Page 65 of Girl, Reformed

She was just about to gather up herscattered files and begin from scratch when the door swung open. Luca rushedin, riding a caffeine high judging by the spring in his step. He planted a cupon her desk, blacker than a vampire’s heart and smelled like heaven.

‘For the lady,’ he said, and fixed herwith a grin that Ella definitely did not find charming at this time of morning.‘Breakfast of champions.’

Ella groused, but she grabbed the cupanyway. Couldn't afford to be picky about her caffeine delivery system at thispoint. 'You're a lifesaver.'

‘I got you black coffee this time. Theydon’t do lattes here.’

‘Probably for the best. Don’t tell meyou’ve been up all night.’

‘I caught about four hours, then I wenthunting.’

Ella caught his eye. ‘Hunting?’

He whipped out a plastic baggie danglingfrom his fingers like a magician doing a nickel-and-dime trick.

‘You were my first sleepover with a womanin ages, and when I woke up, I still had my clothes on. So I figured I’d dosomething useful.’

Ella leaned forward, squinting. Inside thebag were shards of something white. Jagged, like broken china. It took hercaffeine-starved synapses a second to put it together.

Then it clicked.

‘Holy hell,’ she breathed. ‘Is that what Ithink it is?’

Luca winked, the cheeky son of a bitch.‘One psycho mask, smashed to bits. Found it in an alley not far from thefountain.’

Ella gaped at him, at the baggie, herheart doing a wild tarantella. This was huge. Physical evidence, ripped rightoff the killer's face. The CSI techs might be able to pull trace, DNA. At thevery least, it proved Macklin's story. Proved that the freak was out there,scrambling to cover his tracks.

And Luca had found it. This rookie, thisQuantico wonder boy, had cracked the case wide open while Ella had beensnoozing at her desk like a damn damsel in distress. A hot flush of shamescorched through her veins, searing as a branding iron. What the hell was wrongwith her? She was supposed to be the driven one, the hungry one, the one whonever stopped moving. And here she was, catching Z's while the new kid rancircles around her.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. He’dpulled a miracle out of his backside while she’d been drooling on her casefiles, but Ella wasn’t one to argue with results.

‘You beautiful man,’ she said fervently,forcing the words past the lump of wounded pride in her throat. ‘I could kissyou.’

Luca preened. ‘Maybe later. Had to dosomething to occupy myself while you were sawing logs. Figured an early morningstroll through the crime scene couldn't hurt.’

They had to get the mask to forensicsstat. Every second they wasted was another second for the trail to go cold, forthe killer to rabbit. Ella was just about to voice this thought when ChiefHarland came barreling into the bullpen. His mug was beet red, eyes wild.

‘Dark!’ he barked. ‘Hawkins! Evidenceroom, now. Something you gotta see.’

Ella shot to her feet, suddenly wideawake. Luca grabbed the mask in his fist. They shared a charge glance then spedout into the corridor.

‘What is it, Chief?’ Ella asked, alreadymoving. ‘What'd you find?’

But Harland just shook his head, alreadyturning on his heel.

‘No time. Just move your asses.’

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Ella's heart rate reached dangerous levelsas she burst into the evidence locker with Luca hot on her heels. The room wasa claustrophobe's nightmare: cinderblock walls and metal shelves crammed withthe detritus of a thousand broken lives.

And there, squatting in the middle, wasthe wheelchair. The same damn chair their unsub had used to cart HarryShepherd's corpse to his final resting place

Ella circled it like a shark tastingblood. This thing was the key, the loose thread that could unravel this wholemess. But only if it gave up the goods, spilled its secrets like a stool pigeonunder the hot lights.

‘What's the word, Chief?’ she asked,trying to keep the hungry tremble out of her voice. ‘Tell me the lab jockeysfound something juicy on this hunk of junk. A partial print, a hair fiber, anything.’

Harland just shook his head, jerked histhumb at a nearby table. ‘Nothing on the chair. But take a gander at what wastucked in the seat pocket.’

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