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“Not sure,” I said as Slade and I walked side by side toward the morgue. “And she’s okay. Working through the trauma of it all, but she’ll get through it. That woman is one of the strongest I’ve ever met. Outside of my mom.” I sucked in a breath. “And sisters. Do not ever tell them I put them last or they’ll slit my throat.”

Inside Rain’s office, Slade sat on the couch and me in the chair. I slid the phone from my hand, dropping it on the coffee table between us.

“Okay, talk,” I said after hitting the speaker icon.

“You know how you asked me to run search history as a Hail Mary for anyone with a Santa Coasta emergency services login who looked up the address and personal contact info on the murder victims? Well, the search I had running in the background just caught that motherfucking Hail Mary pass.”

“Who?” Slade and I asked at the same time. We exchanged an excited glance.

“Detective Jennifer Gray.”

Ominous silence filled the office.

“Anything else match up?” I asked, mind whirling with the reasons for her to have searched the personal information for our victims outside of her being our unsub. “Do you know the timing of when she searched them?”

“Anything else as in connections related to the profile, no. Besides her gender and now this that’s the only thing I can find that points to her. And as far as the searches go, they were done weeks before the victims turned up dead.”

“The timeline makes sense if she was stalking them,” Slade muttered.

“And she was acting shifty that day when I presented the profile to the department.” This all pointed to Detective Gray being our unsub, yet it didn’t feel right. Especially since it didn’t explain why the killings started. “Okay, we’ll go talk to her. Thanks, Charlie. Let me know if you find anything else.”

After hanging up, I stared at my clasped hands for several seconds, lost in thought.

“Do you feel off about this too?” Slade asked.

I nodded and blew out a heavy breath. “We have to talk to her, though. Figure out why she would have searched our victims before they were victims. You ready to do this?”

“Yeah.” After he stood, he stretched his arms overhead. “Damn. That collagen Rain has me add to my morning shakes is the fucking bomb.”

“No one says ‘the bomb’ anymore, just FYI.” I beat him out the door with a smirk on my face.

“So what, now you’re giving me advice on how I communicate my feelingsandslang usage?”

“Just trying to tell you what all the cool kids are saying these days.”

“Which is?”

I thought about that for a second. “No fucking clue.”

Our combined laughter rolled through the hall as we made our way back to the area where all the detectives, no matter the division, had their desks or offices. When we rounded the corner that took us to the bullpen where Detective Gray’s desk sat, I skidded to a stop and slammed my forearm against Slade’s chest, holding him back from continuing.

“Who is that talking to Detective Gray?” I asked, eyeing the man in a suit standing by her desk. I sure as hell hadn’t seen his face around the station; I would have noticed and remembered a man like him. He looked lethal, as if he were taking in every aspect of the room, calculating and assessing without really looking. I’d seen it before with former Special Forces, which this guy certainly was. Buzzed dark hair, medium build, and that stillness all pointed to a man who could kill me with the plastic stapler near his fingers.

“No clue. Never seen him around before, but I think I see a badge. Let’s go find out who’s talking to our suspect.”

Almost like he heard us, the man’s attention snapped our way as we approached, studying each of us with a steely gaze. It made me equally tense and impressed.

“Everything good over here, Gray?” I asked, noticing the greenish tint and fear in her eyes.

Her long hair shifted with her quick headshake. Before I could ask another question, she bolted out of the chair, sending it flying backward, and raced out of the room with a hand slapped over her mouth.

“What was that about?” I asked the man who had yet to say a word.

He held out his hand, the movement making his jacket part, revealing the gold badge Slade had gotten a glimpse of earlier. “Detective Hudson Mott, LAPD.”

I shook it as I introduced myself, followed by Slade.

“What was that all about?” I asked again, tilting my head in the direction Detective Gray went. “And you’re a little too far south for LA, aren’t you?”

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