“I think we need to travel down to Eugene,” said Ray. “We’re going to want to talk to several people face-to-face.”

“Agreed,” said Mason. He eyed Ava, wondering if she’d fill him in on her discussion with the other FBI agent in front of Ray. He lifted a brow at her.

“I’ll stay here,” she said. “Zander can use another pair of eyes.”

“Your car or mine?” Ray asked.

“I get carsick if I read in a car,” Mason said. “We could get a lot of files covered on the ninety-minute drive down there if you can stomach it.”

“Not a problem.” Ray looked from Mason to Ava and back again. “I’ll meet you out front in a bit.”

Mason jerked his head toward a door, and she followed him out of the main room into a quiet hallway. She leaned against the wall with a sigh. He stepped close and lifted her chin until her gaze met his. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“I saw your discussion with that agent. What’s up his ass?”

One side of her mouth curled up. “He was questioning my presence here. He knows I’m not assigned.”

“Did Ben Duncan send him?”

“No. If Ben wanted to tell me to go home, he’d call me.”

“Are you going to get a call?”

She frowned. “I don’t know. I’ve been half expecting it.”

“How’d you think to look in the ceiling?”

“I’ve been wondering if these young men were under orders from some cult-like figure who directed the shootings. But then Zander mentioned that maybe the third guy hadn’t come forward because he was an ex-con that didn’t want to be noticed. Something about the word ‘ex-con’ made me think about repeat crimes and how if the shootings were repeat crimes, how else could one person accomplish it? We’d seen a person in black go in and not come out. Suddenly I knew he’d have to take off the black clothing and hide it because I talked with him when he left. He was empty-handed. It had to be somewhere.”

Mason didn’t question the way her mind had jumped around. It’d happened to him dozens of times. When his neurons started firing he didn’t question how they worked.

“Maybe you should go home and relax for the rest of your vacation. Read a book or binge-watch something.”

Her wary dark gaze held his. “What are you saying?”

He lifted one of her hands and lightly touched the ragged nails. Her gaze followed his touch. “This isn’t like you,” he said. She tried to pull back her hand, but he held on and clasped it between both of his. “Look at me,” he said.

Insecurity looked at him through her blue eyes.

“I know you want to help. I know how good it feels to lose yourself in work when there’s something stabbing at your heart. I’ve done it a million times. But I think you need some more downtime. Didn’t you have an appointment today?”

“Crap!” She yanked her hand out of his and dug out her phone. “I missed it! Finding those clothes put all rational thoughts out of my head today. Dammit!”

A lecture about letting work overtake her life was on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn’t do it; he was just as guilty—if not worse.

Kettle, meet pot.

“Call them. Now. Get in as soon as you can. I don’t like you tossing and turning all night.” Or lunging out of bed in terror.

“You’re not the only one,” she muttered. “I feel like only half my brain is engaged these days. But I had to wait for this appointment. I’m afraid they won’t get me in until next week.”

“I’m heading to Eugene. If they can’t see you today then go home. Get away from this for a while.”

“I will,” she promised.

He looked hard at her.

“I will.”

He hugged her and kissed her good-bye. “I’ll be back late tonight,” he said. He and Ray could stay in Eugene overnight, but he didn’t want her alone tonight. She probably didn’t mind, but the thought of her alone in their bed bothered him. A lot.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Ava wanted to bang her head on the steering wheel. The therapist couldn’t see her until next week.

I knew it!

She hadn’t sounded pleased that Ava had missed her first appointment, and Ava knew the woman had no interest in taking on flaky patients. “This really isn’t like me,” she’d pleaded. “We had a hot hit on a case today.”

“I thought you were on vacation,” came the therapist’s reply.

Ava backtracked and acknowledged that she wasn’t supposed to be working. She was a poor patient. She might be a prompt and responsible person, but everything went out the window when one of her cases suddenly grew legs. It’d happened several times when she’d worked Crimes against Children. Her cases had been all-consuming and she’d often missed appointments and social events with friends.

I don’t mean to be irresponsible.

The problem was that she saw other people’s lives as more important than her own well-being. She had it good. She lived in a nice home and had a great guy and a good job. She lived the American Dream. But when she saw someone else was being victimized and she had the power to help, she felt obligated to make it a priority because when the day was over, she could return to her dream life. The victims and their families remained in limbo until answers were found.