“Annalise.” The fleet admiral tossed a grin her way, ignoring Walt’s jab. He was good-looking but intimidating, despite the friendly grin.
Jakob was looking back and forth between Walt and Eric. His shoulders were stiff but not tight as they had been. His body language said “the situation is dangerous but we are not in danger.” Out loud, he said, “Dr. Hayden is a decoy.”
“Yep,” the fleet admiral agreed.
“You wanted to speak to Annalise. In secret.”
“Well, that saves on explanations,” Walt muttered.
“I wasn’t expecting a Ritter,” Eric said. “Someone tip you off I was coming?”
Jakob didn’t say anything, and the smile melted off Eric’s face. The tension in the air ratcheted up.
Annalise took a step forward and put a hand on Jakob’s shoulder, but she addressed Eric.
“No, Fleet Admiral. Jakob is here to protect me. I have a stalker.” If he wanted to know more, all he had to do was ask. Jakob and the Germany admiral would be obliged to tell him anything he wanted to know.
Eric frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He looked at Jakob. “You get the guy?”
Jakob’s shoulder turned to steel under her hand, and Annalise winced internally. She knew—though he’d never said anything—the fact that her stalker was still free ate away at his insides like a cancer. Jakob was a born protector, a man who’d dedicated his life to seeing justice done. Every single day her stalker roamed the earth as a free man was a personal affront to him.
“If I may ask, Fleet Admiral, why did you want to see me?” she asked.
Eric Ericsson had the smartest people in the world at his disposal. Why would he want to see her?
Because you’re brilliant?
Jakob’s earlier word echoed in her mind.
“Just what Walt here said. I want you to help me catch a serial killer.”
Annalise’s stomach knotted. “I’m no longer a practicing forensic psychologist. I teach now.” She gestured around her small office, which included several stacks of papers waiting to be graded.
“Maybe we should sit down,” Walt said. “Well, I’m going to sit down because Eric is squishing me against the door.” Walt bumped past Eric, knocking him back against the bookcases before dropping into the chair on the other side of her desk, where normally panicked students sat.
She took a seat too, but Eric and Jakob remained standing.
“Facing off” might be a more accurate term.
“He really does want help with a serial killer. I’m just the smoke screen.” Walt was glancing between them.
Annalise couldn’t help the small smile Walt’s comment provoked. Lately, she found it difficult to warm up to people—particularly men—as she was always suspicious and fearful. However, there was something about Dr. Walt Hayden that told her he was a good person. Since the appearance of her stalker, the only other man she’d warmed up to just as quickly had been Jakob.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Walt. You’re also here to consult on the fucked-up medical aspect of the killings.”
Annalise hadn’t expected the fleet admiral to be so flippant, so sarcastic. In her mind, she’d always envisioned Eric as stoic, stalwart, and intimidating. And while he had the intimidation thing in spades, he was lacking in the others. His sense of humor surprised her.
“You need a forensic pathologist.” Walt had the air of someone saying something for the hundredth time.
Jakob, as always, didn’t bother to mince words. “Serial killer?” he prompted.
“Straight to the point. No foreplay. Not exactly great on a first date.” Eric’s expression, in contrast to his words, was serious. He nodded at Walt, who reached into his pocket and pulled out a thumb drive.
Jakob took it, then glanced at Annalise. She opened the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out the secured, untraceable computer that she used for anything personal. The laptop provided by the university was reserved for only class and research-related tasks. The slim black computer the Ritter had provided for her had no logo and, when opened, a single white cursor appeared on a black screen. She bent to the camera, which scanned her face, then pressed two fingers to the small touchpad in the corner. The computer unlocked, and she plugged in the thumb drive.
The content was hundreds of files divided into several folders: “Decapitation,” “Full Dismemberment,” “Cross Reference MA”.
Annalise looked up from the computer, waiting silently for more information.
“Josephine O’Connor was one of ours. She was murdered in Dublin, and her head left in a basket where I, we, would find it,” Eric said in a dark, quiet voice.
Annalise shared a glance with Walt, since Jakob was wholly focused on the fleet admiral. Walt grimaced, and she found herself making a similar expression back to him, a moment of shared experience as they both processed Eric’s words.
“Petro,” Jakob said.
Petro meant Petro Sirko, the former admiral of Hungary. Annalise wasn’t sure how many members knew the truth about what had happened. That Petro had turned against the society, that he had resurrected old enemies—the Domino and Bellator Dei. She knew about it because Jakob had told her.
One night, he’d arrived looking particularly grim. After pouring herself a glass of wine and him a cup of hot tea—she’d never seen him drink alcohol—she’d gotten him to talk to her. It was the first time Jakob had shared anything from his own life, even if what he shared was more about their society than him personally. Typically, he was a closed book, fully dedicated to the job he’d been assigned—in this case, protecting her.
That night, he’d been shaken, and she’d been touched when he had opened up to her. In some strange way, she’d felt less afraid that night, less alone. For too long, she’d been a target. Something like that had a way of causing a person to look inward. She had spent too much time lost in her own terrifying world. So much so, she’d failed to remember that there were other people suffering unspeakable tragedies as well.
Even now, Annalise’s stomach clenched as she recalled Jakob telling her about the admiral who had turned against their society and the atrocities he’d committed against innocent people.
She glanced back to her computer, then did a quick search for “Josephine.” The file popped up and she opened it.
Her gaze landed on a headshot photograph of Josephine, and her heart ached. The woman’s wide smile, her bright, almost mischievous green eyes hidden behind glasses that were too large for her face, spoke of a kind, joyful woman. Annalise was briefly reminded of her sister, Adele, before the attack that had taken the light from her eyes.
“Petro targeted Josephine because he knew it would…” Eric looked away, his jaw muscle twitching.
Had the fleet admiral loved her?
Annalise studied his body language, and there was grief, but it wasn’t the sort of shell-shocked grief she usually saw from people who’d lost someone. That usually looked like hunched shoulders, as if the weight of their grief was a physical presence. Eric’s grief was fire. A burning grief-fueled anger that made him stand tall and take deep breaths.
“Petro organized it,” Eric started again. “But he wasn’t the one who actually killed her. We know he had at least one pet serial killer whom he helped fund and protect. Josephine wasn’t murdered by him, so that means it was a different killer. A killer I’m going to find.” The last words were a low, rumbling threat.