“You didn’t. I was still up.”

  My brows lifted. “Really? You worked all day, and it’s—” I paused, eyes darting to the clock on my nightstand. “Almost three in the morning. You must be exhausted.”

  He rubbed his jaw, the shadow of stubble rasping under his fingers. “I’ve been finding it hard to sleep lately. This case has got me wired,” he replied. “But on the bright side, I’ve been keeping myself busy out there. I fixed those creaky floorboards at the end of your hall earlier.”

  “Seriously?” I said, eyes widening. “Those things have been driving me crazy for ages, but the landlord said they couldn’t be fixed.”

  Malachi shrugged. “Sounds like she’s just too lazy to hire someone. It was an easy fix.”

  “Well, thanks for doing it,” I said, sitting up a little straighter. “You’re pretty handy, huh?”

  He grinned. “I worked construction part-time to pay the bills when I was in college. Picked up a thing or two.”

  An image suddenly flashed in my mind: him shirtless, sweat slicking over tanned skin, muscles flexing as he carried heavy beams. I swallowed hard.

  “That’s cool,” I said lightly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight quaver in my voice. “What did you study at college? Something to do with policing, I assume?”

  He lifted one shoulder in a semi-shrug. “Sort of. When I was younger, I really wanted to be a forensic accountant. So that was my long-term goal before I even finished high school.”

  “Oh, wow. Forensic accounting. That’s so—”

  “Boring?” he cut in, grinning again. “I’ve heard that a few times.”

  I smiled back. “I was going to say specific.”

  “Yeah, I guess it was quite a specific ambition for a kid. But I saw it on a movie once and immediately decided that was what I wanted,” he said. “Anyway, to qualify, you need to study both accounting and computer science, so that’s what I did. I had a bit of a head start over most of the other students, because my father and uncle were very tech-oriented, so a lot of the stuff came pretty easily to me.”

  “How did you end up becoming a detective instead?” I asked, tilting my head.

  “When I graduated, I couldn’t find a job.”

  “Ugh. Story of my life,” I said, giving him a wry smile.

  He returned the smile. “Yeah, turns out there's not as much demand for forensic accountants as my professors made it sound. They exist, obviously, but the jobs are few and far between.”

  “That sucks.”

  “It was a bit of a blow, but it all worked out in the end,” he said. “Because the field is so closely linked to law enforcement, I figured I could improve my chances of finding something if I got into policing. So I joined the academy. Became an officer. Discovered I had a real knack for solving mysteries. For seeing patterns and making connections others didn't.”

  “I bet the forensic accounting stuff really helped you develop those skills.”

  He nodded. “I realized pretty fast that that was actually what I wanted to do,” he said. “Solving cases, that is. Once I leaned into it, everything clicked. I took every exam I could. Made detective at twenty-six.”

  My brows lifted. “That’s pretty young for a detective, right?”

  “I’ve done okay for myself,” he said with a modest smile. He paused, rubbing his jaw again. “Anyway, I’ve been doing it for five years now. Cleared a fair number of cold cases.”

  “Oh, yeah, I remember you telling me that’s your specialty,” I said. “Have you solved any cases that I might’ve heard of?”

  “Maybe.” He motioned toward the end of my bed, and I nodded, silently granting him permission. He sat, turning slightly to face me. “Most of them were missing persons cases or unidentified homicide victims, and none of them got much media attention. But there’s one you might’ve heard of. Do you know the Back Bay Butcher case?”

  “The serial killer from the seventies?” I asked, forehead wrinkling.

  “Yup, that’s the one.”

  “You solved that?”

  “Yup. Three years ago. We re-tested some old evidence. Items they didn’t think to swab back in the day. Got a partial DNA profile and uploaded it to an ancestry site,” he said. “Found a familial match through the killer’s grandson, and from there, it wasn’t too hard to track him down.”

  “That’s amazing,” I said. “It’s wild how much those sites have changed things. Kinda scary, too.”

