Mark Hoffman

"Hoffman." Roger McCallister and Ron Willis, partners with desks downstairs in the Cop Pit, were waiting in his office, seated in front of his desk. Through the billowing smoke and growing stacks of unfiled documents, Matthews was flicking ash and bobbing his eyebrows up and down in his direction. Whatever these two wanted, it was worth listening to.

"McCallister. What's up?"

"Bad things," McCallister was rubbing his receding hairline as he spoke, a guilty look marred his face. "I've got two sex of them wised up and got a lawyer. Now, we're about to have hell on our asses. One of them's claiming Willis copped a feel."

"Did he?" Hoffman turned to the short man, who scratched his beer gut as if comfortable at home.

"I had to pat her down for weapons. Didn't mean anything else by it."

"Regardless," McCallister waved it off, "IA is about to fuck us real good. We need your help."

"Not much I can do, what with my not being there to be a witness." Hoffman sat into his office chair, hearing the squeak of the pivot. He knew what was to come. He felt like the godfather, about to have his rings kissed.

"We're not dumb. We know you've been closing cases like clams. The people you bring all bitch about how they're innocent. That they're being framed. Now, not saying we look down on that sort of thing. But lately, Gibson has been watching us like a hawk. If you can give us a tip on how to get around that asshole, it sure would make life a hell of a lot easier."

Hoffman inhaled slowly. This put him in an awkward situation. If Will was here, she would have been furious to know what he had been up to… but she wasn't. She would never know.

He and Matthews had been bypassing the tedious processes she followed religiously, because at the end of the day, it was about locking away the criminals. Waiting for them to get lazy and leave evidence for a solid conviction never happened.

He looked over at two cops. "They're for sure guilty?"

"Without a doubt. Caught them soliciting at one of the usual nightwalker hangouts. Dressed the way they were. Carried a fuckton of cash."

"Did they approach you?"

Willis looked uncomfortable, his face pinching towards the center as if he ate something sour. "Well, no. When we approached, they told us to get lost."

Hoffman didn't like the idea of bringing more of the department into what he and Matthews had set up. It left a lot of openings; vulnerabilities that could come back and bite them in the face.

But turning his back on his brothers, it would have been a real betrayal. And he wasn't about to go back to the days when he was Rosello's mole and ostracized by the entire department.

"If you can't build a strong case on prostitution, look at other options. Did you find any drugs on them?" He gave them a weighted stare, expecting them wise enough to catch on.

McCallister perked up. "Actually, yeah. We found an eighth of coke on each of them."

"Possession. That's at least three years."

The two men nodded like bobbleheads, eager.

"Since you haven't added them in the initial report, you're going to need to find another way to pin it on them. Did you impound a vehicle?"

"Their Corolla. Yeah." Willis looked over to McCallister. "We haven't submitted the inspection paperwork yet."

"There ya go," Matthews flicked ash onto the floor, smirking at Hoffman. "That's how you get it done."

"Hell, it's fucking genius." McCallister laughed, relieved. "You're a godsend, Hoffman."

He nodded, not sharing the revelry. There was a chunk of ice in his stomach and he kept thinking of what Will would say if she knew.

She doesn't have to know. Never.

Lindsey Perez

She hated it when the victims were kids. The teen girl should have been worrying about who would ask her out to prom or whether or not she'd pass her next algebra exam.

She should not have been lying out in the middle of a drive-in theater, arms spread out as if crucified, rib cage spread open like the gates of hell, with a clearly missing portion of the organ cavity where her heart should be.

It had to have been recent. The smell hadn't set in yet. She had been left undisturbed by the insects. Putrification was not yet setting into her pretty face. The dawn was still breaking. Distant lilac skies blushed above, barely noticed under the neon scarlet of blood that dripped down the great billboard.

The projection had long finished its showing, flickering muted white light over the body. Shadows shifted, contouring her figure, making her resemble a gargoyle standing watch over them.

"This can't go on," Lindsey muttered to herself, at a loss.

"It won't."

She turned, seeing Strahm, who gave her a sympathetic frown.

