His phone buzzing broke Malcolm from the light doze he allowed himself to fall into. His brow furrowed after he glanced over to the nightstand to see his phone — and Sorcha's — wasn't sitting where he set it earlier.

"Of course you hid them," he mumbled to the woman comfortably nestled against him. "Why wouldn't you?"

"They're under my pillow." He felt the words more than heard them. "Stuck 'em there to keep you from YouTubing the rest of the afternoon."

Malcolm's lips kicked up at the corners.

"You're the one who YouTubes."

Especially when she's having a bad day or just needs to unwind. Something Malcolm learned during the first week of the mandatory lockdown. Being shut-in together not only forced them to work on communicating with each other but it taught them a lot about the other, too.

"Who watched all those how-to videos over the summer?"

"Didn't manage to build a thing, did I?"

"You did build Sunshine a new cage."

"Also glued my fingers to the base."

"There was that, yes." Sorcha's lips curved against his throat. "She loves her new digs, though, so I'd count glued fingers as worth it."

Malcolm hummed his agreement as he worked his hand out from under the cream colored cat aiding in Sorcha's subterfuge. Selina protested with an indignant growl and by wrapping her front paws around his arm.

"I need my hand back, Selina." Nails digging into his shirt sleeve was her response. Malcolm gave up with a sigh. "You need to answer that," he told Sorcha. "It's Gil."

"If I answer you don't get to keep avoiding him."

"I wasn't avoiding him."

"Were so." A chirp came from the budgie nestled in her cubby behind his head. "See? Even Sunshine agrees."

"She agrees with you because you spoil her."

"You spoil me and I don't agree with you."

"I clearly don't spoil you right."

"If I agree to that, do I get a Root Beer Dum-Dum?"

"We're out of Dum-Dum's."

"Instacart time."

Malcolm chuckled softly as he finally managed to extract his hand from the clutches of the annoyed cat who left with a swish of her tail.

"I'll make up for my insolence with treats later," he promised as he slid his phone and hers out from under the pillow. He passed Sorcha hers as he steeled himself for his pending lecture. "Gil."

"We have a body, Bright."

Malcolm's spine tingled. Gil's tone was… off. Something about the body he was calling about disturbed him. What, though? His brow knit as he tried to puzzle it out.

"Where?" He ignored Sorcha's small groan.

"The Botanic Garden."

Why Gil was calling him about a new Bride being found and not Sorcha made no sense. She was the primary consultant on the case. There was something Gil wasn't telling him. Malcolm's belly tightened as he tried to reason out what.

Not on the phone, anyway.

"Don't tell Sorcha about another Bride being discovered."

Why? Malcolm wondered. What about this particular Bride didn't Gil want Sorcha finding out about? The answer slammed into Malcolm with the force of a Prius. There's a connection between them. It was the only plausible reason there could be for Gil calling him and not her. This Bride had some sort of personal connection to Sorcha.

The question was what kind of connection? Friend or family make the most sense, he decided as Sorcha's thumb stroked the underside of his jaw. Who, though? Mandy? Her cousin Mia? Malcolm's breath clogged in his throat as a dozen faces swam before his eyes. Panic became an icy poker jabbing his burning belly. Somehow, though, he managed to form a calm reply.

"I'll be there in thirty minutes."

"Don't tell her, Bright," Gil ordered again. "I want to figure out what's going on before we tell her there's another Bride."

Keeping Sorcha from finding out would be easier said than done. Especially since we promised not to keep things from the other anymore. Stomach churning, heart beating a hard staccato against his ribcage, Malcolm lowered the phone and readied himself to break the promise he made less than two hours ago.

"Sorch..."

"I know." Sorcha slid from his lap and made her way towards the closest. "You have a case."

It wasn't just a case, though.

It was her case.

The Corpse Bride Killer.

Malcolm was familiar with the details of the case. He helped develop the initial profile. Sorcha started working it while he was under suspicion of murder. Continued working it during lockdown. It was her case. Gil had been adamant he not tell her about the latest Bride. He didn't know why exactly Gil didn't want Sorcha informed about this newest Bride. He suspected, yes. Something, a burning in his gut told him Gil's reason was more complicated than a simple connection between the Bride and Sorcha.

Like if the killer left a message.

No, not just a message, Malcolm realized as Sorcha dug through his tie collection for one she liked. A warning.

About what, though?

What could Sorcha have done to warrant the killer issuing a warning to her?

Had she figured out his identity and he was telling her what'd happen if she revealed it? One way to find out…

"Sorch?"

"Hm?"

"How close were you to a suspect in the Bride case?"

"I had the list narrowed down to three possible suspects." Sorcha sent him a quizzical look over her shoulder. "Why?"

"Because." Gil would have his hide for telling her about this Bride but it wasn't like he had any choice. He promised not to hide things from her. Plus, this was her case. She deserved to know what was going on. "Another Bride has been found."

"Another Bride?" Sorcha's face remained coolly composed but her eyes told him she was anything but calm. "Where?"

"The Botanic Garden."

She made a small sound, not quite distressed, he realized, deep in her throat.

"I'm going to guess she's a brunette."

"Brunette?" His brow furrowed. "I thought all the Brides were blonde?"

"The one we found in the Botanic Garden a week ago was a brunette."

Malcolm's hand spasmed on his thigh. "This isn't the first Bride left in The Botanic Garden?"

"No." Sorcha sat on the bed, his suit and shoes in her lap. "This would be the second one, actually."