  “Yeah. But enough about me and my job.” Malachi gave the blanket a gentle pat. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked what you studied in college.”

  I flashed him another wry smile. “Well, I wasn’t like you back in high school. I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do after graduation. But I had decent grades, and going to CBU is sort of a family tradition, so I ended up there,” I said. “In my first year, I studied a bunch of different stuff, just to get an idea of what I might like. Then I discovered that I really liked teaching, so that was where I ended up.”

  He nodded. “Nice. Teaching is a great profession.”

  I raised a brow. “Would you mind telling my mother that? She wanted me to go pre-med, so when I told her I declared education as my major instead of something like chemistry, she turned up her nose and said, ‘Teachers get paid practically nothing. Why would you pick that?’. And I’m pretty sure her attitude still hasn't changed.”

  Malachi lifted a hand. “To be fair, most teachers are criminally underpaid for all the work they do. I think they should definitely get more,” he said. “Both of my parents were high school teachers, and my uncle was a college professor, so I’ve got nothing but respect for anyone in that line of work. It’s so important.”

  “I agree.” I let out a sigh, fidgeting with the edge of my blanket. “But I still haven’t found a job yet. They keep talking about a teaching shortage in this country, but apparently, that shortage hasn’t reached Corwin Bay. All I’ve managed to find since I graduated is the odd substitute role. Nothing permanent.”

  “Have you thought about trying another city?”

  I nodded. “Mom suggested I try Boston, because it’s only an hour away. But it’s longer in peak hours. So I’d be commuting for at least two hours every day. Probably even more.”

  Malachi nodded. “That kind of grind can wear you down fast,” he said. “Have you thought about moving there instead?”

  “I guess I’ll have to do that eventually, if nothing opens up here anytime soon. But I’ve always wanted to stay in Corwin Bay,” I said. “It’s not perfect, but it’s home. Also… this might sound a bit weird to you, but I feel like I’d be betraying my family if I left. You know, with the Carver case still unsolved.”

  “That’s not weird at all.” Malachi shuffled a little closer, sympathy flickering in his eyes. “I get it. It’s actually a very common sentiment amongst family members of cold case victims.”

  “Right.” I nodded slowly. “Anyway, I know I’ll find something eventually. It’s just a waiting game. All the schools I’ve done substitute work at have me on their shortlist if any of their teachers leave or retire.”

  “You’ve got the podcast to work on in the meantime, too.”

  “Yeah. Although… that hasn’t exactly gone the way I thought it would.”

  Malachi let out a dry, sardonic laugh. “I can see that,” he said. He paused, tilting his head. “What made you decide to start it in the first place?”

  “It was Freya’s idea. She studied sound engineering and communications in college, so podcasts are right up her alley,” I explained. “She asked me about doing it with her ages ago, but I said no. A few times, actually. But she kept chipping away at me. She was so certain the show would get attention.”

  “She was right, wasn’t she?”

  I raised a brow. “She sure was.”

  Before either of us could say anything else, my phone lit up on the nightstand beside me. Malachi’s gaze dropped to it, and he dipped his chin. “I think someone’s calling you.”

  I picked it up and glanced at the screen. “It’s just a text,” I said, unlocking it so I could read the whole message.

  Malachi stood abruptly. “Some kind of emergency?”

  I laughed softly and waved a hand. “No, it’s just my old therapist. The one we were talking about earlier.”

  He sagged on the end of the bed again, rubbing his temples. “Sorry. This job has me on edge all the time.”

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s nice to have someone around who cares so much,” I said as I scanned Jacob’s message.

  Hi, Kennedy.

  So sorry for such a late response to your message. I meant to reply when I finished work yesterday, but there was a fire at one of the college residences, so I’ve been very busy helping students relocate/helping with the cleanup. Haven’t even slept yet.

  Anyway, thanks for letting me know your answer. I completely understand that you’re not looking to date right now, and there’s no hard feelings on my end.