"This one's like the last. They've found some prints. He's getting sloppy," Strahm assessed, "and arrogant."

"And yet, he's still out there," Erickson stepped towards them, displeasure plastered on his frowning mustache. "Eighteen months. That's unacceptable."

Lindsey looked away in embarrassment, hating the scrutiny of Erickson's gaze. He was always a hardass, especially with her. She figured it was remnants of partner-possessiveness, as he used to be Strahm's partner before he was promoted to their supervisor.

"Look, I get that the higher ups are breathing down your neck, but we're stretched thin enough as it is, Dan," Strahm stepped between her and Erickson, quick to save her from the direct attack.

"I've granted you the resources you've asked for." Erickson casually glanced over his shoulder at the two women that were currently at the base of the billboard, pointing their flashlights along the blood trail with their backs to the agents. "And I expected results."

Lindsey suppressed a sigh. He wasn't wrong. Every lead had resulted in wild goose chases and dead ends. They had believed a college professor was the likely suspect, but after being issued their warrant, they came up with nothing.

Still, of all the people Erickson was lecturing, Peter was the last man he should have focused on. He was the one taking it all the worst. She looked over at her partner, watching as he had his hands on his waist, glaring down at some of the debris as if searching for the answers of the universe at his feet. She bit her lip and pulled at her necklace, worrying about him.

Ever since the killer started leaving packages for him to find, taunting him, Peter had become obsessed. He rarely slept. He barely left the office. He had become so transfixed and a hot angry mess. He had upturned his desk twice. Each time, over the puzzle of the various artifacts the killer had left him.

The first box had various pictures of the record store victim, followed with a manifesto that was unintelligible and disturbing. Angry rants written in red ink that swore of the end of days and how the impure would be cleansed only confused them and muddied their investigative waters.

She had only seen him be so erratic one other time, earlier in their career when they had first partnered up. He rarely got stumped but when he did, he was like an angry bull thirsty for blood.

A rustle was at her back. She thought she saw a glimmer of light in her peripherals and she turned to find the source. Something felt off. Across the pavement were dense bushes and trees. The wind was tickling the leaves, some of the dying vegetation falling to the ground.

She felt the hair on her neck prickle. She rested her hand onto her gun, the feeling of being watched making her knees vibrate.

She scanned the horizon.

The bushes. She could swear there had been some rustling and not from the wind. Another glint of light. Not too bright, but as if someone was pointing a mirror in her direction. She took a step, squinting in the darkness.

"Perez!"

She spun, seeing the group gathered and waving her over.

She walked over, noticing everyone gathered around a carefully taped box. An envelope was fastened to it, simply addressed, FBI.

"We need a bomb squad over here," Strahm shouted behind them.

They had waited for the all clear.

"He wants acknowledgement. He wants an audience." Strahm was pacing, jaw clenched, hands fidgeting for a pen that wasn't there to click. "What's changed?" He was looking right at her, intense, angry.

Perez exhaled through her nose sharply. "I don't know."

"Come on, Linds," he was close to her, not to intimidate, but because they had solved every challenging case together. He believed she could give him the answer. He trusted her, turning to her when even he was at a loss. She was one of the only people he turned to for help.

She scanned the scene. The settings must be related to the victims. All women. What drove this man to kill? To take their hearts? To leave them, naked, and cast aside like trash. And what was with bathing them? Hatred would have torn them to pieces. Lust would have indicated sexual assault in the autopsies. He was collecting their hearts. A symbol. Love was the obvious one. Bathing suggested they were in need of being cleansed.

"Damn," Allison muttered to Will, her voice always low and seductive, "I used to come to a drive-in for the nostalgia. Now that's ruined."

A drive-in theater. The thought of Allison, and all the dirty ideas that crossed her mind.

And then it hit her.

"Sex," she muttered.

Strahm blinked, dark eyes unimpressed. "No indication of sexual assault."

"But… I mean, where was your first time? Drive-ins are famous for the setting of a teenager's first time."

Strahm considered this. "The tobacco field. The music hall. A drive-in theater. Secluded places the victims had access to. Maybe they conducted sexual behavior where they were left."

