The text from Lucia came at 11 PM: Got a weird message. Might be nothing. Call me.
Maya called immediately, her heart already racing. "What message?"
Lucia read it to her, her voice shaking. "It came from a blocked number. I tried calling back, but it just rings."
"Forward it to me. Right now." Maya was already at her laptop, pulling up the task force database. "And Luce, I need you to listen carefully. Lock all your doors and windows. Set your alarm. Don't go anywhere alone until we figure out what this is."
"You think it's really him?"
"I don't know. But we're not taking chances." Maya's fingers flew across the keyboard, logging into the FBI's communication analysis system. "I'm going to have our tech team trace the message. In the meantime, I'm calling the Portland field office. They'll send someone to watch your house tonight."
"Maya, you're scaring me."
"Good. You should be scared. But you're also going to be safe, I promise." The message came through, and Maya screenshotted it, forwarding it to the tech team with a priority flag. "I'm also canceling your trip to Seattle. It's too dangerous."
"No." Lucia's voice was firm now. "If he knows I was planning to come, if he's watching me, then we use that. We set a trap."
"Absolutely not. You're not bait, Luce. I won't risk you."
"It's not your choice. I'm coming to Seattle, and I'm going to help you catch this bastard. End of discussion."
Maya wanted to argue, but she recognized the tone in her sister's voice. It was the same stubborn determination that had helped Lucia survive, and that had carried her through years of recovery. When Lucia made up her mind, there was no changing it.
"Fine. But we do this my way. Full protection detail, safe house, the works. You don't go anywhere without an agent."
"Agreed."
After they hung up, Maya sat in the dark of her apartment, staring at the message on her screen. Looking forward to meeting you, Lucia. It's been too long.
The phrasing was deliberate, personal. This wasn't some random creep who'd gotten Lucia's number. This was someone who knew about her past, who knew she was connected to the investigation.
This was him.
And he was playing with them.
Maya's phone rang. Marcus.
"I saw the flag on the message trace," he said without preamble. "Tell me everything."
She did, laying out the timeline: her conversation with Lucia about the burn mark, Lucia's decision to come to Seattle, the message arriving within hours. "He's monitoring us somehow. He knows what we're doing."
"Or it's a coincidence. Someone who read about the case, figured out the connection, decided to mess with the victim~."
"You don't believe that."
"No," Marcus admitted. "I don't. Which means we have a serious problem. If he's tracking our investigation, if he knows about Lucia's involvement, then he's either law enforcement or he has access to someone who is."
The implication hung between them, heavy and terrible. A leak. Or worse, someone on the inside.
"We need to limit information flow," Maya said. "Only essential personnel know about Lucia coming to Seattle. We create a cover story, make it look like she's coming for a family visit. And we set up surveillance on anyone who might be compromised."
"Already on it. I'm also bringing in Internal Affairs, quietly. If we have a leak, we plug it." Marcus paused. "Maya, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest. Is there any possibility that you mentioned Lucia's involvement to anyone outside the task force? A friend, a colleague, anyone?"
"No. I've been careful."
"What about your apartment? Your phone? Any chance someone could be monitoring you?"
The thought made her skin crawl, but she forced herself to consider it objectively. "I don't think so. But I'll have the tech team sweep everything."
"Do it tomorrow. First thing." His voice softened slightly. "And Maya? Watch your back. If this guy is as smart as we think he is, if he's been operating for fifteen years without getting caught, then he's not going to make mistakes now. He's escalating, getting bolder. That makes him more dangerous."
"I know."
"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, you and your sister just became his primary targets."
After Marcus hung up, Maya walked through her apartment, checking locks, closing blinds, seeing her space with new eyes. Was he watching her right now? Had he been in here, touched her things, learned her routines?
She went to her bedroom closet and pulled out the lockbox where she kept her personal weapon. A Glock 19, loaded and ready. She'd never had to use it outside of training, but she was prepared to if necessary.
She was also prepared to do whatever it took to protect her sister.
Even if it meant using Lucia as bait.
Even if it meant breaking every rule she'd been taught.
Because this wasn't just about catching a killer anymore. This was personal. This was family.
And Maya Reyes didn't lose family.
Not again.
She was about to close her laptop when something nagged at her. A detail she'd overlooked, buried in the routine of processing evidence and building timelines. She pulled up Emma Chen's case file again, scrolling past the crime scene photos to the victim information sheet.
Emma Chen, 26, marketing coordinator. Next of kin: Marcus Chen (brother).
Maya's breath caught.
She read it again, certain she'd misread. But there it was, stark and undeniable in the database. Marcus Chen. Her supervisor. The man who'd been pushing her to take care of herself, to protect Lucia, to not let the case consume her.
His sister was victim number five.
"Jesus Christ," Maya whispered.
She pulled up Emma's social media profiles, the ones she'd skimmed during the initial investigation. There—buried in photos from two years ago—was a picture of Emma with an older man at what looked like a family barbecue. The caption read: Best big brother ever. Thanks for always having my back, Marcus.
