned before chasing after him. David skidded into the alleyway beside the hotel. Jensen followed. He probably wasn’t allowed to tackle one of Jamal’s detectives, but he could still grab him and find out what the hell he was doing.

The air exploded from Jensen’s lungs before his back felt the impact of the alleyway’s gravel beneath him. He scrambled for his gun, which his attacker quickly disarmed him of, dropping the magazine to the ground and holding the empty gun well out of Jensen’s reach. Jensen grunted as a foot came down on his chest. When his attacker leaned down, Jensen’s heart skipped a beat.

Something about Bo fucking Austen tackling him, disarming him, and keeping him pinned down was far hotter than it was scary.

Jensen was pretty sure a few of the connections in his brain were a little haywire for that conclusion to be the one he’d drawn, but Bo’s hair was all disheveled, and his flannel was only half-buttoned, and God, why did he look so good in a pair of Levi’s?

“Who the hell are you and why the hell are you following me?” Bo asked.

“Umm… Jensen?” he offered.

“Jensen who?”

“Jensen… a reporter.”

“A reporter,” Bo echoed. He leaned down a little further, applying just a bit more pressure to Jensen’s chest with his foot. “What the hell is a reporter doing following me around?”

“Writing… a story?”

“Mm. What kind of story?”

“Uh…” Jensen cleared his throat. “The mental health effects of being neurodivergent in a neurotypical work environment?”

“Is that a question or an answer, Jensen?”

This was a horrible time for Jensen’s authority figure thing to rear its head, but rear it did. He’d already thought Bo was cute on a normal day. But using that ‘bossman’ tone? Jesus Christ. “Umm… mm. What was the question?”

Bo sighed, rolling his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. If your story subject is true, you’ve chosen the wrong neurodivergent to stalk. I’m not in a workplace anymore.”

“I actually think that makes you the best neurodivergent to tastefully follow in hopes of getting the opportunity to ask a few questions. You left the workplace because of the way you were treated for being different than the others, didn’t you?”

“I left the workplace because I wanted to kill myself.” Bo raised a brow. “You’re terrible at your job.”

“Okay, but why did you want to?”

Bo’s expression changed to something almost thoughtful before softening entirely. He lifted his foot from Jensen’s chest and held his gun out to him. Jensen grabbed it, quickly sitting up to grab the magazine Bo had tossed to the ground earlier. “Reporters don’t carry guns.”

“They do if they’re digging around in the wrong places.”

“Well, at least we can confirm that I am, indeed, the wrong place to look for your little story.”

“Not you. Thugs and such. I’m a deep-dive kinda guy.”

“Mmhmm.”

Jensen cleared his throat. “So, uh… any chance I could take you out for a drink and ask a few questions?”

Bo watched him for a long moment before nodding. “Yes.” He pulled a key card from the breast pocket of his flannel and held it out to Jensen. “I have drinks. I no longer go out for them. Come up when you have your reporter tools assembled.”

“Deal.”

Bo stuck out a hand, which Jensen gladly accepted and allowed the short blonde to pull him up. Standing on his own two feet again, and closer to Bo than he’d ever been, the ‘short’ description didn’t quite seem to be enough. He had a good four to six inches on Bo.

Height discrepancy or not, Bo had gotten a hell of a drop on him and knocked his ass to the ground like it was as easy for him as breathing. Hot and impressive.

“I will see you upstairs.”

“Thank you, Mister Austen. I just need to grab my things from my car.”

“Mmhmm.” Bo dusted his hands down the front of his shirt, clearing his throat. “I’ll see you up there, then.”

Jensen nodded and headed back for the car, practically sprinting once he’d made it out of the alley and back into the parking lot. He slid into the car and grabbed his phone, selecting Jamal’s number from his speed dial the second the screen was unlocked. He set it to speaker as he rifled through his glove box in search of anything reporter-like. A tape recorder would be nice, but he’d even accept a pen and paper.

“Jensen.”

“Sir, I have made contact.”

Jamal sighed. “He was throwing the rocks?”

“Well, I think Detective Quinn was. He got me into the alley, and Mister Austen side-swiped me, knocked me down.”

The old bastard laughed. “I’m glad he’s still got it. You, on the other hand, might need a bit of brushing up on your skills. I’m not sure getting taken down by a short lab geek bodes well for your bodyguarding abilities.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t accounting for a second guy.”

“You should from now on. There’s always room for a dozen subjects you’ve never seen before to leap out from the darkness.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Good. What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t mention the bodyguarding. Or you. I told him I was a reporter writing a story about being neurodivergent in the workplace. He’s agreed to answer a few questions, so I’m going to come up with whatever I can and head on up.”

“Get a good look at the room, see what’s going on up there. It’s the best look inside his head you’re going to get.”

“I will, sir.”

“Good. Let me know how it goes.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll be in touch.”