"The Heartstealer's targeting sexually active victims he catches in the act? Maybe their first times?"

"That's a stretch. Many had previous relationships. Some were well above the age of losing their virginity. There has to be more than that."

"The bathing," Lindsey was gesturing with her hand, excitedly, "if the victim sleeps with someone, he feels he has to wash them. He bathes them to purify them?"

"And he takes their heart as his trophy. What, they're no longer pure of heart?"

Lindsey bit her lip. "Maybe."

Strahm turned to glare up at the dead girl. "He feels entitled to them." Strahm seemed to be renewed, "he invests in them. When he finds a new fixation, he follows them. Watches them. He believes they're pure and belonging to him. And once they betray him, by taking another lover, he takes action."

Will folded her arms, frowning. "What do you mean 'invest'?"

"He invests time, observing them. In his eyes, he's courting them." Strahm looked up at the victim. "When they go about their lives, he sees when they have sex, it's an act of betrayal of his deluded 'relationship'. He believes they've tainted it. That it's no longer a pure, good bond. So he severs that bond."

Allison cast Lindsey a skeptical look but Lindsey looked at Strahm with grateful awareness. She knew he was on the right path.

"Holy water," Will muttered to herself, her lips moving as if going through lines in her head.

"What's that, Maddox?" Strahm turned to her.

"Holy water. Maybe he's baptizing them."

"This is conjecture," Strahm was done, his frustration taking over. He had his moments, especially during a tough case, where a switch would flip and he had enough. Lindsey watched him as he turned, fist at his hip, looking around to kick something or flip a desk. With nothing to target, he ended up walking toward his car before calling back, "I'll be back in the office."

He drove off, the tires squealing with his tantrum. Lindsey shook her head and gave an apologetic look to the two of them. "He's just excited about this new lead."

Allison shrugged while Will looked especially disturbed, looking down at her feet. Lindsey knew Will did not take male disapproval well, especially when it was from a man she found attractive.

Daddy issues, seen from a mile away. She would never dare express this, even over pillow talk with Ally - if they ever hooked up again, that is.

There wasn't much to do now, besides wait while forensics swept the scene.

"I'll see you guys," Will left as well, heading to her car and leaving the two women behind.

"Want to grab a coffee, before we head back?" She turned to Allison, who had not looked her long in the eye before shrugging.

"Might as well. Going to be a long night." Allison and her had been off since she ended things. She had hoped it would have smoothed over after all these months but from what she gathered, Allison wasn't interested in rekindling their previous fling.

Maybe she wanted more commitment.

It was something she had always struggled with. She never knew a stable relationship. Not even growing up, as her parents split up when she was a kid. Still, that didn't mean she didn't want to be with someone. She just needed more time to be ready for something long term. Especially if it was long-distance.

They had gotten in the car, the tense silence frosty. She decided to break the ice, turning to Allison to lean forward, her lips so close to hers she could almost taste them.

"Linds," Allison's eyebrows were furrowed as she stared off in the distance, avoiding her eyes. "Stop."

She pulled away, letting out a sigh. "What's wrong?"

"Don't play dumb. We're not an item. And I don't plan to pick up where you left me." Ally was curling a strand of hair around her finger, looking out of the window. "I'm with Eric."

"Matthews?" She was incredulous. "But he's such a prick."

Ally turned her eyes sharply at her. "Don't call him that. You don't know him."

She tried to smile the hostility away. "Come on, Ally."

She shook her head. "No, you come on. You had your chance. I'm tired of being jerked around. I'm tired of being taken for granted. Eric, at least, needs me. He wants me. He misses me when I'm not around. But you?" She looked away, but not before Lindsey saw the tears. "You just want my body. I need more. I deserve more."

Lindsey swallowed back a response. What Allison was saying was fair. "I'm sorry, Ally."

"Don't be. I don't expect you to be forced into something you don't want. But you'll respect what I want. We can still be friends. But I don't want anything else."

Lindsey didn't want to believe that. But she wouldn't push. She could wait. "All right. Whatever you want, Ally."