“We’ll take a look at the footage,” Faith said, “thank you.”

  Lucinda nodded. “As far as anyone else who might want to hurt him, there’s no one I can think of. He worked alone as a day trader. He had an office, but he didn’t share it with anyone else. Unless he was sleeping with someone else and that person was crazy or married to a violent, jealous husband, I can’t think of anyone who might want to hurt him.”

  Faith nodded and stood.

  Michael handed Lucinda a business card. “If you think of anything else, give us a call.”

  “You know, I still loved him,” Lucinda said. “I hated the bastard, but I still loved him. I guess I didn’t realize that until just now.”

  Faith couldn’t think of anything to say. She tried, “I’m sorry for your loss,” but the words sounded hollow in her ears.

  CHAPTER TEN

  They drove to the hotel in silence. Even Turk was depressed, sitting in the back seat of the cruiser with his head on his paws. They reached the hotel at four-thirty, but neither were in a mood to sleep. Michael brought them more coffee from the hotel lobby, and they spent a solid hour sitting and staring at the TV. The early morning programming was as mind-numbing as one might expect from a discount hotel, but it didn’t matter. The background noise quelled the irritation all three felt as a result of lack of sleep and the frustrations of the case.

  Maybe quelled was too strong of a word. Muted might be more accurate.

  Finally, Michael stood. “I need to shower,” he said. “Call me if someone decides to turn themselves in.”

  While Michael showered, Faith leaned back and closed her eyes in a futile attempt to catch at least a few moments of sleep. Her body was exhausted, but her mind raced. The killer was moving fast, too fast. Amanda Montgomery was murdered only four days ago, Katherine Navarro only five days before that. They had only a few days before the killer would strike again and no idea who the next target might be.

  Faith showered after Michael, but the warm water did no more to soothe Faith than the few minutes of rest. Dawn was creeping in through the curtains of the room when she left the shower. Faith noticed with a touch of irritability that Turk, at least, had managed to get some rest. He snored contentedly in between the two beds, his head comfortably resting over folded paws.

  Michael sat at the table, a fresh cup of coffee in his hands.

  “If you overdo it on the caffeine, you’ll develop heart trouble,” Faith said.

  “What are you, my mother?” Michael grouched.

  “I’m just saying, if you want a long, happy life with your own affair, you might want to cut back.”

  Michael glared at her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Faith shook her head. “Nothing. Sorry. Bad joke.”

  “Shitty joke,” Michael agreed. “You don’t know anything about Ellie. You don’t know what her marriage is like. For that matter, you don’t know what any of these marriages are like. It’s easy to preach, Faith, but life isn’t as cut and dry as the storybooks make it out. Sometimes marriages end. That doesn’t always mean the people stuck in those marriages are assholes.”

  “You’re right,” Faith said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  Michael nodded moodily but offered no other response. Faith sighed and decided to move on. “So, we know that the killer isn’t targeting women,” she said, “not exclusively, at least.”

  “No,” he said, “the only thing these three have in common is that they’re married.”

  “And cheating,” Faith added.

  “Two of them were cheating for sure,” Michael said. “Katherine was sleeping with the world’s greatest personal trainer, and Elmore was enjoying his pick of the baristas. We don’t know for sure that Amanda was cheating. Besides, the killer’s only been active for a couple of weeks. He might not have known that Elmore was cheating. Hell, he might not have known he was married.”

  “The killer’s only been active for a couple of weeks that we know of,” Faith pointed out.

  “Fair enough,” Michael said. “Still, it’s too early to assume the infidelity angle.”

  “I don’t think it’s too early to assume that a troubled marriage is a connection between the two victims,” Faith said. “Katherine Navarro was cheating, and Elmore Holland was separated.”

  “What about Amanda Montgomery?”

  “I suspect her own marriage wasn’t the sunshine and roses her husband would like us to believe.”

  “So, we call the husband?”

  “Yes,” Faith said. “We call the husband.”

  Benjamin Montgomery answered on the third ring. He sounded just as dejected as he did when they last spoke with him. “Mr. Montgomery,” Faith said, putting the phone on speaker, “we’re investigating a lead on your wife’s murder. I need to ask you an uncomfortable question, and I need you to be honest with me.”

  After a brief pause, Benjamin said, “All right.”

  “Mr. Montgomery, when we last spoke, you told us that you and your wife enjoyed a happy marriage free of problems. Would you like to modify your statement at all?”

  There was a longer, more telling pause. Then, Benjamin sniffled and said, “Um, all right. We, uh, we hit a rough patch earlier this year. She … there was … I suspected her of infidelity.”

  There it was.

  “I don’t know for sure that she cheated,” he said. “Maybe she didn’t. Probably she didn’t. I just got suspicious because she was out late more often, and when I asked what she was doing, she would get really defensive. She bought new clothes and makeup, too, and she put a password lock on her phone so I couldn’t get into it. We … well, things were getting bad enough that we decided to see a counselor.”

  Faith’s ears pricked up. Michael leaned forward.

  “Can you tell me the name of the counselor?” Faith asked. “Phone number and address, too, please.”

  “Sure,” Benjamin said.

