{eight}

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Dylan slammed his fist on the raggedy desk and it shook. Damn if he hadn't been running around in circles again. If they thought they had nothing on Carissa's case, Marina's proved to be even worse. They'd talked to her assistant who let them know she'd spent her final night at Mike's. Upon going, the cameras hadn't captured anything out of the ordinary.

Her social media proved to be more helpful. Luckily she had multiple accounts connected. He scrolled through her Twitter feed and Facebook posts again. He knew it had already been done but was hoping to find something. And he had. He'd connected with one of her online friends who had led them to her phone.

That had been this morning. Hopefully, they would have something for him by the end of the day. But Mondays never went well for him, so he didn't count on it.

That and her brother had already warned them she was extremely private, so any possible activity had probably been deleted. Nothing the phone records couldn't fix. They just had to wait for the company to fax them over.

The autopsy report had uncovered some details too. COD had remained blunt force trauma. Marina's nails had also been cut and cleaned, so no DNA was present anywhere on her. She'd also had no underwear. Toxicology would be back in the next couple of weeks and Carla would get back to him with any pertinent details.

The words "False Prophet" had been carved into her abdomen. Dylan thought it was a stretch. She wasn't a prophet. After thinking about it, he supposed predicting the future based on horoscopes did involve some form of prophecy.

None of this mattered as long as this piece of shit kept taking lives. And then there was the matter of his partner.

Dylan was finishing up another report when he'd received the call from Healey. She was on her way now—two hours later. He got his phone and dialed Alessandra again, but the call went to voicemail.

"Look," he began, "I'll admit I might have been a bit out of line earlier. Just please return my call when you get this."

He slid his finger across the screen as Healey showed up.

"What the hell happened?" he asked as soon as she closed the door.

"Hello to you too," Healey responded. "To answer your question, she called me Saturday morning about a letter. I wasn't at the station and said I'd meet her that afternoon."

"Do you know when she got it?"

"She said it was right after you guys left."

That had been two in the morning on Friday! And it had taken her an entire damn day to tell anyone? He should've been the first to know.

"Do you have it?" Dylan asked, his irritation growing with every word.

Healey pulled out the plastic and put it on his desk. "I'm hoping your lab can move faster than we can or find something."

Dylan frowned as he read.

I already missed my first chance with you. Patience is bitter, but its reward will be sweet. I can't wait to see you again.

Dylan resisted the urge to pound his fist again. What the hell? This happened early Friday morning and it was now Monday morning. To make matters worse, Alessandra was making sure to keep her distance.

That phone call he'd made to her earlier didn't help anything. He couldn't really explain why he'd done it. As soon as he heard, his first instinct had been to see why she hadn't said anything about it. It had happened while they were inside the Chicago Field Office. He was right fucking there. He should've forced the issue and made her park at the field office where surveillance was.

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