Page 47 of Aftermath
There was a few minutes before the person returned, still avoiding the camera, their head down. My stomach sunk, realizing how close the killer could have been to Lenore, and it was my fault. I’d been careless and wrapped her up in the case for completely selfish reasons.
“There,” she said and paused the screen, pointing to a small red fleck on the page.
“I can’t make out what it says, but it looks like some sort of keychain tag. What if it’s something that can help us identify them?” Her eyes looked up wildly to me, and I saw the heavy bags under them, like this kept her up most of the night.
“So you walked here in the night and broke into the house to show me this?”
It was dark, but I could tell by the way her body shifted that her face had warmed at the question. “It didn’t feel like it could wait,” she muttered.
“You’re right. I’m glad you brought it right to me, and I’m glad you’re safe,” I admitted. “But maybe next time, you should knock first so I don’t hold you at gunpoint.”
“I did knock,” she grumbled. “And I didn’t walk, I drove,” she added, crossing her arms for good measure.
I turned and flicked on the light switch. Lenore stood in front of me in a fuzzy, pink bathrobe and slippers. I held back a chuckle of surprise. She frowned deeply and hugged her arms around herself tighter.
“It didn’t feel like it should wait, and my laptop can’t zoom in on it without it turning blurrier,” she reiterated. “I can email you the video, and I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
She closed the laptop and started to head for the door.
“You shouldn’t stay there,” I’ blurted out.
I got her into this mess; it was my responsibility to protect her. I thanked every entity out there for the fact that all the Coastal Killer left was a warning. It reaffirmed what I initially believed: Lenore was the key to this all.
“Stay here tonight, and we can figure out something else tomorrow,” I insisted.
She hesitated but turned away from the door eventually. She nodded and looked toward the living room.
“You can take the room upstairs. I’ll take the couch,” I said quickly.
“It’s your place,” she started.
“Actually, it’s Nelson’s place,” I answered, and she gave in without a fight.
* * *
The next morning, I made a call back to Quantico.
Len was still upstairs, sleeping from what I could tell. I hadn’t heard a sound come from the second floor since I woke. It wasn’t surprising; I’d been up before the sun was completely risen.
“Mags,” I spoke into my phone.
“Stone, I don’t have all the information you asked for on that bar yet. I’ve had to do what I can between cases.”
“That’s not why I’m calling,” I said, starting to second-guess my ask.
Mags was already doing enough for me, and risking her own job to find this information, could I really ask her for more?
“I have a video, footage from outside of a shop,” I started slowly. “It’s hard to make out, but the person I’m trying to identify looks to have a keychain hanging out of their pocket. When I zoom in on a laptop, it distorts the picture, but I’m wondering if it’s something you might be able to make out.”
“Send it my way, and I’ll get to it as soon as I get to the rest of the information you asked for,” she said.
I heard footsteps walking across the second floor, hurrying down the stairs.
“Thanks, Mags,” I said, hanging up before Len could hear me.
“How did you sleep?” I asked as she rounded the corner into the living room.
She still wore her fuzzy pink robe, and her hair was a slight mess, but in a way I found to be adorable. Had I really become so analytical that I was noticing these things?