After successfully finding a pen and a little pad of paper, Jensen grabbed his phone, tucked his gun back into its holster, and headed up to the hotel. On the second floor, Jensen found his way to Bo’s room and used the keycard to open the door to the… very empty room.

Jensen groaned, closing the door behind him. “Shifty little shit,” he whispered. Cute little shit. Fucking adorable little shit, in that damn purple flannel shirt. But shifty, nonetheless.

A search of the room had revealed very little about Bo or his state of mind. The odd partially drank beer bottle here and there, the partially empty bottle of over-the-counter supplements meant to help with sleep, the relatively fresh pot of coffee on the counter.

The little note Bo had left for him, however, told him a little more. ‘To: Liar’ was written in on the outside of a folded piece of paper on the back of the couch. Jensen snorted, reaching out to flip it open.

You are so horrifically terrible at lying that it’s almost humorous. And your inability to determine a lie stated directly to your face might actually be a security concern in whatever gun-toting line of work you’re in. If you’re working for Kathy, just shoot me next time. If you can find me.

  • Neurodivergent in the Workplace

“Kathy,” Jensen repeated. “What the fuck does Kathy have to do with this?”

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Chapter Three

Chapter Five

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Highway Butcher – Chapter Three

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Chapter Three

6:30 PM; LOS ANGELES, THE ATLANTIS HOTEL, PARKING LOT

After Bo successfully ignored all of his text and call attempts, David climbed out of his car and headed up for the door. As long as Bo hadn’t switched rooms, he’d be on the second floor. For a while, he had practically been playing musical chairs with different rooms and different hotels, but he’d been at The Atlantis for almost a month now. It was the first sign of any true stability he had seen in Bo’s life in a disturbingly long time.

David rode the elevator up to the second floor and headed for Room 213. After taking a moment to prepare himself for whatever state Bo might be in, he rapped two knuckles on the door. He heard shuffling inside and several lock clicks before Bo pulled the door open a crack, quickly filling the crack with his body. His hair was shaggy and a little greasy. He was wearing the same purple flannel he’d been in the last time David had seen him, though it wasn’t even buttoned up today, and he was pretty sure the small probable-coffee stain on the thigh of his jeans had been there last time too.

He’d known Bo would be in bad shape, but even at his lowest point during the Kathy-Dallas case, he had still been showering and changing clothes. The roots of Bo’s depression were buried so damn deep in him that no amount of unidentified dead women would bring him outside.

“David,” Bo said when it was clear David wasn’t going to start the conversation. “What, uh… mm.” He glanced up, clearing his throat. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just, umm, just thought I’d visit. See how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bo, you don’t have to lie to me.”

Bo shook his head, offering a little shrug. “It’s not a lie. I’m fine.”

“When was the last time you showered?”

“What’s today?”

“Umm, Sunday?”

“No, I mean the actual literal day. The month and the number.”

Jesus. “June fourteenth.”

“Mm. June,” Bo whispered. “Sometime last month, probably.”

“What if we get you a quick shower and a change of clothes, huh? And then we could go grab a bite somewhere. That diner with the pie you like?”

“That’s all right.”

“What if I just hang out for a bit?”

Bo shifted in the doorway, but not enough for David to get a good look inside. He could see overtop the blonde’s head, but the sliver of visible wall behind him wasn’t exactly offering any helpful clues. “I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“My schedule is totally clear. Come on, we used to hang out all the time. Whaddya say? Don’t even have to shower. No judgment.”

Bo shook his head. “That’s okay, thanks.”

David forced a laugh. “What, are you hiding a body in there?”

Bo didn’t look amused, just… far away. Glassy-eyed. Not quite there anymore.

“I’m just fuckin’ with you,” David offered.

“I assumed.”

“I miss hangin’ out all the damn time, Bo. I don’t know what the hell to do with all my free time anymore. I miss you. I miss having my best friend around.”

Bo chewed on the corner of his bottom lip. “We can go out.”

“Perfect,” David whispered. “Yeah, absolutely, man. You name the place and we’ll go.”

“Sure.” Bo cleared his throat. “Just a moment.” He leaned back just enough to close the door.

David sighed, leaning his forehead against it as one of the locks clicked. “You’re not leaving that room, are you?”

“I’m sorry, David,” Bo said from the other side of the door.

“Talk to me, Bo. Tell me what’s going on in your head. Let me help you.” David waited for a response but didn’t receive one. “Bo, I don’t care what’s going on in there. I don’t care if you do have a corpse in there. Let me help you figure it out.”

He heard Bo twist the lock again. He pulled open the door, far enough to expose the room this time. He grabbed David’s sleeve and tugged him inside, quickly closing the door behind him. David’s eyes scanned the room before settling on the woman seated on the bed. The ridiculously tall high heels, the pink short-shorts, and the yellow crochet halter top told David pretty much all he needed to know.

