The Candidate ✓ (Book Two)

Chapter Eighteen

  I saw them working a few times and began to get interested. I probably lingered a bit more than I should have- then one day, while I was delivering coffee and pretending not to listen to them going over a certain case, word vomit fell out of my mouth and they all looked at me like "Okay, you're joining the FBI whether you like it or not".

  "Forgive me for intruding sir-" I remember saying. "But I can't help but think the twin killed her. Her and the murderer's hands are exactly the same size. With the marks on her neck it doesn't look like she fought until the very end- consistent with the profile of somebody killed by a family member—and the murderer clearly didn't break in. There's not a single sign of forced entry and the only person in that house with purple hair- the color of that strand we found  on her bed- is the twin."

  The detectives- of course, took credit. I couldn't be pissed- because I wasn't even supposed to be listening. Hell- I weren't even supposed to be in the room when they were discussing a case, but when they were so engrossed in certain ones- they wouldn't notice me come in. They took a liking to me after that- helped me get into and finish college ridiculously early- and also helped me get into the FBI academy by sending a letter of recommendation from every special agent, profiler, detective and hacker working in the New York headquarters at that time.

  The admissions office definitely paid attention when I dropped off a stack of letters as big as my torso. Kyle was there for me then- just as much as he is now, well- up until a month ago because of my stubbornness.

I accept fully responsibility for this. He'd apologized for things that weren't his fault so many times- and I couldn't take one for the team just this once. God- what's wrong with me?

I can't see a future for myself without him in it. I started wanting children a few years after we met, and now- I can't imagine having them with anybody else. I can't imagine living without him. We've been together for ten years now and he's the only person I've ever been with- long term. I loved Isabelle, but I had less than six months with her before my 'dad' killed her.

She was a beautiful soul who didn't deserve any of it. I watched her give her lunch to a girl in our class whose family was struggling over a hundred times. She considered almost all of her free time to be volunteer time- so if she wasn't at her house and I wanted to see her, I'd go check the animal shelter and nursing home. She prepared the meals and just sat there talking to a lot of the older people with Alzheimer's. I remember volunteering with her one time- and one of them that hardly ever remembered anything knew her name and everything about her when he couldn't remember his biological daughter who visited him a few times a week.

That's the type of person she was. People remembered her- and always for good reasons. Thanks god the news only mentioned that she died- not where or how, because people definitely would have blamed me. I did too, for a long time- but decided I had to just not think about it so I could survive.

She would want that, anyways. "Don't worry about me-" I picture the words coming out of her mouth. "Save your energy."

Sometimes I still can't help it, but I try to look forward- because I have a good man just inside our house, which I'm currently staring at. There isn't a single part of me that's ever doubted if we're meant to be together or not- which is why I feel guilty about what I did last week even though we both agreed to see other people until further notice.

When I got around to telling him about Isabelle- he sat there, intently listening. He didn't blame or look accusingly at me. He didn't scream at me like her mother did out of pain. When I broke down, he held me until I stopped crying- and even then, didn't let go.