Page 44 of Kiss Me Honey Hone

“Fuck! Fuck!FUCK!”

Students froze, heads snapping toward him in alarm. Whispers and glares followed as a woman rushed over.

“Excuse me!” she snapped. “You donotvandalise the library! What’s your name?”

Aaron pulled out his student ID and held it up, voice dripping with mockery. “Aaron Jones,” he said. Then, in a voice laced with bitter irony, he quoted from the notes on Child A, his tone flat yet cutting: “A troubling potential for psychotic behaviours if their emotional regulation and worldview are not actively addressed.’”

She hovered her hand over her phone, brow furrowing in confusion and alarm. “I’m calling security.”

“Don’t bother. I’m leaving.”

Aaron left the library books strewn on the table, along with the ripped pieces of Child A’s report, then shoved past the librarian, barrelled down the stairs, boots echoing with each step, and burst through the glass doors into the cold air outside.

Fury burned hot in his chest, breathing ragged, pulse pounding in his ears. But underneath the rage, something else churned: guilt, frustration, and a deep, gnawing fear that the paper Taylor had seen wasn’t just words on a page—it was a mirror.

And Kenny had held it up to him.

Chapter eleven

I’m Not The Only One

Ryston Police HQ buzzed with the usual early evening energy. The bullpen was a hive of activity. Phones rang, keyboards clacked, and murmurs of conversations filled the open-plan space. Officers in various states of uniform shuffled between desks stacked with case files, steaming coffee mugs, and hastily scribbled notes. Whiteboards lined the walls, some filled with charts, timelines, and suspect photographs, others wiped clean, waiting for the next case to unfold.

As Kenny followed PC Jenkins through it all, he was acutely aware of the curious glances from a few detectives. He wasn’t exactly a regular fixture at HQ, but his presence wasn’t uncommon either. And it usually meant they needed help on a case that wasn’t so cut and dry. His sharp blazer and academic demeanour made him stand out amidst the sea of uniforms and rolled-up shirtsleeves.

Dressed in a well-tailored suit, nose buried in his dual screen PC, thumb pressed to his lips as his eyes blinked between two monitors, Jack was so immersed in his work at a corner desk he didn’t notice Kenny and Jenkins approach until Jenkins cleared her throat.

“Boss?” Jenkins spoke cautiously, clearly aware of Jack’s aversion to being interrupted mid-thought.

Jack’s head snapped up, irritation in his eyes before recognition softened his expression. “Ken—Dr Lyons.” He stood, smoothing down his tie.

Kenny tapped his laptop bag. “I’ve got something I think you’ll want to look at.”

Jack arched a brow, then nodded to Jenkins. “Thank you, Jenkins.”

She gave a polite smile and retreated to her desk.

“Literally just seen your email,” Jack said. “Not had time to dissect it.”

“Came straight from work as soon as I could. I’ve got to see my mum, so if you want the chance to discuss, better do it now.”

Jack gestured toward a glass-walled conference room along the side of the bullpen. “Let’s talk in there.”

Utilitarian but functional, the conference room was where many a briefing had taken place. The large rectangular table dominated the space, surrounded by black leather chairs, one wall taken up entirely by a whiteboard littered with hastily erased notes and diagrams. A stack of old case files sat in a corner, and the faint scent of dry-erase markers lingered in the air. Jack closed the door behind them, the click of glass meeting metal sealing them in. He motioned to a chair, and Kenny sat, setting his laptop bag on the table. From it, he withdrew the neatly organised file, its contents freshly printed and still warm to the touch, then pushed it across the table.

Jack took the file, flipping it open. “Busy weekend for you, then?”

Kenny gave a dry smile, ignoring the sudden jolt to his pulse at exactly how he’d spent that weekend. “You’re not the only one who burns the midnight oil.”

Jack skimmed the first page before glancing back up. “So, what am I looking at?”

“It’s a behavioural hypothesis,” Kenny said, his tone slipping into the measured cadence he used in lectures. “I’ve been piecing together what we know about Connie Bishop’s death. And the previous cases you mentioned, the girls found under similar circumstances. Based on the pathology reports and what we know of their social interactions, I think I have a clear profile of the killer’s motivations.”

Jack gave Kenny his full attention. “Go on.”

“The toxin used is fast-acting, virtually undetectable, and administered to leave no immediate signs of foul play. Based on the symptoms described in the report—dizziness, rapid loss of consciousness—it’s highly likely the victims were exposed through direct contact. Skin absorption is a possibility, but there’s a more plausible method.”

Jack’s brow furrowed. “What’s that?”

---