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But more importantly, why in the hell did I care?

7

SLADE

Fingers searching inside the side pocket of my slacks, I dragged out six painkillers and tossed them into my open mouth, swallowing them dry. After doing this several times a day for too many years, it was easy to force the small brown pills down with nothing to drink.

“Was it worth it?” Jameson asked, focus never lifting from the crime scene photos on top of Rain’s desk.

Stretching my neck one way, then the other to relieve some of the tension, I relaxed back against the stiff couch. “Was what worth it?”

Face still downturned, he peered up and lifted both brows. “I wouldn’t be much of a profiler if I hadn’t noticed you’re in pain every time you move and the handful of pills you take throughout the day to help.” His brows pulled in tight as if an unwelcomed thought just popped up. “Those are all over-the-counter pills, right?”

“Would it matter?” I adjusted along the couch, slightly uncomfortable with his perceptive-ass stare directed at me.

It wasmyjob to make people squirm the longer I glared at them.

Jameson straightened from where he was bent over Rain’s desk, sorting the pictures, and tugged at the bottom of his vest. “It matters to me, yeah.”

“Why?” I could easily tell him they were common over-the-counter pills I’d bought in bulk, but his agitation made me curious. Now I needed to know why he cared. This side of me, the drive to uncover the answers, was what made me want to be a detective.

“Detective Taylor, are you trying to profile the profiler?”

I lifted a single shoulder before leaning forward, the couch complaining beneath my weight. The thing was barely big enough to fit my enormous frame, and most of the time, I worried the peg legs would give out under my heavier-than-normal mass.

“Several reasons it would bother me,” Jameson went on. “First, you’re working alongside Rain daily, and I don’t want that shit around her. It would make you unpredictable, and with your size compared to hers, it’s not safe.”

I dipped my chin, agreeing with him. If I found out any prescription junkie was hanging around Rain, I’d make sure they found their way out of town quick.

“Second, it’s illegal, and I’m pretty sure that goes against everything we stand for.”

I snorted. Another correct assumption. I’d hate any hypocrite in this precinct who thought they were above the law or could sneak around it to fit their needs.

“And third.” His unfocused gaze flicked to the side, staring just over my shoulder. “My best friend’s baby sister.”

I stilled, waiting for him to continue, but he turned back to the pictures, leaving me hanging, curious as hell for more.

“Want to talk about it?” I asked. Jameson just shot me an incredulous look and rolled his eyes. “Fine. I get that. I have baggage, too, that I don’t like to talk about. But explain what you’re doing over there and if there’s anything you need from me.”

His narrow shoulders relaxed, clearly relieved that I didn’t push it, which only made me want to ask again. I wouldn’t, though. I’d only known this guy for a total of seven hours, but somehow it felt like longer than that. Hell if I knew why. I didn’t have friends or want them, but then in walked this fucker. We’d been stuck together since he hopped in my car earlier, and surprisingly enough, I wasn’t annoyed with him.

Yet.

“I’m sorting the photos and case files to set up a visual timeline on the wall behind me. It helps me to see it in chronological order.”

“That something they taught you at the academy?” I stifled the grunt that wanted to escape as I shoved off the low couch and shuffled my way to Rain’s desk.

“Yes and no. I would do this, but on a much smaller scale, at my desk as a homicide detective. But now, working multiple cases instead of single, the academy taught me to organize it better, to help it make sense. Once it’s all up, you’ll find me in here staring at the wall of pictures and notes for hours. It’s my thing.”

“If it works, I don’t give a fuck what you stare at.” Catching a glimpse of one of the photos, I pressed a finger to the edge and spun it to face me. “The first victim.” Jameson pulled it free and turned to tape it to the wall. “What does that first case tell you about this guy?”

“Unsub,” he corrected. “And it tells us a lot now that there are other victims to compare it to. The erratic placement of the shallow stab wounds, hesitation marks, and where the body was found point toward victim number one being unplanned, an accident maybe.”

“An accident? I’ve never accidentally murdered anyone, despite the urge.”

Jameson huffed a laugh and nodded. “Same. And by ‘accident,’ I mean maybe the unsub went there only intending to scare the victim or confront him about something, but then things got out of hand.” After taping the crime scene picture to the wall, he turned, crossing both arms over his chest. “My theory is it triggered something in this unsub. I don’t know what yet, and that’s bothering the shit out of me. It would help if we could find a connection between any or all of the victims.”

The desk dug into my ass and thigh as I perched on the edge while scanning the pictures Jameson had taped along the wall.

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