Beta: Fran
Prereaders: Jill, Ariel, and Pearly
My heart belongs to: My readers
I don't own: Twilight or the FBI
Does the Human Intelligence Unit really exist? Unfortunately, that's beyond your security clearance.
I'm flying through her information like a mad man, absorbing everything I missed in the past week. Within an hour, I'm down a pack of cigarettes and up a healthy fucking dose of anxiety because...holy hell, this is bad. This is very bad.
None of it lines up with what I know about Bella or even what I've seen. I've watched her every hour of every day; she doesn't have time to be some crazy vigilante hit woman. I would have seen it.
But the fact of the matter is, Bella's case was botched. I don't know what got her on the watchlist in the first place. I don't know what happened in the time she was being monitored before me, and I only had her myself for a few weeks. Maybe she was in a dry spell, and that was why she hadn't written anything while I had her.
It definitely reads like a journal, but there are no names, no descriptions beyond the generic, no identifying factors. If someone were to find this on the streets, they would assume it was a book, but it's the missing names and descriptions that make me think otherwise.
No, she seems to be covering up her tracks. But then why write it down at all?
I want to rush to Weber and ask her why the fuck she hasn't caught this.
I want to shake some sense into her and tell her to stop this madness and do something about the girl I may-or-may-not-kind-of-be-a-little-bit-into potentially being a serial killer.
I want to pry the case back from her and throw my body in Bella's path to protect her from the inevitable jail time she'll serve.
She's way too pretty for jail. Some big bitch named Bertha would own her for a pack of hot Cheetos in no time.
But I do none of these things. I just creep like the literal professional creeper I am.
And then I vomit up my breakfast of coffee and nicotine in the tiny trash can under my desk when I reread the last installment.
"He's in law enforcement. That's all he ever gave me."
"Luck is a lady when my new victim literally falls right into my lap when I'm out to dinner the next night."
Could it be? It can't be. No. She can't be talking about me. I've never been in a relationship serious enough to do anything that would be considered cheating.
But then I remember Tanya. And oh boy, am I royally fucked.
