I admit, I stepped way out of bounds when I circumvented CrimeTech and presented Kallum as an expert consultant to assist the FBI. I needed their authority to expedite the process, and I did so in spite of any potential consequences.

Which is unlike me.

I don’t exactly play by the rules, but I also don’t all-out break them.

I used to care more about what Aubrey and my supervisors thought, whether or not I was surpassing expectations, following procedures to keep from disturbing the balance.

I know the exact date those cares faded, and I know everyone in my life is waiting for me to “get better,” “snap out of it,” “be the old Halen”—but I also know that’s more for their comfort level than mine.

Pain makes people uncomfortable.

Strangely, today, that burden didn’t feel as heavy. Even with my guard erected, I found myself falling into an ease with Kallum at the scene I don’t experience with others. I don’t have to force a smile. Place technical labels on my thoughts. Sensor my humanity for his comfort…because he has no humanity to comfort.

It’s easy to forget, while staring into his divine beauty, the brutality and sadistic manner in which he kills. Charismatic smiles and quipping dark humor with the face of an angel—yet a devil lurks beneath, his depths a purgatory stained in red.

This is what I must remind myself when I feel his draw reeling me in. I’m feeling at ease with a sociopath who is adept in manipulation, whose very nature is to set mine at ease before he breaks my face with a tire iron and severs my head.

Perspective.

I sip my tea slowly.

“Where were you just now?” Kallum questions.

Setting the cup down, I link my fingers around the warm porcelain. “I was contemplating how to work with you and keep my distance at the same time,” I answer honestly.

He pushes back in the seat and tilts his head, assessing me seriously. “That’s going to be difficult for you. Is there anything I can do to make it easier?”

“Yes,” I say, locking gazes with him. “Stop calling me things like little Halen and sweetness . Stop undressing me with your smoldering eyes. Stop the flirty banter. For one, it’s disturbing. Two, I know you’re doing it to unnerve me. But we’re not colleagues. We’re not even rivals. We have a deal. One that will be honored on my end if you honor yours. That’s all.”

His mouth tips into the faintest, knowing smile. “You think my eyes are smoldering?”

“You know they are,” I say. “You’re very aware of your attractiveness, and you use it to disarm people. Your ego is bigger than this entire town.”

A text from Aubrey flashes on my phone screen and I turn the device over.

“Need to check in with the parents?” he asks, his tone baiting. “That must suck to have a curfew.”

His callous remark punches past my defenses, and I look away to drag in a fortifying breath before I can reply. “Kallum, I need to hear you say that you understand me.”

Gaze probing, he says, “I’ll try my best. But you don’t make it easy, either. With your pouty sprite mouth and infuriatingly intoxicating scent. You’re fucking mayhem on the senses.”

The way his gaze darkens, the defiant spark of hunger igniting within the flinty shadows, makes me question how much of it is an act on his part, also.

“Please stop,” I demand, tamping down the reactive flame curling in my belly.

“So you’re the only one allowed to be brutally honest, then.”

I glance away. “You’re right. Your thoughts are valid. I’ll…try to smell less appealing.”

He chuckles unexpectedly, and the deep sound hits my chest, unfurling in a light, fluttering sensation.

This is why I don’t have a partner. Human nature distracts from the work, the purpose. And Kallum Locke is a huge distraction. Besides my body being highly responsive to his, the Harbinger case keeps resurfacing to taint the current case, and it’s increasingly maddening to separate the two when Kallum is purposely trying to put me on defense.

I take a long sip of tea and refocus my thoughts on the second scene, where I’m assuming we’re still dealing with body parts from the same group of victims.

The ears were a degree less difficult to classify and label based on initial observation. The offender severed the entire ear with precision, shaving it cleanly away from the cranium, possibly with some sort of straight razor.

The same thread and weaving technique was used, denoting the same offender.

Kallum drums his fingers on the tabletop. I finally look him directly in his eyes.

“You’re agitated again,” he says, then spins the saltshaker three times.

“That’s because my time is supposed to be spent at the crime scenes, building a profile of the actual scene.”

Instead, I’m seated across from a dangerously delusional philosophy scholar who claims that, in order to further analyze the scenes, he needs to learn the town philosophy.

On the ride into downtown, Kallum suggested our best way to interview the townies was to start with the local restaurants and watering holes. Socialize, blend, become accustomed to their customs. Observe their philosophy, so to speak, before asking the difficult questions which usually shut people down. Like the feds have been doing with their interrogations since they arrived.

Agent Alister wasn’t impressed.

“This town is one whole crime scene,” Kallum states. “When do you think we’ll uncover the tongues? Maybe we can make flyers of those little monkeys to hand out—”

“I’d hate to think this was a stall tactic,” I say, cutting him short. “There are—”

“Yes, I know. Lives in peril. It’s all very dramatic. But let’s consider this…” He leans forward, his height and large persona crowding the small table. “I’m only here for my own selfish need. Which includes this town being my only taste of freedom. There’s no incentive for me to work quickly, is there?”

“I’d say you have that brutally honest thing down.” I pivot back to his earlier comment.

He wets his lips, suppressing a smile. “People waste their lives lying, concerned with what others think.” He swipes a lemon wedge from his glass and squeezes the slice into his water. “Once you realize everyone you know will die—even your helpless victims; if not today, then in just a short matter of years—there’s no reason to care about much of anything.”

I lower my gaze, my throat constricting. “Is that your life philosophy, or someone else’s? Do you have any original philosophical opinions?”

“Interesting you should ask,” he says, smearing the lemon wedge along his fingers. “Considering it’s your perpetrator’s philosophy. I just tend to agree with that aspect of it.”

“How can you know his philosophy? We don’t know anything concrete about the scenes yet.” My tone echos the frustration starting to unravel me. “Matter of fact, how did you locate the second scene? Can you even give me a straight answer?”

“The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.” His mismatched blue-and-green eyes widen, revealing the unstable current drifting below his smooth surface.

He licks the lemon juice from his finger, triggering a wild flutter in my belly. Incensed, I drop my gaze to the plain-white cup. “Obviously you can’t.”

He reaches across the table and grasps my wrist.

My heart batters my chest as I fight his grip. “Let go—”

“Listen.”

His command hits my body like a crash of thunder. I go still, my heavy breaths the only sound between us.

The whole diner fades away as Kallum’s long fingers circle my wrist, his heat bleeding into my skin. Then, with his other hand, he places the lemon to my knuckles. Applying delicate pressure, he slides the peel down the back of my index finger, setting off a riot of heat and frenzy to my nervous system.

As he moves to my middle finger, dragging the slick pulp over my skin, I stare at his hand wrapped around my wrist, at the inked sigils stained into his fingers. They’re unique to him. The designs don’t pull up on any rune chart that I’ve searched.