Page 1 of Girl, Fractured

PROLOGUE

The dead travelled with you, no matter how far you flew, and the victims from Ella’s case in Ohio had been particularly clingy travel companions.

She arrived at her front door at 1:43 AM, put her key in the lock, then did the little jiggle she always had to; angle the key and then shoulder the door out of its frame.It wasn’t ideal, but it was a good substitute for a burglar alarm.

Inside, the apartment greeted her with darkness and silence.No lights.No murmuring television.

No Luca.

Ella flicked on the lights and was momentarily disoriented by the immaculate condition of the place.Whenever she left for a case, her apartment was usually in a state of organized chaos, but Luca had clearly cleaned up before leaving for Massachusetts, God bless him.

Ella threw her bag in the hallway and made for the living room.As she collapsed on the sofa, her body suddenly reminded her of the events of the past few days.Compared to her usual post-case inventory of injuries, she’d gotten off lightly this time, but what really dragged her down was the exhaustion.She still hadn’t recovered from Director Edis keeping her locked up in HQ like a damsel in distress a few nights ago.The incident had drained her in a way Ella couldn’t explain, and even though Edis had his reasons, Ella still wasn’t buying them.

Yes, Edis’s reasons.It was true there was a killer on the loose in D.C., and that killer had targeted two of Ella’s associates.Jenna Bradbury, Ella’s old roommate, and Julianne Cooper, Ella’s old landlord.Not only were they both dead because they had the unfortunate handicap of knowing Ella Dark, but their killer had also sewn their mouths shut – with strands of Ella’s own hair, no less.

How did this killer learn of Jenna and Julianne’s existence?How did they track them down?Who was this person and why were they doing this?

And the bizarre question that hung in the middle of all this – how had this killer accessed her hair?

Mia Ripley, Ella’s former-turned-current partner, had concluded that the hair must have come from one of Ella’s hairbrushes, judging by the batch of hair that the killer had also dropped outside Ripley’s door.

Which meant someone out there had one of Ella’s hairbrushes.

Who else was on this killer’s hit list?Ella didn’t know, but she’d made the director put everyone loosely affiliated with her in D.C.on police watch.Right now, there were 36 cops outside 36 doors in this city, stretching resources thin but hopefully keeping people safe.

And then there was Luca.Instead of the cop treatment, he’d chosen to hide out at his mom’s house in Massachusetts instead.She’d tried to call him since landing but his old farm had a distinct lack of cell reception.

She stood up and headed over to the window.She parted the blinds with two fingers and surveyed the D.C.skyline staring back at her.In the few days she’d been gone, the holiday spirit had descended upon the city with all the subtlety of a brick through a window, and it seemed her neighbors subscribed to the ‘more is more’ philosophy of Christmas decorating.Garlands hung from every balcony and there was an inflatable Santa and some epilepsy-inducing lights on the balcony directly opposite.This would be her first Christmas in this apartment with Luca, and she could already tell those flashing lights were going to turn her bedroom into a rave every night.

Ella turned away from the window and stood in the middle of her apartment, suddenly unsure what to do with herself.Society had drilled it into her head that she should relish this alone time.It was one of those unwritten rules of relationships - cherish the moments when your partner was away because they’re rare and precious.But Ella hadn’t reached the stage in her relationship where familiarity bred contempt.

Maybe they were lucky.Maybe it would always be like this.The missing, the longing, the relief of reunion.Or was that just wishful thinking?Relationships evolved; they had to.People grew together or they grew apart.There was no stasis in human connection, just the illusion of it.

Nearly 2 AM now, but Ella knew that sleep was optimistic.On the plane back from Ohio, Ripley had talked about her grandson’s tendency to get over-tired; so exhausted he couldn’t sleep, which got him into a vicious cycle until fatigue finally knocked him out.Ella hadn’t known such a bodily response was possible, but it explained a lot.Sometimes it took a one-year-old to put things in perspective.

She moved into the kitchen and opened the fridge twice in succession.She wasn’t hungry, just restless, and restless hands always gravitated to fridges and cupboards.Modern neurosis had evolved alongside modern appliances, so instead of pacing holes in carpets, people obsessively looked to the places they stockpiled instant comforts.

No.There must be something else she could do until fatigue finally dragged her down.Clean up?Not likely; Luca had already worked his magic.Finish up paperwork for the last case?That would just remind her that there was a killer in D.C.using her DNA as a calling card.

Ella sighed and glanced toward the bedroom.Maybe she should just surrender to the inevitable.Go to bed, lie awake and catalog her paranoia.She triple-checked the locks on the doors and windows, then found herself studying the balconies outside.The gaps between them weren’t impossibly wide for someone determined enough.The skeletal fire escape zigzagging down the wall could easily be a welcome mat for anyone with good enough climbing skills.And that giant, inflatable Santa on the balcony opposite was the perfect size to conceal a person.She squinted at it, suddenly suspicious of its jolly, inanimate grin.

Was this healthy suspicion, or was she finally going mad?

She was halfway through her musings when her cell phone suddenly exploded on the coffee table.The vibration against wood sounded like an electric saw hitting metal, and it made her heart pound against her ribcage.

Incoming call.

Nothing good ever came through phones at 2 AM - that was one of those unwritten rules of existence.

She stared at the dancing phone as if it might detonate, then saw that the screen was blaring Luca’s name.Ella suddenly understood why people believed in telepathy.She grabbed it and answered.

‘Hawkins.Is everything okay?’

‘Ell, can you hear me?’The line was choppy, crackly.

‘It’s two in the morning.’

‘I’m on Massachusetts time.’

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