I watch the tension gather in Halen’s shoulders as she purposely avoids looking my way at the accusation. While I did as she asked, pointing the proverbial finger at the alchemist suspect for the murder, Rana still has her sights set on Devyn. Respected or not, Alister was FBI. One of them.

Rana shifts her gaze to me expectantly. “So, professor, I want more conclusive insight from you where the word may doesn’t enter your extensive vocabulary, or I’ll send for Dr. Markus, and your evaluation will reflect that.”

I rub the back of my neck, sick of the humidity. Sick of this town. Sick of performing. “It’s a replica of The Bacchae,” I say decidedly. “An ancient Greek tragedy set in Thebes. The scene depicted here is iconic, ornamented on vases and murals from the era. Do you also recall the play from your mythology classes?”

The agent doesn’t flinch. “Refresh my memory.”

My smile is cutting. “Fearful of the raving ones, the maenads empowered by divine madness, men chased the women up a mountain side. It was barbaric, branded as the pursuit ritual. Their fear of these women was so tremendous, they chased them over the cliffs of the mountain.”

My gaze drifts to Halen, registering the sadness in her expression, the residual ache of loss I always sense within her. The desire to taste that ache deep inside her thrums through me with vicious need, and I give the agent my closing statement so she can be rid of this scene.

“Overall, I agree with Dr. St. James,” I say, sinking my hands in my pockets to curb my desire to touch her. “This is a shrine. Childs views her followers as the mad women regardless of gender. Their groupthink mentality is so strong and loyal, their devotion to their priestess earns them a commemorative death.” I tic my chin toward the exhibit.

“Childs hasn’t deviated from Nietzschean philosophy,” I continue. “Nietzsche used Greek tragedies to express how life is cruel and unfair, how illogical our suffering can be.” But I’m looking into Halen’s eyes as I say this, my words meant solely for her. “As Childs has clearly replicated here.”

Halen doesn’t break my gaze, a certain understanding passing between us. “Nietzsche also felt that to make sense of our suffering, we have to have ‘a recognition that whatever exists is of a piece, and that individuation is the root of all evil’.”

A faint, hopeful smile graces my mouth at her direct quote from The Birth of Tragedy.

“In other words, Dionysus offers deliverance from our pain, where we don’t have to suffer alone.” Halen looks at the exhibit. “Devyn’s shrine denotes her pain, but in this way she also reconciles it, mitigating her loss by making herself one with this woman through the god.”

The crime scene all but falls away. Halen’s saccharine melancholy infuses the air and reaches right into my sternum to strangle the muscle that beats only for her. I’m tempted to set this whole field on fire and make love to her as it burns to ash around us.

Rana cranes an eyebrow. “You two do work well together,” she says, her innuendo not so subtle. She’s not oblivious, but at least she’s also not tactless, giving the moment sufficient time to taper before she addresses me. “Thank you for your thorough analysis, Professor Locke. I expect a detailed report on The Bacchae before the end of the day.”

Yet another reason to set fire to this town and be rid of this whole charade before the day’s up. I don’t do fucking homework.

Finally, I break away from Halen and give Agent Rana a compliant nod, satisfied when she turns her full attention to Hernandez and another task force member.

The activity of the scene bleeds into the sudden stillness incasing us, the chirr of the crickets too far off, the rustle of disturbed deer buried beneath the whine of cameras and ringing devices.

Nothing feels sacred anymore.

With a final zip of her bag, Halen hefts her gear. “Since I have nothing further to offer, I’m heading back to the hotel.” She directs her statement to Rana.

After a measured beat, Rana excuses her. “Keep your phone on in case there’s a new development.”

Halen nods her agreement before turning toward Hernandez past the crime-scene tape. “Would you mind bringing my gear back to the hotel later? I don’t feel like lugging it all to my rental car, and I need to get some sleep.”

At his accommodating nod, she walks off the scene.

I feel the weight of his stare on my back. “Are you going to let me in on what happened with her earlier?” The demand in my tone makes it not really a request.

Hernandez moves into my field of vision, his features stern. “Maybe she’s figuring you out.”

Despite the smile that slants my mouth, the implication digs beneath my skin. A flash of the Briar Institute on Halen’s phone rears before I tamp it down.

“You know, Gael. It’s pretty easy to get locked up in holding cells with madmen around here.”

His nostrils flare. “Is that a confession?”

“A truly smart fed would take it as a warning.”

Facing him, I reach out and take Halen’s gear from his grasp. He says nothing more as I back away, keeping my gaze hard on him as the threat lingers amid the reeds.

Right on cue, like an irritating gnat, Dr. Keller crops up in my periphery. “Professor, you’re not permitted to leave the scene.”

A growl rumbles from my chest, and it’s enough to catch Halen’s notice. She looks back with a severe glare to deliver her own warning.

I hold up a hand innocently. “I’m just helping to carry gear.”

Halen seals her eyes closed briefly before she slogs through the reeds toward the woman. “Dr. Keller, I need a moment alone with your patient.”

“It would appear the both of you spend too much time alone,” she says derisively.

Halen cocks her head, a dangerous twist angling her pretty smile. “Is that a professional assessment?”

A thrill sparks my blood at the threat edged in her tone, so close to touching that wild fury.

Dr. Keller flicks her humidity-frizzed hair from her shoulder. “Just an astute observation.”

The standoff between them stretches until Halen says, “Until your services are required as more than a babysitter on this case, you will respect all requests from every member of this task force despite your limited observations.”

Goddamn. My blood is molten watching Halen mark her territory like an apex predator.

When Keller ultimately relents, walking a distance away, Halen levels me with a knowing stare. “Do not do anything to her,” she says.

“I don’t think I’m the one Dr. Keller should be worried about. Damn, baby. Those claws are sharp.” I reach down and shamelessly adjust myself. At her unmoved expression, I say, “I have no intention of making the doctor piss herself.” Though the memory of Stoll doing so brings a crooked smile to my face. “Besides, I can’t anyway if I’m no longer here.”

“You lied back there,” Halen says, accusation heavy in her voice.

“No more than you did,” I challenge.

Her dark layers of hair escape the band at the base of her neck. She holds my gaze a moment longer before she admits, “I was just trying to make Devyn appear⁠—”

“Compassionate,” I say. “Remorseful. Like she’s incapable of murdering a member of law enforcement in cold blood.”

She brushes the shock of white from her eye. “And you were lying to protect me.”

“Always.”

A charged current pulses the air between us, and I chance a step closer.

“If you want Devyn vindicated, someone has to take the fall.” I roll my shoulders as I anchor the strap of her case higher.

“There always has to be a scapegoat,” she says, slinging my words back at me.

Always.

“Rana’s right, the Harbinger has no logical reason to be here. The alchemist suspect is the best target. Nudge Rana toward him with your profile, and I’ll back it up in my…report.” I bite the word off with a hint of derision, making Halen’s captivating smile surface. Just as suddenly, however, that smile turns crestfallen.