She reapplied her lipstick and touched up the corners with her pinky before tucking the makeup and her application mirror back into her purse. She stood up and made her way over to both men, reaching around Bo to cup a hand around his hip. “I’ll see you in a few days, sweetheart. You let me know what you need.”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“Mmhmm.” She looked David up and down, a cute little smile playing around either corner of her mouth. “You have the cutest friends, Bo.”

“Okay, shoo,” Bo said with the tiniest chuckle David had ever heard.

She laughed, slipped past David, and left the room.

“So… you were hiding a hooker?”

“Sex worker. And no, I wasn’t hiding her. I would’ve asked her to stand in the bathroom before you came in if I were hiding her,” Bo said as he made his way back to the bed. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, hands in his lap. “I’m not sleeping with her, if that’s your assumption. She brings me food every few days, and I pay her for an hour of her time. She gets a paid break, and I don’t have to leave the building. It’s a win-win.”

“Right,” David said slowly. “So… what are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

“Right,” he repeated. He crossed the room and sat down beside Bo. He took another look around the room, this time catching the blanket hanging on the wall. “Okay, surely you know that looks like you’re hiding something.”

Bo followed his gaze. “It’s blocking a window.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to look out it. Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t. Not really. I just want to know what’s going on in here, in there,” David said, touching two fingers to Bo’s temple. “I want to be able to help you, Bo. Like the old days.”

“The old days,” Bo echoed. “You say that like it was a million years ago.”

“At this point, it might as well be. I just… Christ, Bo. I miss you, man. I miss going down to the lab and talking with you. I miss running out for some greasy fast food and sitting in the car in the parking lot while we ate. I miss going out for drinks with you and Bridget. I miss you coming over to binge-play a new video game on release night. I miss solving crimes with you.” Gently, Daid elbowed him in the side. “Don’t you miss it too?”

“I… don’t know,” Bo said after a moment. “If you want transparency, honesty, I try to stay… numb these days. If I don’t, if I allow myself to truly feel things and focus on the way those things feel, this… this crushing darkness presses down on my shoulders and in on my chest, and it twists my stomach all kind of horrid ways, and it squeezes on my heart and makes the edges of my vision dark, and…” He cleared his throat. “Well, I try not to focus on it.”

“You need help, Bo,” David whispered. “I-I mean, you can’t even leave your hotel room. Even if you’re numb, you have to know that’s not you.”

“I can leave the hotel room, I simply choose not to.” Bo dropped to his back on the bed, one arm shielding his eyes from the overhead light. “Someone is following me, David. Watching me.”

“What, like Jamal?”

“No, I don’t know who it is. It’s not a suspiciously nice or expensive car like Jamal would have someone drive. He’s everywhere I go. The station, the diner, the grocery store, the damn park. I even saw him in Clinstone a couple times. He’s watching me. I just don’t know why or what he’s planning to do about it.”

Most people would probably blame Bo’s certainty on being stalked on alcohol-driven paranoia, but despite what the rumors were at the station, Bo’s hotel room was primarily booze-free. There was a half-drank beer on the little coffee table by the couch, and there was one with a few sips missing on the nightstand, but the absolute lack of condensation insinuated it had been there for quite some time. Long enough to condensate, long enough to warm to room temperature, long enough for the condensation to completely go away. Bo was drinking, sure, but he wasn’t an alcoholic. Hell, from the looks of it, David drank more after work than Bo did. Most cops drank more than Bo did.

“Have you gotten a good look at him?”

“No, his windows are tinted a little too well for a good enough look. I’ve never seen him get out of the car, either. I never see him following me, just watching after I’ve settled into a singular location.”

“Have you checked you car for a tracking device?”

“Oh, yes, many times. And my phone. And my satchel. I’ve checked everything.”

“So he’s good at following undercover. He’s just bad at watching undercover.”

“I suppose.” Bo lifted his arm long enough to meet David’s gaze. “You believe me?”

“Of course I do. If you’ve seen this guy’s car, if you’ve seen him everywhere you go, you’re being watched. I don’t doubt that for even a second. I don’t doubt you for even a second.” David grabbed Bo’s wrist and lifted his arm again, forcing him to look his way once more. “Let’s find out who this fucker is. Like old times.”

Bo cracked the tiniest of smiles, but by God, it was there. “Like old times.”

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Chapter Two

Chapter Four

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Highway Butcher – Chapter Two

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Chapter Two

5:00 PM; WEST LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT, DETECTIVE DAVID QUINN’S DESK

David lifted his head as Travis tossed a thin stack of papers onto his keyboard. “So I’m guessing nothing helpful?”