"The second..." Malcolm's breath wheezed past the ball of ice lodged in his throat as pieces started to come together. "Why didn't you say something about a Bride being found in The Botanic Garden?"

"I planned on bringing you up to speed on the case last night, actually."

"Why didn't you?"

Sorcha side-eyed him. "Because what was going on with you was a tad more important at that moment."

"Sorch, I'm—"

"Word."

"I wasn't going to say fine." Malcolm grimaced at her snort. "Okay, I was. This case takes precedence. Women are dying."

"I know women are dying." Sorcha laid his suit on the bed but held onto his tie and shoes. "I've got their names and faces etched in my mind." Something Malcolm understood all too well. There were dozens of names and faces from his cases with the bureau he'd never forget. "I talk to Tessa Larson's mother every day, comforting her as she grieves her daughter, and promising we will find her killer. Same as I do Ashley Bennet's father, Lynsey Farrow's grandmother and mother, and Trina Foxgrove's brother and sister."

"I'd have helped with the case if you said something."

"We couldn't help them, Mal. Not with how worn at the seams we were. We needed today to regroup, recover, and above all else, rest."

Malcolm couldn't deny that what she said made sense. They had been operating at full throttle for months, going from case to case without stopping to take a breath. The pandemic might have shut the world down but it hadn't stopped crime or criminals. Homicides surged in the last few months. His closure rate was double what it had been his final year with the bureau.

"We need to figure out who the Corpse Bride Killer is," he said. "And stop them before they pick another Bride."

"That's the problem." Sorcha tucked her hair, left long and loose as he liked, behind her ears. "The first five Brides are the work of the real killer. The last one and this one? They're the work of someone else."

"A copycat?" Something law enforcement dreaded when working serial cases like this. "Or a protégée?"

"I don't think it's either."

"You don't?" That interested him. "Why not?"

"I believe the second killer is related to a cold case I found that fits the Corpse Bride Killer."

"A cold case?" The city had plenty of those. As he knew from his own browsing of the crime boards. "You found a Bride you think came before the first one was found in March?"

"Marjorie Davies." She took his phone and pulled up the notes she stored in their shared cloud drive before passing it back. "She went missing three days before her wedding. Turned up in The Botanic Garden two weeks later in a vintage wedding gown."

"Who reported her missing?"

"Her fiancée, Michael."

"You don't think it's him copying the Corpse Bride Killer?" When Sorcha shook her head, he asked, "Why?"

"Because Michael re-upped right after her funeral."

An army term he remembered JT and Sean using when referring to those who extended their military service.

"He's been away on deployment ever since." Malcolm reached for his pants and pulled them on. "Right?"

"Right."

"What about a brother? Uncle? Someone who might be unhappy that we haven't connected Marjorie with the other victims?"

"She has no family. Well," she amended as she handed him his shirt. "No family that we know of."

"Orphan?"

"Adopted." Sorcha's hand waved to the phone to indicate it was all there for him to read for himself. "Parents died when she was ten. Drunk driver. Marjorie went into foster care after that. Moved here to attend NYU after aging out of the system."

"Did you talk with her foster parents?"

"They hadn't spoken with Marjorie since she aged out of the system."

Aging out was common in the foster system. While some foster parents became attached to the children they fostered and chose to adopt them, most considered themselves as nothing more than temporary homes. Places children were put until they became old enough to take care of themselves.

In the eyes of the law, anyway.

"They had no information about any other family?"

"Marjorie had a grandmother in a care facility but she died a few years ago."

"What about Michael?" He took his dress shirt and shrugged it on but didn't button it. "Does he have any brothers? Cousins?"

"No brothers and cousins." Sorcha got up and went to get a pair of socks from the drawer. "He does have a sister, though. Erica, I believe her name is."

"Does she live near The Botanic Garden?"

"New Jersey, actually." Her handed him the socks. "She works for a bridal boutique on 5th Avenue."

"Giving her access to wedding gowns." Malcolm pulled the socks on before reaching for his pants. "We should have JT or Dani check her out."

"I should have figured this out weeks ago and had Garcia and Wachinski look into her."

"You would have made the connection eventually." Malcolm stood and started buttoning his shirt. "I have faith in you."

"If only you'd have faith in yourself."

"I have faith in me."

"You have faith in your profiling skills." Sorcha slid his tie over his head. "Not yourself."

He rolled his eyes. "We're talking about you, not me."

"Because you don't like talking about you."

He didn't, she was right. Not that he told her that. Sorcha was hard enough to deal with sometimes.

"Gil didn't want me telling you about there being another Bride."

"Oh?" One eyebrow lifted. "Why did you tell me then?"

Malcolm reached up to cover her hands with his own. "Because we agreed no more secrets."

"Guess he's gonna be pretty pissed when I show up with you then, huh?"

"Not like it's the first time he's been angry with me over something I did."

Sorcha leaned in and gave him a soft kiss. "Won't be the last time, either."

Malcolm was sure about that.

"Go get dressed," he said as he tucked in his shirt. "I'll put Sunshine in her cage."

"What?" Unholy mischief danced in her eyes. "Your shirt doesn't count as dressed?"

"Gil would skin you and then me for letting you out in public dressed like that."

"I'll put on the cashmere leggings your mother got me for my birthday."

Malcolm hummed a laugh. "That'll amuse JT."

"Win-win." He watched as Sorcha headed for the closet. "I get to keep your shirt and JT can make zingers about wearing cashmere leggings to a crime scene."

"Something tells me keeping my shirt is the part you like best."

"Duh," was her reply.

A/N: Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!

I want to thank dustytiger for their lovely reviews!