"Uh, what?" He looked dumfounded.

"How. Are. We. Going. To. Hide. This. Body." I said it very slowly.

"Deb, I don't want you to get involved with this."

"The hell you don't."

He clenched his jaw, and then turned toward Travis, then back to me.

"You don't want to get involved in this."

"The hell I don't!"

"Dammit, Debra."

"You're my b-brother, Dex; I'm going to help you with this. No matter how sick it is . . . but, I . . . think you did the right thing. I just wish you would have left it to me. I wouldn't get pounded if you did." Woah, I must have lost my mind. I felt calm all of the sudden, like I'd been through this a hundred times. It was almost as if I caught my brother looking at porn, not shoving a knife in a guy's chest. It was weird, but not scary. It was probably because I was totally in love with him. Fuck my life.

"If I left it to you, Deb, you would probably be dead . . ."

"Is that an insult?"

". . . No"

"Hmm, I think it is. It's like you're saying I'm not a good enough lieutenant.

"Of course you are. He was just too dangerous for you . . . I couldn't loose you."

My heart jumped. Why did he have to do this to me?

"Wait, if he was too dangerous for me, he wasn't too dangerous for you? Dex . . . this isn't the first time you've done this, is it." I said it as a statement, not a question. When he didn't respond right away, I took a look around the church. The entire room was covered in plastic. On the walls, pictures of Dooms Day Killer's crime scenes hung side by side. Yeah, definitely not his first time. It was really . . . impressive. It was so . . . carefully crafted so . . . my dad. Dexter must have learned every thing from Harry. He knew how people couldn't get caught; he knew how to replicate that. But, my dad didn't have to worry about his Lt. Little Sister finding out his dirty little secret.

I returned my gaze to Dexter, who now was looking around the room too. Seeing what I was seeing. Probably wondering how I was processing this.

"I came down here to tell you that I love you."

"Didn't we already establish this?"

"Yeah."

"So . . . I love you too. You know that."

I stared at him. He may be a genius with blood spattering and skillfully murdering people, but he obviously couldn't take subtle girl-hints.

"You've never said those words to me until yesterday and today. Did you know that?"

He was silent for a moment; contemplating this information.

"Really?"'

"Really."

"Hmm."

"What do you mean: hmm?"

"Well, I never realized that. I love you very much, and . . . always have." His eyebrows pulled together, like this was shocking news to him. We stood there for a moment staring at each other. Then, Dexter took a step toward me. Then another and another, until he reached me. He stood in front of me, looking me over. Why did I feel so self-conscious? He reached his arms out and caught me in a hug.

"I'm sorry, Deb. I wish you didn't have to see that." His lips were so close to my ear. I shivered. He must have taken that shiver the wrong way because he backed away from me quickly.

"Sorry." He said for the millionth time.

"It's not you." I lied.

"What is it?"

"I'm just so stressed right now with fucking LaGuerta and all. She's still counting on me finding Marshal. Well, I fucking found him, didn't I?"

"Deb, we can figure something out, okay?"

"Fuck."

"It'll be okay."

"I highly doubt that."

"Hey, we're both in Miami Metro Homicide; we can take care of this. We can make it look like it's something it's not. I do it all the time."

"Of course you do, you're a serial killer."

"Woah, that was weird to hear you say it."

"Say what?"

"That I'm a serial killer."

"Well, you are."

"I know, I just never thought I'd hear you say it . . . it's weird."

"You want to know what else is weird?"

"What?"

"The fact that it took me this long to figure it out."