“No, nothing more than what we already assumed, honestly. Marks match the lacerations on the first victim to a T. Fingerprints didn’t pull up any matches, and neither did her blood. Bloodwork itself is pretty standard. No drugs, no booze. No food in the stomach or small intestine, so she likely hadn’t eaten in at least eight hours. She’d been dead about two hours when we found her. The arm was removed pretty much the same way as the first victim. He sliced through and around the shoulder joint. Probably dislocated the shoulder first to get it out of the socket.”

“That’s fucking brutal. How hard is it to dislocate a shoulder like that?”

“Usually, you’d be looking at a sporting accident or vehicular something or other, but her body doesn’t show any bruising or scraping indicative of a car strike. When you’re in a fight or trying to subdue someone, bones in the arm usually kinda… give way and break before you’d successfully dislocate the shoulder. You’d usually have to incapacitate them first to get a good grab and pop of it. Since the removal of the arm happened after she was dead, the dislocation probably did too. I mean, you can get more leverage on someone who isn’t fighting you back anymore, and leverage is what you need.”

“God, I hope she was dead.”

“Yeah, about the best thing we can hope for.”

“Yeah,” David echoed. “Thanks, Travis.”

“Mmhmm.”

David cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, sorry for getting on your case about Bo today. As long as you’re doing your job and doing it well, it doesn’t really matter if you like Bo or not.”

Travis shrugged. “It’s whatever. If you wanna suck the guy’s dick and act like he’s God’s gift to the forensic world, that’s your business. I don’t give a shit either way.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, dude. I’m trying to be civil. The absolute bare minimum for you here is to return the favor.”

“When it comes to Bo’s little fan club, this is me being civil. Couldn’t care less how you feel about the guy or how you think he’s so amazing or how you all worship the ground he walks on. Just don’t wanna hear about any of it.”

“You’re… Christ, you’re a real piece of work, Travis. I genuinely cannot believe how many years he put up with working alongside you.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy what people like Bo will put up with just so they can get told what a good little worker they are. It’s a lot like how the rest of you treat him, just hoping he’ll throw you one little bone, come back, and solve the big case for you.” Travis rolled his eyes. “We solved cases long before Bo moved to West. We’ve solved cases the million times he’s been gone. When he finally drinks himself to death, we’ll keep solving cases. He’s not the genius you all make him out to be. He’s just a self-deprecating little shit with an ever-looming little pity party, and you all play into it because it makes you feel all warm and gooey inside to cheer on the underdog or what the fuck ever.

“So while the rest of us are here doing our damn jobs every day, you go on home and hold his little hand, tell him how amazing he is, tell him how L.A. just can’t survive without him, get on your hands and knees to beg him to come back. But don’t make me hear about it.”

“God, you are bitter,” David whispered. “How the hell are you surviving even being in this damn station with that big of a chip on your shoulder?”

Travis raised an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “The lights in my office are turned on. His aren’t. Doesn’t matter how many of his little achievements Jamal hangs up on the walls. I’m here, and he’s not. I walk around in this station just fine with that knowledge.”

“How did I not realize what an insufferable dick you were?”

“Because like all of his groupies, you only work cases your boy is on.”

Although Bo had definitely worked most of David’s cases with him, he sure as hell hadn’t worked every single one. So David offered a roll of his eyes and a dismissive wave of his hand. “Get the hell away from my desk, man.”

Travis chuckled. “Gladly. But, hey, pro-tip, if you want your little blonde back? Don’t tell him how great he is and how he saves the world and shit. Just tell him a dead woman needs him. Has more respect and grace for the dead than he ever has for the living.”

“Yeah, I can see why.”

Travis snorted, threw up a little wave, and headed for the door. David let his annoyance simmer for quite some time before standing and marching his ass to Jamal’s office. He opened the door, crossing his arms over his chest as he met Jamal’s gaze.

The man stared at him for a moment, one eyebrow raised. “I’m going to have to call you back, Alessi. Excuse me.” Jamal cleared his throat as he set his phone in its cradle. “What can I do for you, David?”

“If that miserable piece of shit continues to work on this case, I cannot work it any longer.”

“Miserable piece of… Travis?”

“Yes, Travis.”

“What did he do?”

“I don’t even know where to start with that, Jamal.”

“Well, unfortunately, I’m going to need something if you want me to do anything about it. There’s a reason he still works here. Bo would never give me anything to do something about it.”

“Yeah, because that’s stopped you before?”

Jamal sighed. “These… assumptions bore me so incredibly quickly, Detective. I don’t illegally fire my employees.”

“You quite literally fired Bo for refusing to testify again Kathy and Dallas.”

“I fired Bo for repeated insubordination. Pardon my French, but I don’t fuck with the livelihood of my employees just because one of them is a little grating or a bit of an ass now and then.”

David grunted his response.

“Would you like to tell me anything, or may I get back to my phone call?” Jamal asked.

Much as he hated the way Travis existed in that very moment, he still didn’t necessarily believe in taking a man’s job from him. Not yet, anyway. “Why the hell does he hate Bo so much? I mean, did they have some sort of life-long forensic battle before I got here?”