  The counselor was a Doctor Harold Porter, who kept a practice at 251 South Eagle Street. Faith thanked Mr. Montgomery and hung up.

  “Well, well,” Faith said. “We have another person of interest.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Michael said. “We don’t know if he knew the other victims.”

  “Fair enough,” Faith said. “Let’s call.”

  Gary Navarro claimed that neither of them made an attempt at fixing their marriage. “She was happy sleeping with Antonio, and I was more focused on ending the marriage than saving it. I’m of the opinion that if you don’t love someone enough to stay faithful to them, then there’s no marriage to save.”

  Faith declined to pass judgment on his opinion but thanked him and asked if his wife had seen a counselor recently.

  “Hell if I know,” he said. “She hadn’t talked to me about anything that mattered in years. For all I know, she did see someone and just decided not to tell me. I can’t imagine she would have wanted to hear that she needed to put work into the marriage too.”

  Faith let that pass without comment as well. She hung up and said, “Well, jury’s out on Katherine Navarro, but if Lucinda and Elmore saw Mr. Porter, I think it’s a safe bet that Katherine did as well.”

  “Well, I hate to bother the poor woman twice in one morning, but let’s give her a call.”

  They did, and Lucinda answered right away. Apparently, she hadn’t slept either.

  “Lucinda,” Faith asked, “we’re following up on a lead in your husband’s murder. Did the two of you happen to meet with a marriage counselor after the most recent episode of cheating?”

  “Yes,” Lucinda said. “My lawyer recommended that I attend counseling to strengthen my case. Unfortunately, his lawyer felt the same way, so we both endured fruitless counseling together.”

  “May I ask the name of your counselor?”

  “Of course. It was Doctor Harold Porter. You don’t think … you don’t think Doctor Porter could have murdered Elmore, do you?”

  “We’re not sure,” Faith said, “but he may be a connection between your husband and the other victims.”

  “Other victims?”

  Michael cast an irritated glance at Faith. Faith sighed. It was too late to correct her mistake now. “Yes,” she said. “We believe your husband’s murder might be connected to the recent deaths of two women in the Tucson area.”

  “Oh God,” Lucinda said, “am I in danger?”

  “We don’t believe so,” Faith said, “but you should stay indoors at night and keep your windows and doors locked just in case.”

  “Oh God,” Lucinda said. Faith could hear sounds of crying.

  Michael cast another irritated glance at Faith, and Faith said, “I’m so sorry to disturb you, Lucinda. Rest assured, we’re doing everything we can to find your husband’s killer and bring him to justice.”

  “Can you … can you send someone over?” Lucinda asked, voice trembling, “to … to watch out for me?”

  “We don’t have that authority,” Faith said, “but I’ll pass along my recommendation to the police department.”

  Michael leaned back in his chair and heaved an exasperated sigh. Faith didn’t blame him. It was an inexcusable slip to mention something about the other victims to Lucinda. She thanked Lucinda for her time and hung up, then braced herself for the tongue-lashing she knew was coming.

  “What the hell was that?” Michael asked. “Did you forget ten years of experience all of a sudden?”

  “I’m sorry,” Faith said, “I’m just exhausted.”

  “No, it’s more than that,” Michael said. “You’ve been off since the Cedar Hills case. You’ve been moody, irritable, distracted, and frankly nowhere near the top of your game. What’s going on?”

  “Can you just let it go, Michael?” Faith asked. “I messed up. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “I don’t know if I believe you,” Michael said. “Even when you’re on your A-game, you’ve never been good at admitting when you need help.”

  Faith glared at Michael. “If you have concerns about my ability to do my job, Michael, you can feel free to bring those concerns to the Boss. Otherwise, for the final time, I’m sorry. I messed up. It won’t happen again.”

  Michael blinked in surprise. “Christ, Faith. I’m your friend. I’m not going to report you. I’m trying to help you.”

  “Well, thank you very much,” Faith snapped. “If I need your help, I’ll let you know.”

  “Fair enough,” Michael replied with equal irritation, “but get your shit together, Faith.”

  “Heard,” Faith said, standing up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to make a phone call.”

  Predictably, Travis and Derek were irritated when they heard about Faith’s slip. “Christ, Bold, we don’t do personal security. Why the hell would you tell her that?”

  “I know,” Faith said, rubbing her temples and trying to keep her voice calm. “I’m very sorry.”

  “Why did you tell her about the other victims?” Derek asked. “Was that necessary for the investigation?”

  “It was a mistake,” Faith said. “I apologize.”

  Travis sighed. “Christ, what a mess.”

  “We’ll send a couple of uniforms to help her feel better,” Derek said, “but they can’t stay for more than a day. She’ll need to make other arrangements.”

  “She has a sister in the city,” Faith said. “Maybe you can convince her to say there for a while.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Derek said. “Keep us posted if any more surprises come up.”

  Faith’s lips tightened. “Will do, Detective.”

  Derek hung up without a response.

  Faith sighed and collapsed onto the bed, rubbing her temples.

  “You want to rest a while before we go talk to Mr. Porter?”

  “Dammit,” Faith said.

  She sat up and called the detectives again.

  “What is it now?” Travis asked.

