Page 15 of The Butterfly Killer

“I’m sorry,” Patrice said. “I should have let you deal with it yourself, but let’s face it. You weren’t going to say anything.”

He was right. Marcus was the type of dog to roll over and play dead rather than to fight his attacker. He was the last person togo after danger which was ironic since he was a police officer. Danger was part of his job description.

Deciding he’d sat there for long enough, he stood, gathering his flash drive and closing out of his email.

Marcus went for the door. Patrice put his hand out.

“Are you mad at me?”

Marcus took a hard long look at Patrice. “No.”

It was honest, but there was a bit of a lie in there. He wasn’t really mad at Patrice. He was more so mad at himself for being such a pushover. Maybe the real reason why he didn’t want Patrice to say anything on his behalf was because he wanted to ignore how much of a problem it had gotten to become. He most likely wanted to pretend he was doing the right thing by letting everyone take a piece of him.

The only person he had to blame was himself.

He walked out of the room more put out than when Chief had talked to him. He was relieved he let the agents know what he was thinking about the case—he was confident the recent murder was a copycat. But he was still on the outside.

He was still as far away from the justice he so wanted.

Marcus was making copies of one of his reports when the door slammed open.

He jumped and whirled around as Blevins stormed into the room. He slammed the door behind him and locked it.

Marcus looked down at the doorknob. “Blevins…”

The detective’s eyes looked crazy. He walked right up to Marcus and shoved his papers out of his hands. They scattered to the floor around them.

Blevins jabbed his finger into Marcus’s chest. “What the fuck did I say? Keep your nose in your own goddamn business.”

Marcus put his hands up. “I just?—”

Blevins shoved him back against the wall. “You just what? Put out some dumbass theory that there’s a copycat? You’ve jacked the whole investigation with your fucking nonsense!”

Marcus’s chest tightened. His airway narrowed and it became hard for him to suck a breath in. His vision began to darken.

“Agent Mercer asked me to send him the information.”

Blevins snarled. “You should have kept your mouth shut in the first place!”

He shoved Marcus again and then stepped back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, seething behind it and glaring at Marcus like he was the most disgusting thing he’d laid his eyes on.

He turned around and scratched at his head. “The things I could do…”

He suddenly stopped. He put his hands on his hips, staring at the locked door. He then turned around again. Marcus backed up even though he was against the wall. There was nowhere for him to go. He put his hands up even though he knew that too wasn’t going to protect him from the silent threats Blevins was saying in his head.

Someone knocked on the door.

Blevins paused, his eyes wide and crazy as they pierced through Marcus’s soul.

The handle jiggled. “Hello? Anyone in there?”

Blevins strode across the small room, unlocked the door, and yanked it open. He leaned against it and plastered on the fakest smile. “Hey. Just having a talk with, queazy. You know, he always needs help.”

Blevins threw Marcus a look over his shoulder.

The meek newbie cop looked between the two of them. “Oh. Should I come back?”

He gestured over his shoulder.

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