Marcus looked younger in the photo, less worn down. He was smiling, his arm around Emma's shoulders, both of them holding beers and laughing at something off-camera. They had the same eyes, the same sharp cheekbones.
Maya's hands were shaking now. How long had he known? Had he known when he assigned her to the case? When he'd stood beside her in the autopsy suite, watching Dr. Okonkwo examine his sister's body with clinical detachment?
She grabbed her keys and was out the door before she could second-guess herself.
Marcus's apartment was in Capitol Hill, a modest one-bedroom in an older building with creaky floors and thin walls. Maya had been here once before, months ago, for a team dinner that had felt more like an interrogation of the new recruit. She remembered thinking his place was surprisingly sparse—minimal furniture, no photos, nothing personal except for a shelf of well-worn books.
Now she understood why.
She knocked, hard and insistent. It was nearly midnight, but she could see light under the door.
Marcus opened it after a long moment, still dressed in his work clothes minus the jacket. His tie was loosened, his sleeves rolled up. He looked exhausted, older than his forty-two years.
"Maya." His voice was flat, unsurprised. "You found out."
"Why didn't you tell me?" She pushed past him into the apartment. "Emma Chen is—was—your sister. You've been supervising an investigation into your own sister's murder, and you didn't think that was something I should know?"
Marcus closed the door slowly, his back to her. When he turned around, his face was carefully blank, but his eyes were red-rimmed. "Because the moment I told anyone, I'd be pulled from the case. And I can't—" His voice cracked. "I can't let someone else handle this. I can't trust anyone else to find him."
"Marcus—"
"She called me the night before." The words came out raw, broken. "Emma called me at eleven PM, said she was walking home from a friend's place and felt like someone was following her. I told her she was being paranoid. I told her to stop watching so many true crime documentaries." He laughed, a bitter sound. "I'm a goddamn FBI agent, and I told my baby sister she was being paranoid."
Maya felt her anger deflate, replaced by something heavier. "You couldn't have known."
"That's what everyone keeps saying. The counselor they made me see, my mother, the Assistant Director. But I did know, Maya. I've been hunting this bastard for months. I knew he was escalating, knew he was getting bolder. And I still told Emma she was fine."
He moved to the window, staring out at the Seattle skyline. "She was twenty-six. She had her whole life ahead of her. She was going to start grad school in the fall, had just gotten engaged. And now she's—" He stopped, his shoulders shaking.
Maya crossed the room, standing beside him. She didn't touch him, didn't offer empty platitudes. She just stood there, two people who understood what it meant to lose someone to violence.
"That's why you've been so hard on me," she said quietly. "About taking care of myself. About Lucia."
"I watched you throw yourself into this case the same way I did. Skipping meals, not sleeping, obsessing over every detail." Marcus turned to face her, and his expression was haunted. "I saw myself in you, Maya. And I knew—I knew—that if you kept going like that, if you let this consume you the way it's consuming me, you'd miss something. You'd make a mistake. And someone else you love would end up on Dr. Okonkwo's table."
"Is that why you assigned Agent Garrett to work with me?"
"I assigned Garrett because I needed someone watching your back who wasn't compromised by grief or rage or guilt." He rubbed his face with both hands. "I'm barely holding it together, Maya. Every time I look at those crime scene photos, every time we find another body, I see Emma. I see her scared and alone and calling out for me, and I wasn't there."
Maya's throat tightened. She thought about Lucia, about the text message, about how close she'd come to losing her sister fifteen years ago. "We're going to catch him," she said. "Together. And when we do, he's going to pay for what he did to Emma. To all of them."
"You sound certain."
"I am certain. Because he made a mistake." Maya pulled out her phone, showing him the message Lucia had received. "He's getting cocky. He's reaching out, making contact. That means he wants something from us, and people who want things make mistakes."
Marcus studied the message, his jaw tightening. "He's playing with us."
"Let him play. We'll use it against him." Maya met his eyes. "But I need you to promise me something. If this gets too personal, if you can't stay objective, you tell me. You shouldn't try to handle it alone."
"Maya—"
"I mean it, Marcus. Emma was your sister. Lucia is mine. We're both too close to this, and that makes us dangerous—to ourselves and to each other. So we watch each other's backs. We keep each other honest. Deal?"
He was quiet for a long moment, and she could see him weighing it, calculating the risks. Finally, he nodded. "Deal. But the same goes for you. The moment I think you're compromised, I'm pulling you."
"Fair enough."
Marcus moved to his kitchen, pulling out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. He poured generous measures, handing one to Maya. "To Emma," he said quietly. "And to catching the son of a bitch who took her."
Maya raised her glass. "To Emma. And to not losing anyone else."
They drank in silence, the weight of their shared loss settling between them like a third presence in the room. Outside, Seattle glittered in the darkness, beautiful and indifferent. Somewhere out there, a killer was watching, waiting, planning his next move.
But now Maya understood something she hadn't before: she wasn't hunting alone. She had Marcus, bound to her by grief and determination and the terrible knowledge of what it meant to lose family.
And together, they were going to end this.
No matter what it cost.