“I’m writing a book—”

“I don’t give a fuck about that either.” Merry’s tone was deteriorating. “I asked you, you been in contact with Ms. Rivers about Dennis Lowe?”

“Obviously, I have,” Jones sniped in the face of Merry’s interrogation, his patience waning too.

“And she made it clear that she didn’t wanna speak to you,” Merry stated.

Oh shit.

I hadn’t actually done that.

“No, actually, she didn’t,” Jones spoke my thoughts. “Ms. Rivers didn’t take my calls.”

“No, actually, Ms. Rivers refused to take your calls, so she did make it clear that she didn’t wanna speak to you.”

That was a good twist.

And damned true.

“Lieutenant—”

“Then you found her address and showed in her door without notice.”

“Her insight into—”

“Right,” Merry bit out. “We’ll start with this, and it shocks me I have to share this with you, seein’ as you’re in law enforcement—”

Jones interrupted him through tight lips, “At the present time, I’m not with the FBI. I’m freelance.”

Not missing a beat, Merry stated, “Then it shocks me I have to share this with you, seein’ as you’re a former law enforcement officer, but you do not, under any circumstances outside havin’ a warrant or probable cause, open the goddamned door to a dwelling. I don’t give a fuck it’s the storm door or the fuckin’ front door. You don’t do it and you know it. Unless you think doin’ it’ll intimidate the occupant of the dwelling into givin’ you what you came to get.”

“It’s clear Ms. Rivers had some barriers to speaking to—”

Merry’s head tipped sharply to the side. “So you admit it was clear Ms. Rivers didn’t want to speak to you?”

Jones’s mouth set.

Merry kept going.

“I’ll continue. As a former officer of the law, you are very aware that Ms. Rivers made it clear to you that she doesn’t wish to communicate with you, so right now you’re committing the crime of harassment.”

“As a former officer of the law, I know that calling Ms. Rivers on the phone and knocking on her door hardly comes close to criminal harassment,” Jones retorted.

“As your intent was to discuss an episode in her life where she and her son were victimized by a serial killer, and you could infer from her refusal to take your calls that you were causing her alarm or even mental torment, this absolutely could be construed as criminal harassment. And I’ll note that in these parts, it absolutely would be construed that way. Not to mention a credible threat to her safety, even if that safety is a threat to her mental health. So it does come close to criminal harassment. Ignoring her clear communication that she did not wish contact from you, then showing at her door and essentially helping yourself to her property by opening that door, that could conceivably add trespassing and even menacing.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jones spat.

“I disagree,” Merry returned. “But you want a second opinion, be happy to call Lieutenant Colton and see how he feels about this shit you’re pullin’.”

Jones tried to check it but couldn’t quite hide the fact he’d reared back.

That meant either Colt had already told him to go fuck himself (which was probably not the case, Colt would have warned me) or Colt’s reputation had preceded him, considering the number of people before Jones he’d told to go fuck themselves.

Merry didn’t miss Jones’s reaction.

“I see. You think you’re targeting the weak,” he whispered disturbingly.

“As an officer of the law,” Jones fired back, “you are aware that the study of the criminal mind is essential to understanding it, so that future incidences can either be avoided or the perpetrator can be tracked and caught before he or she causes too much damage.”

“So,” Merry took his hands off his hips and folded his arms on his chest, “you’re writin’ a criminology textbook?”

“No,” Jones bit off. “I have a contract with a traditional publisher.”

“Which means you’re cashin’ in on your FBI trainin’ to make money off of misery,” Merry deduced.

At that, Jones thankfully decided he was done.

I knew this when he stepped away from Merry and muttered, “I see that I’ll need to find alternative avenues to understanding Lowe’s psyche.”

“How’s this? The man was jacked,” Merry told him.

At these words, Jones’s face screwed up in a weird way that didn’t seem right to me.

But Merry wasn’t done talking, and as he kept going, Jones’s face shifted back to annoyance before I could figure it out.

“And that shit was textbook. There wasn’t anything new there, and you’ve got to have studied him so you know that’s the straight up truth. What you intend to do is not a service to the community, man. Be honest with yourself. And you fuck with people’s lives that they pieced together after that maniac ripped them apart, be honest with them that you’re doin’ this for cash in your pocket, book tours, and in hopes of seein’ your name on a film credit.”

That took Jones from annoyed and frustrated to pissed.

“Small-town cop who thinks he knows it all but doesn’t know dick. I’ll confirm you don’t know dick since you sure as fuck do not know me,” he clipped.

That didn’t sound very FBI-like.

Then again, what did I know? I’d only met a couple of them and, thankfully, our associations were brief.

“Small-town cop in the ’burg rocked by Dennis Lowe’s lunacy, and we’ve seen a lot of assholes like you,” Merry returned. “You’re standing outside the home of a woman Lowe fucked with that you underestimated, ’cause I’m tellin’ you now, you’re actually lucky you’re dealin’ with me. If I let her loose on you, she’d grind you to nothing. And that woman is my woman. So do not stand outside my woman’s home and tell me what I don’t know. I know you. I can see right through you. And all I see is ugliness and greed.”

“This conversation is over,” Jones murmured, beginning to move down the walk.

“It’s about fuckin’ time,” Merry decreed.

Jones kept walking, but he looked over his shoulder to hurl, “Small-town cop, small mind, and too stupid to know it doesn’t make him smart to have the last word.”

To my shock, at that biting retort, Merry busted out laughing.

Then I got it.

Jones didn’t leave the last word to Merry. He took it. Which meant he’d called his own damned self stupid.

I grinned.

Merry stopped laughing and stood, arms still on his chest, watching Jones walk to his rental car at the curb.

I stayed inside the door as Merry and I both watched Jones get in it, start it up, and drive away.

Merry turned his head to watch it go down the street.

I kept waiting.

Then he dropped his head and shifted to move up the steps of my stoop toward me.

I opened the door and opened my mouth to share with him how totally awesome he was, but I didn’t get a word out before he lifted his head, looked at me and I saw the ice still in his eyes.

I held the door, unable to move until he put his hand on it and kept moving toward me, which meant I had to move out of his way.

The storm whispered then banged and Merry locked it.

Then he slammed my front door, and locked that.

But he slammed it, the unexpected noise sounding loud in my silent living room, making me jump then slowly, step by step, retreat.

He again turned eyes of blue ice to me.

“That happen to you a lot?” he asked.

His conversational tone didn’t fool me, so I kept retreating.

“Stop moving,” he ordered.

I stopped moving.

“That happen to you a lot, Cher?” he pushed.

I opened my mouth, but my movement was again slowed by his vibe filling the air so full, it weighed on me.

Suddenly, he leaned forward and roared, “That happen to you a lot?”

“Not so much anymore, Merry,” I answered.

“Not so much anymore,” he repeated after me.