  On another note, if you and your friend Freya are still interested in having me on the show to provide a professional opinion on the case, I’m still available for that, and I’ve already made several notes for a possible script. Just call/message to arrange.

  - Jacob

  When I looked up from my screen, Malachi was looking at me intently, brows furrowed. “Is it normal for him to text you at three o’clock in the morning?” he asked.

  “No. Apparently there was a fire at CBU, so he was helping with that all day and night, and he only just got home.”

  His shoulders relaxed. “Ah, okay. I was worried he was being inappropriate with you.”

  “No, it’s fine. It was just a very late reply,” I said, setting the phone back down. “Did you end up looking into him?”

  Malachi nodded. “We did, but no red flags popped. No criminal history, and he’s never had any ethics complaints lodged against him,” he said. “But it’s hard to verify what a person was doing ten years ago. Especially without letting the person know they’re being investigated.”

  “Right.”

  “Still, we didn’t see any reason to dig deeper. No red flags, like I said. But if I were you, I’d trust your gut. If it’s telling you to stay away from him, do it. Better safe than sorry.”

  I shook my head. “I think I was overreacting about all that,” I said. “It just turned out he was interested in me. Like, romantically. So he’s not a crazy stalker-murderer, or anything like that.”

  “Ah.” Comprehension dawned on Malachi’s handsome face. “I see.”

  “Although…” I trailed off, brows rising. “I have a feeling that at least half of his interest is related to my proximity to the Carver case. In fact, right now he actually seems more interested in getting on the podcast than dating me.”

  Malachi chuckled, head shaking. “Some people will do anything for their fifteen minutes of fame, right?”

  “Yeah. And speaking of the podcast, have any of the tips panned out yet?” I asked.

  Freya’s cousin had set up an automated system on our website that forwarded all tip submissions directly to Malachi’s department, per our informal deal with the police. Freya and I still read every single message ourselves, but a lot of them needed someone with real investigative experience—and access to law enforcement databases—to properly follow up.

  “There hasn’t been anything useful yet,” Malachi replied, rubbing his jaw. “A few more people have come forward to say they think they might’ve witnessed some of the victim abductions ten years ago, but they didn’t tell us anything new. Just that the man who took them was tall and dressed in black.”

  “But at least it's working, right?” I said, voice rising hopefully. “People are sending in real tips? Not just trolls or desperate clout-chasers?”

  “I’d say at least 90% of the tips are real. They’re just not particularly helpful. But there’s still a lot to get through, so here’s hoping.” He cocked his head. “Actually, now that you’ve mentioned trolls, I’m wondering… has anyone ever contacted you or Freya claiming to be the Carver himself?”

  I felt a sudden vertiginous sensation, like I was tumbling backward off a cliff. Because I had been contacted. Not by a prank caller or some internet troll desperate for attention. By the real Carver.

  But I couldn’t tell Malachi about that, because the Carver could be watching us through my bedroom camera right now. Listening in on us. And if I mentioned the emails we’d shared, he could get angry. Then he might escalate his crimes. Hurt another innocent soul much sooner than he initially intended.

  I forced a steady breath, trying to keep my voice light as my heart thudded against my ribs. “You mean prank callers?” I asked, hoping the tremor in my words wasn’t obvious.

  Malachi nodded. “Yeah. If you’ve had any, I was thinking that one of them could actually be real, because a lot of serial offenders like to insert themselves into investigations,” he said. “It’s a power thing. They want to be seen, heard, known. So it wouldn’t surprise me at all if he tried to contact either one of you. But, because it’s such a wild claim to make, you might assume it’s a prank and disregard it.”

  “Well, we’ve had a couple of weird calls in the last week,” I said, trying to sound casual. Normal. Not like my brain was on fire from all the lies and self-loathing curling inside it. “But they were stupid enough to use caller ID, and when Freya tracked them down, it turned out they were just teenagers who thought it was funny to troll us.”

