The Blackout Girl ✔️

chapter twelve

Chapter Twelve

It was a nice morning in Dallas, one with a few puffy clouds in the blue sky, and a comfortable temperature to match. Nolan was grateful not to be sweating yet, as he often was during the hotter months of the year. Morning granted him a reprieve.

He walked into his favorite coffee shop just after eight, ready to be at work by eight-thirty sharp. As he stood in the short line, he pushed the sleeves of his blue button-down up to his elbows, fidgeting self-consciously with the cuffs. He was surrounded by plenty of businessmen and professionals, yet he still felt out of place. Nolan was acutely aware that he didn't have the same intimidation factor other agents did. It was another thing that made him stand out.

By the counter, he noticed current newspapers were laid out and selling fast. The main headline was, unsurprisingly, about the killings and the latest victim found in his upscale apartment building. The man in front of him had one tucked under his arm, prepared to buy it with his coffee.

The whole area was hooked on this story. It drove Nolan crazy to think about it, to know they had few answers to give and were practically being mocked by the media. The culprit was probably reveling in the attention, which made it worse.

"What can I get for you today?" the barista chirped when he reached the front of the line.

He rubbed his neck, his cheeks flushed as she beamed at him. "Uh, just a p-plain espresso with milk," he managed to stammer out.

He felt ridiculous as she rang him up. He couldn't even talk to a stranger without turning into a stuttering idiot. If he tried to say anything else, he would probably trip over his tongue all over again.

He stood off to the side until his drink was finished, itching to leave as soon as possible. When they called his name, he took his cup in a hurry, the warmth seeping through the sleeve. He parted through the other customers and pushed his way out onto the sidewalk, ready to return to his car and get to the office.

He swiped his badge at the door, climbed into the elevator alongside Darren, who barely looked up from his phone long enough to greet him. Nolan tried not to be nosy, but he knew Darren was probably fighting with his girlfriend again. The other man's demeanor seemed stressed, hostile. It was definitely out of character.

Nolan gave him his space since prying never ended well.

When he got to his desk, he started to unpack his bag, taking a moment to collect himself. Even if he was a little early, the short time never did much for him. Pretty soon, he would be swamped with something to do. This was probably the only peace he would get.

He heard the sound of Kaytee's favorite kitten heels before he saw her. She was clutching a giant stack of papers to her chest, nearly about to drop some of them by the looks of it. Slightly out of breath, she gestured to the conference room.

"Price is holding a meeting in five," she announced.

"Do you want help?" he offered.

"I've made it this far," she said stubbornly. "A few more feet won't kill me."

She was right. By the time the briefing started, she had every sheet organized, and everything she needed set up and ready to go. Pinned to the corkboard were four photographs, one for each of the victims while they were still alive.

"What is this?" Darren asked.

"A study in victimology," Price answered. "What we need to do today is figure out what these four men have in common. What is it that made them targets?"

Nolan frowned. Aside from race, the men were as diverse as could be. From finances to ages, there seemed to be no connection. Unless...

"Why did George Naples get divorced?" Nolan questioned.