Striker said nothing and finished the report he was reading. When he was done, he skimmed through the list of call incidents. There were many: Disturbed Person. Suspicious Circumstance. And even a few Assaults where Larisa was listed as a Suspect Chargeable. Meaning she was lucky she hadn’t been thrown in jail.

This alarmed him.

One of the assault charges was against one of the police psychologists, a man Larisa had worked with during her time in the Victim Services Unit. The charges had been dropped for compassionate reasons, further stating in the Remarks section that ‘Mental Health Issues were involved’.

Striker felt himself deflate; the news was depressing and hard to believe.

He closed the laptop and felt overwhelmed by the information. Larisa Logan. His friend. The woman who had helped him through so much after Amanda’s death. It just couldn’t be true, and yet . . .

And yet here they were.

When he finally found the words, his voice was hard and full of grit. ‘This woman helped me through the darkest hours of my life,’ he said. ‘I’m going to help her through hers.’

Felicia rubbed his arm. ‘She’s out there somewhere, Jacob. We’ll find her.’

Striker did not return the smile. ‘We have to – and not just out of compassion.’

‘What do you mean?’

He turned to face her. ‘Think about it, Feleesh. Her connection to the victim. Her open access to medications. Her history of mental illness. And over the last year, the willingness to resort to violence . . . I hate to think this way, but it’s something that has to be considered. Something we have to be prepared for. Larisa Logan is one of our prime suspects.’

‘Do you believe that?’

‘No, but it’s not about what I believe. We have to find her and get her professional treatment – but we also have to rule her out as a suspect first.’

He headed for the front door. The night was already cold and quiet, but it felt darker now than it had before.

Deeper, thicker. Blacker.

And he feared it was only going to get worse.

Twenty-Six

Across the way from Larisa Logan’s place, beneath the overhang of a porch, the Adder stood in the total darkness. He stood tall in the night, completely still. Watching. Waiting.

Assessing.

Know thy enemy. These were words to live by. And how correct they were. For the cops had now found Larisa Logan’s place. He had no idea how they had done it, but it was impressive nonetheless.

It was not totally surprising. There were trails everywhere in today’s world. Physical. Audible. Electronic. Biochemical. No matter how hard a person tried to cover their tracks, there was always a trail. Always.

Somehow, some way, everyone was track-able.

The Adder watched both detectives enter and search the house, then the front and back yards. When they finally left, the woman carried a brown bag full of evidence. What it held, the Adder had no idea, but he assumed it was newspaper clippings and bills and whatever else they thought important.

Whatever the evidence, it was bad news for him. In fact, there was plenty of bad news to go around. Very bad news.

Larisa was gone.

The police knew of some part of her involvement.

And they would surely be coming.

The Adder frowned. The Doctor was going to be very unhappy with this news. There would be serious ramifications. Plan alterations. New strategies. And even worse problems if the cops – or the Doctor, for that matter – ever discovered why Larisa was so important.

This was most disconcerting for the Adder. The thought should have made him frown. Or squint. Or flinch. Or . . . something. He should have had some kind of physical reaction to it. At the very least, he should have worried for the future.

But he did not. He could not. All he could do was stand there and smile as the excitement built up within himself.

It was happening.

The game was on.

Twenty-Seven

It was well past midnight by the time Striker and Felicia pulled up to his house on Camosun Street. It was an old house, a small sleepy home on the corner lot. A tiny front yard with a maple tree stood out front. Most of the lights were off inside.

Striker looked at it with weary eyes. So many memories of Courtney and Amanda were here. After the suicide, he’d wanted to move out, but Courtney had freaked, so he’d abandoned the idea. There’d been good times and bad times here over the years, so many that it usually left him feeling awash in emotions whenever he looked upon the place. But now as he took everything in, all he could feel was a weary happiness to have arrived.

Home sweet home.

The day was done. He was done. Damn well depleted. And it was time for some much-needed shut-eye because tomorrow was undoubtedly going to be another wild day. He killed the engine and opened the door. When he started to get out, Felicia grabbed his forearm.

‘Hey,’ she said. ‘The keys?’

He stopped getting out of the car, hesitated, then dropped back into the driver’s seat. He looked at her. Felt a flood of disappointment. ‘You’re not coming in, are you?’

When Felicia didn’t respond, he looked at her face – at her dark eyes and warm lips – and he wanted more than anything to have her come inside with him, so he could snuggle up next to her in his bed. Feel her warm flesh. Have her long hair spill all around him. Smell her in the sheets. Wrap himself around her . . . They had done all this in the past. But that was just a distant memory now.

‘I really have to go,’ she said.

‘The door is always open for you.’

‘Jacob—’

‘Even if you just want to sleep on the couch, right?’

She looked over and met his eyes. ‘The couch? Really. Come on, Jacob. It won’t end there and we both know it.’

‘And is that such a bad thing?’

‘No. Yes. You know what I mean.’

‘Feleesh—’

‘I can’t do this any more, Jacob. Courtney hates my guts. And then there’s the whole thing with Amanda – I can’t compete with a memory.’

‘I never asked you to.’

‘You don’t have to ask – it’s always there no matter what you say, and it always will be.’

He only shrugged at the comment; he didn’t get what she was saying.

‘This just isn’t working out,’ she finally said. ‘Our relationship . . . it changes too many things. Especially at work. It’s altered our whole dynamic. We’re good partners, Jacob, and good friends, too. I don’t want to lose all that.’

‘And what about when we’re not at work?’

She laughed. ‘And when are we not at work?’

He searched for a response and came up short. And to be honest, he was too tired to argue the point. This was a conversation he was growing progressively weary of, and yet it was the same one that always seemed to pop up again and again at the end of every long day. He was beaten down by it, and he let it go.

He looked at Felicia’s face, took it all in, and felt so many emotions that they over-spilled. He wanted to tell her how much he missed her. How much he wanted her there with him every day. How they should always be together, and that all the little problems just didn’t matter.

But he didn’t say any of that. He just sat there and said nothing, and, eventually, he handed her the keys and stepped out of the car.

Felicia took a long look at his face and her expression softened. ‘I do love you, Jacob, if that means anything any more.’

‘It means everything,’ he said. ‘Which is why none of this makes sense.’