“The year Bo took his apprenticship with the force is the same year Travis applied for the first time. He was also fresh out of college. Just… at a more standard age. Bo was chosen over him, and I suppose it pissed him off. Greatly. Bo had absolutely nothing to do with Travis not getting chosen, but like most most people who grow bitter over something, the blame is inherently placed on the wrong party. That has unfortunately not changed for Travis as the years have gone by.”

“Dude, you hired the guy you passed over for a teenager and thought things would go well?”

“First, don’t… call me dude,” Jamal said, holding his hands up as he leaned back in his chair. “I get enough of that from one of my boys. Second, to be fair, I did not know he knew he lost to Bo. Nor did I know he’d be such a vindictive little asshole about it.”

Franklin, Jamal’s personal body guard, chuckled from his seat near the corner of Jamal’s desk.

Mid reach for the pop on his desk, Jamal glared at the ceiling. “What?”

“Nothing. Just… this is the strangest conversation I have seen you have in any recent history.” He shrugged before his gaze fell back to the book in his hand. “It’s nice, is all. Despite the topic, it’s nice.”

Jamal rolled his eyes, smacking the air in Franklin’s direction. He grabbed his pop and twisted off the cap. “What would you like me to do, David?”

“I… I just can’t work with him.”

“Dylan will be back in a few days. Unless another armless woman turns up dead before then, I won’t send you anywhere Travis goes, and I won’t send Travis anywhere you go. Does that sound all right?”

“Yeah. Umm… thank you.”

“Mmhmm.” Jamal took a sip of his Coke, clearing his throat as he set it back down. “I know your opinions of me are mixed, at best, and that’s my fault. But I still try to do what’s best for my employees. The way I treated Bo to try and push him away and bury my own shame and guilt and God only knows what else… It was cruel and unnecessary. I don’t expect you to ever forget that or forgive me for what I did to him, how I made him feel, but I’m still going to try to make you both know that I’m trying to undo the damage I have done. So… this thing with Travis. If it gets worse, I need you to tell me so something can be done about it. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Chief.”

Jamal nodded. “Let me know how things go with Bo.”

“I’ll do my best to keep you posted. Night, Pitman, Frank.”

“Mm. See you tomorrow, Quinn.”

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Chapter One

Chapter Three

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Highway Butcher – Chapter One

NOT EDITED

Chapter One

Sunday: June 14, 2020

8:00 AM; LOS ANGELES

Detective David Quinn stared down at a young woman’s naked corpse for the second time in just as many weeks. Two weeks, two corpses hacked at with a meat cleaver, two missing arms, and zero leads.

“Do we know who she is?” David asked.

Travis snorted, tilting his camera back against his shoulder. “Who do you think I am? Bo?”

“Not gonna lie, man, that’d be nice.”

“Well, you’re shit outta luck. Jamal never had his little inventor doodads installed station-wide, and Bo didn’t exactly leave his cell behind for us when he dipped.”

“He didn’t ‘dip’. He just needs a break.”

“Sure, if one hell of an alcoholic binge is a ‘break’.”

“Watch it.”

Travis offered a shrug before going back to photographing the deep laceration across the woman’s throat. “You know, the rest of us were solving cases long before Bo came around and made his little gizmos, and we’ve solved cases since he left us for Clinstone and then left them for booze. We’ll ID the woman and be fine. I just need more than two seconds to do it.”

David chose to do both Travis and himself a favor and ignore the booze comment. “It’s been two weeks, and we still don’t know who the hell Victim One is.”

“Which I’m sure is the dude’s goal when he’s hunting down women to kill. Probably prostitutes. Not exactly an uncommon type of victim, Quinn.”

David gestured to the woman with his coffee cup. “You think he chose this ‘prostitute’ while she was working, wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and a windbreaker on a June evening in Los Angeles?”

“I said ‘probably’. Jesus, Bo’s ‘no assumption’ thing might just be the one thing he did right.”

“His ‘no assumption’ thing is because you and Kathy harassed him for daring to think his opinion was worth anything if she was on a case.”

Travis smiled for a split second—annoyed or cocky, David wasn’t quite sure. “Right.”

David took a sip of his coffee, giving himself a moment to think rather than attack. As Bo had told him many times when they had worked together, not everyone liked him, and that was okay. Bo would hate knowing David had defended him to Travis for even a second. “What do you know? Actually, genuinely know.”

Travis snorted, shaking his head. “Well, I can tell you that she’d dead, David. That’s what I genuinely know. If you want a few assumptions that won’t offend you, the hack and slashing done here looks like it came straight from the first body. If this wasn’t done with a meat cleaver by the same guy who killed the first woman, I’d be blown the fuck away.”

“And the arm, that was hacked off after she was dead?”

“Oh, yeah. She was dead.”

