Page 119 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

I fumble, snap it shut, try to breathe like I wasn’t just mid-text with my personal boogeyman.

Declan doesn’t notice. Too busy ranting into his earpiece, eyes lit with homicide fury.

“…I don’t care who signed off. If the leak came from the DA’s side, every name is a potential breach. Until we find the mole, no one gets full access.”

His tone is clipped. Controlled. Boiling.

Meanwhile, I’m hiding a stalker phone in my purse like it’s a rabid squirrel I plan to carry until it chews through the lining and ruins my life.

Declan mutters something about sealed warrants, then ends the call.

The silence is heavy and charged.

He exhales, glances at me, probably assuming I’m still rattled from the dead body by the trash cans.

Which is fair.

But also wildly inaccurate.

Because trauma has layers like a violent onion.

And mine? Mine come with bonus messages from a faceless lunatic who wants to punish me for existing independently in the year of our Lord 2025.

I shove the phone deeper into my purse as Declan stares a second too long.

I stare back. Then look away.

And absolutely do not think about the next message waiting in that cursed little flip phone.

We pull out. Declan keeps one hand on the wheel, the other near the console, scanning the road like traffic might be complicit.

“Rourke thinks it’s internal.”

I nod. “DA’s office or clerk pool, right?”

He glances over, brow raised. “You already thought that?”

I shrug. “Not that many people can access sealed warrants. Trip’s name was only in the supporting docs, which narrows it down.”

Declan makes a low sound—agreement or the need to punch a wall.

With him, it’s probably both.

We pull into the precinct lot, and I’m out of the SUV before he turns it off.

“I parked over here. I think,” I say, veering toward the far row, tossing a wave behind me.

Declan doesn’t leave. He follows at a calm, steady pace—like he doesn’t believe me.

Because… my car is gone.

Completely gone.

I freeze mid-step, keys in hand, scanning the row like it’s messing with me. “It was right here. I swear.”

Declan says nothing. Just lifts a brow—the kind that makes me feel twelve and flustered.

I call the rental company.

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