  “Anything else?” Malachi asked. “Messages or emails to your personal accounts?”

  A cold sweat broke out along the back of my neck as I considered my reply.

  I wanted to tell him the truth so badly. But what would be the point? There was no way to trace the Carver's emails, because of the military-grade VPN, and the moment I said anything about our earlier exchange, he’d hear me, and then the situation would spiral into brutality very quickly.

  “No,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  As I spoke, the weight of it all came crashing down on me. The lies. The secrets I was keeping. The stupid choices I’d made. The horrible, completely unforgivable mistake I made last night.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated, tears welling up before I could stop them.

  Malachi’s brows drew together. “Sorry for what?”

  “Everything,” I choked out. “I just… I can’t stop feeling like I’ve made everything worse.”

  With that, I broke down in front of him for the second time in twelve hours.

  Tears streamed down my face, hot and fast, and I pressed my hands over my mouth to keep from sobbing out loud. Malachi moved closer, leaning in front of me with concern in his eyes.

  “Hey. It’s okay,” he said softly. “You’re under an insane amount of pressure. No one expects you to hold it together all the time.”

  I nodded, even though I didn’t believe it. I didn’t deserve his comfort. Not after everything I’d done.

  "It’s okay. Let it out,” he said softly, patting my arm as I tried to blink away another flood of tears. “I’m here.”

  “Sorry. I just… I can’t stop thinking about that box from today,” I murmured.

  “Stop apologizing. Seriously.” Malachi moved even closer. “You’re worried the hand belongs to your father, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said in a tremulous voice. “Because all we know right now is that it’s a man’s hand. And there are three missing male victims. So there’s a one in three chance that it’s him.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I really shouldn’t be telling you this, because it’s not official yet,” he said. “Not until we get the DNA results back. But… I’m certain it’s not your father.”

  My heart soared. “How do you know that?”

  “Hand size is usually quite closely correlated with height, so the shorter a person is, the smaller their hands tend to be. And your father was—is—quite a small man, right?”

  I nodded. “Five foot six.”

  “I thought so. Do you remember what his hands were like?”

  “Pretty small, like you said. He used to say that was what made him such a good surgeon,” I said, wiping my cheeks with my palm.

  Malachi leaned in again. “When I unwrapped that foil today, the first thing that struck me about the hand was its size. It was huge. That’s why I was instantly sure it belonged to a man,” he said. “Anyway, because of the size, I’m certain that it came from a much bigger man than your father. Silas Boone is listed at six-five, and Brian Delgado at six-two.”

  I blinked. “So… it’s one of them?”

  “Most likely, yes.”

  More tears welled up in my eyes, but this time they were tears of relief. “So my dad is still alive,” I choked out. “He’s still out there.”

  “From what we can gather, yes. Obviously, we don’t know where, exactly, but we’re quite certain that he’s still alive.”

  “You’re right. You have to be,” I whispered, letting the relief flood my veins with much-needed warmth. “He’s alive. He’s out there. I… I know it.”

  Malachi nodded and lay a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Take a deep breath and say it again.”

  I sucked in a shaky breath and lifted my chin. “My father is still alive. He’s out there somewhere. We just need to find him in time.”

  “Again.” He thumped a fist against his broad chest. “Say it with your whole chest. More confidence.”

  “My father is still alive,” I said, lifting my chin higher. “And you’re going to find him and bring him back before it’s too late.”

  “We’re going to do it. Together. Right?”

  “Yes. We’re going to bring him back.”

  “Good girl.” Malachi rubbed my shoulder. “Feeling any better?”

  “Yes. That actually really helped.” I exhaled deeply. “But… I feel bad for being glad it’s someone else’s hand. Because that person still died. I shouldn’t be happy about that, should I?”

  “Kennedy, it’s a natural response to prioritize your own family over others. You’re not a bad person for being grateful that it wasn’t your dad.”