“So the only good thing we’ve got going for us is that the victim only has to live through the pain of being stabbed over and over again and not the pain of having her arm chopped away at.”

“That’s more a good thing for the victim.” Travis glanced up at the sky before offering a shrug. “Sort of. ‘Good’ is probably stretching it.”

“Probably,” David echoed. “Let me know when you’re able to confirm the weapon?”

“Yep.”

“Okay,” David whispered. He turned and started back toward his car, surprised to see Jamal Pitman seated in the passenger seat. He ducked under the crime scene tape and pulled open the driver’s side door. “Morning, Chief.”

“Morning.” Jamal gestured to the driver’s seat. Clearing his throat, David slid into the car and closed the door behind him. Jamal watched him a little more intently than necessary as he fitted his coffee cup into the center cup holder. “Have you spoken to Bo lately?”

“Not since last month. He usually ignores my calls.”

“Mm.”

“Have… you?”

“I don’t try. I get the impression it would make things worse.”

David scoffed.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just… glad you finally realized that. Hell of a late realization, but we all need to get there eventually.” It felt dangerous to blatantly state it, what with Jamal’s rumored murderous extra-curriculars and the gun holstered on the police chief’s hip, but it seemed unlikely he’d kill him right in front of a crime scene with so many witnesses scattered about, phones out and recording to see who could garner the most views on YouTube or TikTok.

“Yes,” Jamal said after a long silence. “I’m aware I heavily contributed to Bo’s state of mind. I did not open the wound, but I helped it fester. I’m aware of my responsibility there, David.”

David cleared his throat. “What do you need, Chief?”

“Do you know why he’s not staying at his house any longer?”

“He’s selling it.”

“Is he leaving California?”

“No.”

“Then… why? Is he moving back with his parents?”

David shifted in his seat, eyes scanning the crime scene he so desperately wanted to see his little blonde friend at. “No. He believes that, uh, that he’s robbing someone else of the house, someone who’s more alive than he is.”

“Jesus.” Jamal rubbed a hand over his short hair. “So he’s still actively accounting for ending his life?”

“Yes and no, I, umm, I guess. He knows he doesn’t want to be alive, but he isn’t planning out how to make it happen. He’s just passively drinking himself to death, I think.”

Jamal nodded. “I need you to show him this case.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jamal.”

“Not for me. Not for you. For him. Working a case no one else has made progress on? You really don’t think that’ll help him?”

“I don’t know,” David admitted. “Besides, I showed him the case file when the first woman was murdered. He said he wasn’t interested.” Bo’s actual phrasing had of course been a bit more self-deprecating. ‘I can’t help you, Dave. There is no part of my soul or mind capable of helping you solve a case anymore.’

“There’s a second victim now. Try again.”

“If I got him to say yes, and that’s a damn big ‘if’, you know how that would go over? The shit Travis would put him through when he got back to the station?”

“Don’t worry about Travis. If you get Bo to come back, Travis will not be a problem. You have my word.”

David chuckled, shaking his head. “No offense, Chief, but your word doesn’t mean shit to me. You told Bo that no one would ever mistreat him at West Department the way he’d been mistreated before his relocation. And look what you did to him.”

“I know,” Jamal said, his voice soft. “I did not… handle Katherine’s departure well, and I will never be able to make up for what I did to him. But giving up on trying is allowing Bo to think he doesn’t belong here. Not just L.A., but the Earth itself. I won’t allow him to think that. I will not allow him to drink himself to death while thinking there isn’t a single place on this Earth that he deserves to live happily in.” He blew out a harsh breath. “I won’t allow Bo to die thinking he’s a worthless piece of shit.”

David drew in a long breath, releasing it as he offered a nod. “Tonight, after I have this woman’s details added to the file, I’ll show it to him and see what I can get from him. Maybe a second unidentified woman will entice him out of the dark fucking abyss he’s sitting in. I can’t promise that it will, but I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask. Let me know how it goes.”

“Sure thing, Chief.”

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Chapter Two

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Surgeon – Epilogue

NOT EDITED

Epilogue

Sunday: May 31, 2020

6:00 AM; LOS ANGELES, LAS VIRGENES ROAD

The thing about crimes of opportunity is that there’s no time for planning. No time to pursue the stores for your weapon of choice. No time to decide if you commit it during the day or at night. No time to decide if you bring a gun or knife, if you catch them off guard or get their attention before striking, let them put up a fight.

The crime simply presented itself. The when and how were up to the universe, not the perpetrator. The only thing left up to the perp, really, was if they followed through on the opportunity the universe had blessed them with.

And with a cute little hitchhiker like her, out in the middle of nowhere, thumb stuck out on a dark road to hell, how could they not?

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I need to work on the cover for The Highway Butcher, and then we’ll dive into book two!

