Our own biological makeup rejects a pack mentality. If one or the other refuses to surrender territory, the only option left is elimination.

Survival by any means necessary.

I’m not sure when she discovered me, but she has since chosen to stay.

This is her one fatal flaw.

She thinks she’s smarter than me, and can manipulate me the way she manipulates everyone else around her. She has no idea what she’s up against.

She handed me a clue when she said we’d met before.

Whatever Kyrie wants from me, it starts there, figuring out that moment in time.

For the next half hour, I watch a handful of students trickle into the department. At the sight of Kyrie, a bubble of excitement fizzes up, and I mentally tamp down the annoying sensation. On reflex, I touch my pocket, seeking the object always there, only to find it missing once again.

Jaw clenched, I needlessly begin remeasuring the discolored incisors as my peripheral tracks her movements. She’s wearing a black pencil skirt and champagne blouse. Her russet hair is swept up into a stylish updo, makeup in place, looking well-rested and like she didn’t just spend the night burying a body.

She’s carrying her award—the one I was supposed to present her with last night. She smiles brightly and accepts congratulatory praise from a number of colleagues before she places the trophy on a shelf along her office wall.

When she finally notices the bouquet of flowers on her desk, her eyes immediately dart to Brad’s office across the hallway.

No. They’re not from flaccid lover boy.

She admires the rare Himalayan blue poppies while searching for a card, then her beaming smile falls when she catches sight of the ribbon tied around the stems.

Her gaze locks with mine.

It’s impossible to describe the burst of adrenaline that zips through my veins. By design, I’m careful to keep my personal life separate from work, at least when in the confines of the lab space. It makes for a string of monotonous days until I’m able to achieve that rush again, but I can’t deny this is fucking close.

Her gaze narrows on me, and I refrain from letting my lips curl into a satisfied smile.

I watch as she delicately unravels the ribbon, spools it into a tight ball, and slips the material into her skirt pocket.

I remove the disposable gloves and toss them into the hazardous waste basket on my way toward her office. I stop at the doorway and lean against the frame.

“Sleep well, Jack?” Kyrie asks, triggering a reactive ache on the bruised flesh of my chest from the Taser.

“Like I was tased and drugged with midazolam,” I say, meeting her baiting remark.

She bats her thick eyelashes at me.

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever been inside your office.” I take in the accolades on the bookshelf, the framed pictures. I don’t know if they’re of family or friends, but they look staged. Like she could have edited the photos that came with the frames to Photoshop herself into them.

She expertly slides a smile into place, her full pink lips drawing my notice. “Technically, Jack, you’re not inside my office.”

I accept the challenge and boldly step inside, sensing the charge ripple the air of the small room as we each try to dominate the space.

“Your mother?” I ask, nodding in the direction of a grainy photo central on the shelf.

The slightest flicker of unease passes over her face, a little purse of her lips, before she schools her features into a pleasant veneer. “You’re not here for small talk,” she says. “You hate small talk. Or, really, any talk.”

I let my mouth tip into a slanted smirk. She likes to brag about how well she knows me, has studied me. I could come right out and ask her what our very first encounter was—but I have no doubt that would only serve to further enflame her. She’s been patiently working alongside me for three years; she’s not giving me the answer so easily now.

“Do you like your gift?” I ask, lowering my gaze to the pale-blue flowers.

“Delighted. They’re beautiful.”

“They’re a rare species,” I say, moving an inch closer to her desk. “I grow them myself, along with a few other special breeds.”

“Stimulating,” she deadpans. Then she tilts her head as she studies the petals of the flowers more closely. The variations in the color range from vibrant to soft pale-blue. Not an easy feat, I might add, as I’ve had to breed the poppies for three years to get the desired color.

When her gaze flicks up to meet mine, I see the hues there in her irises, that array of the darkest blue near the center fanning out to the palest shades of gray-blue near the dark ring.

Kyrie pushes the bouquet aside. “Did you like my gift?” She cocks her hip and pats her pocket, insinuating the strip of material I tore from the torso after I dug it up.

Technically, I dug up half a body.

I slip my hand down my cashmere necktie, gaining composure over the flare of anger her ridicule incites. I palm the edge of the desk, lowering my face to become eye level with her.

“Your present felt incomplete, Dr. Roth. Where is the rest of it?” I demand.

This brightens her smile to the full, overbearing wattage. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The image of my hands around her throat rises up so fiercely, I have to push away from the desk surface to remove her from my reach. I close the glass door, shutting out the distractions and sealing us inside.

“This isn’t a game, Kyrie,” I say, my tone dropping to a lethal decibel as I face her. “You’re behaving like a child, throwing a tantrum because I don’t recall our first encounter together?”

Her mouth pinches into a forced pout. “Aww. I bet you don’t treat your other one-night stands so dismissively.”

I nod slowly. I know I didn’t fuck this woman and then ignore her. That’s not how I operate.

As I walk closer, I sink my hands into my pockets so I’m not tempted to strangle her.

“You’re not a jilted lover, Kyrie, but you are sloppy,” I say, earning a derisive scowl from her. From our past interactions, I know she doesn’t like my reprimands. “You let your emotions govern your actions. You acted on impulse, like a damn amateur, when you murdered that grad student. Right here at the university where you work.”

Once the words are unleashed, I can’t take them back. They detonate the air between us like an imploding star, and there’s no stopping either of us from being sucked into the void.

“There are consequences,” I say, keeping my voice low.

With the gala taking place last night, like Cannon suggested, a few people might lay out today. One student not showing up won’t trigger much notice. But after two days, the questions will start. The calls. Friends wondering where they are. Family calling the university.

“You’re a funny guy, Jack.” She walks around her desk and parks her hip on the edge, crossing her arms. “No one really gets how comical you are. But I do. Because, either you just have really dry humor, or you’re a fucking hypocrite.” She turns her gaze on the lab and my work station across the hall before directing a scathing look at me. “Missing. Credited. Koala.”

The geocoded location of one of my victims. This one buried deep in the decomp site. It’s what she was prattling on about last night, the locations of the bodies I’ve disposed of around the body farm.

I remain quiet, letting the tension thicken between us.

Like I knew she would, she’s the first to talk; she can’t stand for even a moment’s silence. “How come you think I did it?” she asks.

My brow furrows. “Do I need to paint the picture of you waving a severed hand at me?”

She shrugs dismissively. “I just mean, that’s not what the evidence says. Matter of fact, between the both of us, I believe I’m the only one with an alibi for last night.” She tilts her head to look around me and wiggles her fingers in a flirtatious wave to Brad.