  “We’re going to investigate a suspect,” Faith said, “would you mind sending a few officers to 251 South Eagle Street?”

  “Flight risk?”

  “Well, the last one tried to run,” Faith said.

  “Lovely. I’ll tell you what. Just to make it easy on you, we’ll head over ourselves.”

  Faith overheard Derek exhort Travis to be calm, but the older detective brushed him off. “How soon will you be there?”

  “Twenty minutes,” Faith said.

  “All right,” Travis replied. “See you soon.”

  He hung up without waiting for a response, and Faith pressed the heels of her palms into her temples. Turk, awake from the noise, trotted over and put his head in her lap. It calmed her enough that she was able to endure Michael’s disapproving stare without snapping again.

  “I’ll take the lead on this one, all right?” Michael said.

  “Sure,” Faith said tersely.

  They headed to the car, and Faith looked out the window, pointedly ignoring Michael.

  She knew Michael was right. She had exhibited a serious lapse in judgment and lack of sleep wasn’t enough to explain it away.

  She thought of the psychologist the Boss assigned to her, Doctor West. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering if maybe she could use his help after all.

  No, that wasn’t it. She was tired, that’s all. She wasn’t twenty anymore, and all-nighters impacted her differently now. Michael was just as frustrated as she was, and who was to say he wouldn’t have made the same mistakes she made if he had made the call to Lucinda instead?

  Still, as she stared out the passenger window at the slowly waking city, she couldn’t shake the voice in her head that told her she was losing control.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Michael glanced at Faith in the passenger seat. She continued to stare out her window, her lips and shoulders tense with anger. He sighed and turned back to the road.

  He had tried to ignore the signs, but he could no longer pretend that Faith was unaffected by the arrival of the copycat killer. For the first time, he wondered if he shouldn’t have told her about him. Then again, it wasn’t as though she wouldn’t find out anyway. The copycat killer was all over the news in Philadelphia, not to mention the talk of the field office.

  She would have found out eventually, and it would have affected her just the same. He wasn’t surprised that Faith hadn’t sought counseling for her PTSD. Law enforcement was notorious for refusing counseling. His own memories of counseling after shooting Trammell and saving Faith weren’t the fondest.

  Still, the Boss should have mandated it before bringing her back on. It was a surprising mistake of his to waive that requirement when she rejoined the team. Sure, the situation in Morgan County was urgent, but there were three months between that case and the Weed Killer case and another month between the Weed Killer case and this one. She should be in counseling.

  Maybe the Boss was dragging his feet because he feared the counselor would recommend a temporary leave from field work. Despite his own considerable ego, Michael could admit that Faith was the best investigator they had, and he understood the Boss’s reluctance to lose her.

  At this point, though, it was a choice between losing her temporarily and losing her permanently. She had been slipping since the Weed Killer case, and it was only getting worse.

  He looked over at her again, and a pang of sympathy coursed through him. He still cared deeply for her, and it killed him to see her suffer. Michael understood the urge to suffer in silence. He possessed that same trait. Now, he knew what it was like to be the person on the outside watching someone he loved hurting and knowing that every attempt he made to help would be rejected and only succeed in driving her further away.

  He exited the freeway, and as soon as he turned onto Eagle Street, his cruiser’s radio beeped.

  “Prince here,” he said.

  “Is Bold with you?” Travis’s voice asked.

  “I’m here,” Faith said.

  “All right,” Travis acknowledged, sounding disappointed. “The address you gave is a medical office. We’re waiting around the corner. As soon as the bastard shows himself, you give the signal.”

  “You got it,” Faith said.

  “Let’s take a step back,” Michael interjected. “We just want to talk to Doctor Porter right now. At this time, he’s not a suspect.”

  “He is a person of interest,” Travis said, “and in my experience, persons of interest talk more in an interrogation room than they do in their office.”

  Christ, was everyone going to be impatient? “Detective, hold your men unless we call for help,” Michael said. “We’re lead on this case, and unless we say so, no one’s being arrested.”

  “You sure you’re lead?” Travis asked. “Based on this morning, I would say your handle on the situation has slipped from tenuous to by-a-thread.”

  Faith stiffened, and before she could retort, Michael quickly said, “You can be as pissy as you want, but be pissy waiting on my call.”

  “Sir, yes Sir,” Travis groused.

  He hung up, and Faith said, “What an asshole.”

  “Can you blame him?” Michael retorted. “Let’s be honest, Faith, we haven’t exactly made their lives easier."

  "Yeah, I know,” Faith said.

  They pulled into the parking lot and waited. It was eight a.m. According to the medical office’s website, Doctor Porter saw patients between the hours of nine a.m. and six p.m., with an hour-long break for lunch at one-thirty. He would arrive before his patients did to review the cases of the day and prepare for eight hours of hearing people whine about their problems and fight every piece of helpful advice he gave them, so Michael expected him any minute.

  That minute happened to be the twenty-first minute after they arrived. A late-model Lexus pulled into the lot and parked in one of the reserved spaces. The gentleman who got out was portly, middle-aged, and possessed of the quiet superiority that all counselors possessed. He matched the image on the medical office’s website.