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Chapter Thirty-Four

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Surgeon – Chapter Thirty-Four

NOT EDITED

Chapter Thirty-Four

5:00 PM; LOS ANGELES, THE ROGER ROOM

Bo didn’t have to look up to place the footsteps approaching his booth. “Did you stalk me here, or does this just happen to be your lunchtime booze run?”

“I didn’t stalk you, but I… did come here for you,” Jamal said. “May I have a seat?”

“How’d you know I was here if not for stalking?”

“Eyes and ears all over the country, Bo.”

“Right,” Bo whispered. He gestured to the other side of the booth before wrapping his hand around his long-since-warm beer bottle again. Jamal cleared his throat as he sat down across from him. “So… to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Though I generally wish Franklin had kept his mouth shut, he was right to do what he did. And he’s been right for years. Right that… you don’t deserve the way I treat you. That the universe doesn’t determine which way to push you based upon how much I make you hate yourself.” 

“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” Bo said after a moment.

“I’m not sure, either.” Jamal rubbed a hand along one side of his jaw, dark eyes focused on the bartender. When his gaze finally dragged back to Bo’s face, his expression was softer than Bo had seen it in years. “There are unfortunately two sides to the twisted coin in my mind. Would you like to hear them?”

Bo offered a shrug before taking a sip of his less-than-appealing beer. “Sure.”

“On one hand, just about every child I have taken under my wing has betrayed me, is a killer, was a killer, wants to be a killer, or runs away with a killer. On the other hand, most everyone I’ve ever loved is dead, dying, or hates every aspect of my being. I wanted to push you away from both sides of the coin. I couldn’t have you… dying. I couldn’t have you turning to homicide, either. I thought I could handle you hating me, but I couldn’t handle the other possibilities. I was trying to push you away, but you kept coming back. And I… I unfortunately couldn’t stop myself from letting you come back. It doesn’t justify how I’ve treated you. It doesn’t make up for it. It doesn’t erase it. But Franklin is right. You deserve the why. You deserve to know it isn’t you, it’s me. You did nothing wrong to deserve it. You aren’t worthless. You aren’t trash. You aren’t gum beneath my shoe. You are Bo fucking Austen, and you have not deserved a single iota of the shit I or the rest of the world have ever thrown at you.” Jamal held his hands out for a moment, almost gesturing to the invisible pile of shit he had dumped before Bo. “That’s it. That’s all I wanted.”

“Kathy running away with Dallas… That’s what triggered it? The… the drinking, I mean.”

“That’s why I relapsed, yes.”

“You were an alcoholic before that?”

“Mm. Recovering, I suppose. Once you fall on it to cope once, it’s hard not to be tempted by it to cope again.”

“Why…?” Bo blew out a harsh breath. “I know you raised her. I know she was a daughter to you. I know you loved her. But why? Why did her leaving cause all of this? I-I mean, if I had run away, would you have taken it out on her?”

“You wouldn’t have run away,” Jamal said after a moment. “Katherine knew that if she had come to me when she found out about Dallas, I would have helped her. Helped him. She knew that, and she chose to flee. She chose to pack up her family, my family, and flee with a serial killer.” Jamal grabbed Bo’s bottle cap from the table, staring at it as he flipped it between his fingers. “You… you would have come to me if you had found out about Dallas before she did. You would have gotten Dallas help, like you did with that Vivian woman you helped way back when. You and Katherine are so fundamentally different that I can’t even begin to imagine a world where I could honestly answer that question.”

If nothing else, Jamal was probably right. One of the very first cases Bo had worked, when he had discovered the killer had been instructed to kill by the voices in her head, voices she had been battling her whole life, he had forced her to take him hostage at knifepoint until it was guaranteed that she would get psychological help instead of county jail and then prison. Had it been an intelligent thing to do? No. Had it worked? Yes. If Dallas had confided in Bo instead of Kathy, he would have done the same, and Jamal would have gotten Dallas help instead of prison.

Jamal stopped toying with the bottle cap only long enough to set Bo’s ID on the table and slide it over to the blonde. “If you don’t want to be at the LAPD anymore, I understand, and I support you in that decision. But if you do, your office and your badge will always be waiting for you. I’ll spend my days in one of the other stations if I’m the only true problem, if everything else can be overcome. I can move Detective Decker to the West Department, and then you’ll have two detectives you like in the same building.”

“I… It isn’t a matter of who I like or don’t like, or who likes me or hates me. It’s that I’ve spent the last thirty years living in a brain in a body in a world that doesn’t want me in it. The way I feel, the way I think? I-it isn’t compatible with… with life anymore. A-and for a long time, getting to work forensics was enough to keep me going because it gave me something I truly love doing, but it hasn’t been enough in a very long time.”

Jamal cleared his throat. “I… am aware that you were considering ending your life while you were in Clinstone. I had hoped having a solved case under your belt would… improve your worldview in some sense.”

