Instead of trying to work backward from that, she started at the beginning.

“The restaurant.”

Riley nodded. “It’s all over the news,” he said, holding out her tablet. There it was, splashed across the screen: ROMANCE RUINED: SHUNNED LOVER KILLS TWELVE

The banner photo was a shot of the restaurant’s front, a streamer of bright yellow tape caught in the air. A sheet covered the bodies.

“Good thing you didn’t go inside,” said Riley. And then, “You didn’t go inside, right?”

No, she’d stopped in the street, caught by the sudden, unexpected horror of the scene.

“We called it in as soon as you told us, but by the time the police got there—it was over. Did you see anything?”

See anything. Fragments drifted together in her head.

“Apparently the guy just showed up, went into the kitchen, and took the knives.”

That man, so calm, like he wasn’t even there.

“They’re not releasing names yet,” said Riley, “but someone leaked it to the press that his ex-wife was inside.”

“So he had motive,” said Malcolm.

Motive, thought Kate. It could have been an ordinary crime—a gruesome one, yes, but something human—except for the fact it wasn’t.

“You were right, about the explosion,” she said, “the string of murder-suicides. There’s nothing normal about this.”

“Are you sure?”

She remembered the wrongness in the killer’s eyes. A pair of silver discs shining in the dark. She’d seen the shadow, followed it . . .

But there the memory faltered, dissolving into darkness and the press of cold.

“Any survivors?” she asked.

“One,” said Malcolm. “She was rushed to the hospital in critical condition.”

Kate stilled. “Why do I sense a but coming?”

“They got her stabilized, but the moment she woke up—well, she snapped. Killed a doctor. Attacked two nurses, too. If she hadn’t been as bad off as she was, it would have been worse for everyone. They ended up quarantining the wing. Put the nurses under observation, in case whatever she had was contagious.”

Kate pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to quell the headache, trying to smother the feeling that rose in her throat at the word contagious. She’d been there. She’d seen . . .

“Kate?” pressed Riley in a too-even tone. “How are you feeling?”

Like hell, she thought. Like hell, but like myself.

“She should to go to a doctor,” said Malcolm.

“She is fine,” snapped Kate. Her phone chirped. “And she has to go to work.”

She got to her feet, steadied herself a moment, and turned toward the hall.

“Is that such a good idea?” asked Riley.

Her temper flared. “I said I’m fine.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe you?”

Kate spun. “I don’t care if you believe me. You’re not my parent and I’m not your pet project.”

“That’s uncalled for!”

“Hey, hey,” cut in Malcolm. “Everyone calm down.”

Kate scrubbed at her face. “Look,” she said slowly, “you’re right, I don’t feel great. But I’ve got to go to work. I’ll bail if I have to. Promise.”

Riley opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing.

If there was one sound Kate hated, it was the bell above the café door.

What was the point, when the counter faced the door and she could see the people coming in? At this time of day, the line stretched all the way back to the door itself, the constant open and close eliciting a near-continuous chime.

“Next!” she called impatiently.

To take her mind off the bell, she tried to focus on the customers themselves and play a game called “guess the secret.” The woman in the purple dress two sizes too small? Sleeping with her handyman. The man on the cell? Embezzling. The one in front of her right now? Addicted to sleeping pills. That was the only thing that explained how long it was taking for him to order.

A vein in Kate’s temple twitched.

“Next.”

A man shuffled forward without looking up from his phone.

“Sir?”

He was talking softly, and she realized he was taking a call.

“Sir?”

He held up a finger and kept talking.

“Sir.”

Annoyance rose inside her, taking a sudden sharp turn into anger, and before Kate realized what she was doing, her hand shot across the counter.

She snatched the cell phone and hurled it against the exposed brick wall installed to give the Coffee Bean that extra homey charm. It smashed, and when the man’s head finally came up, veins bulging as he stared, not at her, but at the pieces of his cell raining down the wall, Kate’s first thought was of reaching out and snapping his neck. Of how nice that would feel.

The urge stole through her, so simple and quick, she almost didn’t notice.

She could see it, clear as glass, could feel his flesh beneath her hands, hear the clean snap of bone. And the very idea was like a cold compress on a fevered head, a balm on a burn, so sudden and soothing that her fingers actually started curling—that little voice in her head, the one that said don’t, suddenly replaced by one that said do—before she thought no, stop, and came jarringly back to her senses.