“You knew?” Bo asked, his brow furrowed. “Jesus, Jamal. Please tell me you didn’t buy out the damn bartender in Clinstone to tattle on me.”

Jamal shook his head. “I haven’t bought out anyone in Clinstone. There’s nothing in Minnesota that I… meddle in, buying out bartenders included. No, I followed you to the bar instead of heading to my hotel room for the night. I was in the parking lot when the bartender told the Mason kid about what you had said inside. I was… I was worried about you, but I knew my distance was likely to be better than my presence. For quite some time now, I believe that’s been the case for you. And I understand why. But I can’t…” He cleared his throat again. “Your life is worth living, Bo. You deserve to live long enough to find your happy ending.”

“I don’t believe that there is one, Jamal.”

“I-I can move you to Iowa. Back in Ellepath. You liked that little station there, didn’t you? The people were okay?”

Bo snorted. “They’ve already had the misfortune of their lab tech murdering people and their school bus driver murdering kids. They don’t need me to be another stain on their town.”

“Stain? Bo, any town that you work in is a town that is undeniably lucky and honored to have you protecting them. You are not a stain on any town.”

“I should’ve known,” Bo whispered.

“Should’ve known… what?”

“That Dallas was Hangman. I-I should’ve known. I worked with him day in and day out for years. I lived with him. Drank with him. Shared late night secrets by the campfire with him. I should’ve known. I should have figured it out long before Kathy did. M-maybe I knew, deep down. Maybe I knew and hid it to keep him out of prison. And that? That makes me a stain on any town I will ever walk into, Jamal.”

Jamal shifted, cleared his throat. “When Dallas was a teenager, his father was murdered. I’m sure you know that?”

“I do.”

“I worked said murder. By the end of it, I was pretty sure Dallas was the one who did it. Father was an abusive piece of shit, Dallas was finally fed up with it, and… beat the everloving shit out of him. I can’t say the man didn’t deserve it, and it’s why I let the case go cold. But despite believing he was capable of murdering his own father as a teen, I hired him without question when he applied to the LAPD. Promoted him to detective, to homicide. I gave him my blessing to marry Katherine. Congratulated him for becoming a father. You didn’t know Dallas was capable of murder, but I did.” Jamal waved a hand between them. “If you want to call one of us a stain on Los Angeles, on any town or state or station, it is not you, Bo. It’s me. It’s Katherine. We knew, and we enabled. You are not at fault for my mistakes or hers or Dallas’s.”

Bo stared at him for so long that even Jamal became uncomfortable. “You hired someone you believed to be a murderer and partnered them with me?”

“Well, he had… been with the station for a while before that. He had a partner before you.”

“A partner who died.”

“Yes,” Jamal said after a moment. “Dallas didn’t kill his partner, if that’s what you’re insinuating. He was shot and killed during a stakeout on a crack den. It… destroyed Dallas. Admittedly, at the time, I was worried it would take him back to a darker part of himself. I figured that if anyone would protect him, save him, it would be.” He gestured to Bo with the bottle cap between his first two fingers. “You had a bit of a track record for that.”

“Defending one woman who killed one person because she lost a lifelong battle to the dark voices in her head is different than defending and protecting a serial killer who murdered his father.”

“His abusive, piece of shit father who got what was coming to him.”

Bo drew in a long breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “I love Dallas. There is… no world in which I recover from that.”

“Oh,” Jamal whispered. “That’s why you don’t care that Katherine is sick.”

“No. I care, just not in the way you expect me to. I care because I know what it will do to Dallas if she dies. I care because I know what it’ll do to you. But I don’t care about Kathy for Kathy. She’s an abuser too, whether you recognize that or not. She did everything she could to cut Dallas off from the people he cared about and the people who cared about him time and time again, and when she found out he was Hangman, she finally found a way to get what she wanted. She convinced him to pack up his life and run away to a place where he would only have her. No one else. My work, whether it be in L.A. or Clinstone or Iowa or Timbuktu. It’s permanently contaminated by Kathy’s… disease. She lives in my mind, telling me what I can and can’t do. Telling me how I can and can’t live. There is no recovery from how deeply her poison is embedded in every fold of my mind. I can’t… do this anymore. I’m not a genius. I’m not an analyst. I’m not a scientist. I’m hardly even a living person anymore.” Bo slid his LAPD ID back across the table. “I can’t, Jamal.”

“I fear you won’t be able to survive without this job, Bo.”

“I can’t survive with it, either. There’s no win in any choice of this situation. Every option is a loss. So I’m… I’m going to choose this one, and whatever happens to me because of it? That isn’t your problem.”

“Bo,” Jamal said as the blonde slid out of the booth. “I’ll put you in therapy. I’ll put you in any station in any part of the world you want. Let me help you.”

“I’m not your problem,” Bo repeated. “Goodnight, Mister Pitman.”

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Chapter Thirty-Three

Epilogue

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