“I swear I didn’t know he was coming. . . .”

But Jay just reached for his keys and started his engine. “I know.” He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles whiter than they should be. “I really do have to get to work.” He put his car in gear and glanced at her wistfully before pulling away, leaving Violet standing in the spot where his car had just been.

She turned then, her mouth drawing into a hard line. She was frustrated that Rafe had shown up unannounced. And with Jay for being jealous, and for making her feel guilty, like she’d done something wrong.

She was mad at herself too. For not stopping Jay so she could tell him he was being ridiculous. For not explaining that it wasn’t a competition between the two of them . . . that it would never, ever be a competition.

“Ever hear of a phone?” Violet stormed across the pavement, not bothering to keep her voice down. Even though the lot had mostly cleared out for the day, a few heads turned toward the commotion.

Rafe shrugged like he always did, as if he wanted everyone to know he didn’t care . . . that nothing bothered him. But Violet saw the smirk concealed just beneath the surface of his invulnerable outer shell.

“You can’t just show up whenever you want.”

Again, he shrugged. “Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“You know what I mean.” Violet glared, not exactly sure where all of her anger was even coming from. But she didn’t like the way she felt inside, regret and remorse festering, and Rafe was the only one she could think to blame. If he hadn’t shown up . . .

Then Jay wouldn’t have left, not like that.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I have a life here. And Jay doesn’t like . . .” This time she was the one who shrugged, not quite sure how to finish the sentence. Jay didn’t like what? He didn’t like Rafe? He didn’t like the two of them spending time together? Both, she supposed, but said neither.

“Relax, it’s not like I came to cause trouble. Here—” He held out the helmet he’d been holding, the one Violet had assumed was his. “Sara was able to get an appointment to see that kid today, the one from the jail. We’re supposed to meet her there so you can take a look at him.”

Stubbornly Violet held her ground, refusing to take the helmet and ignoring the fact that her curiosity had been piqued by the mere mention of the boy from the night before. “I didn’t get the message,” she argued.

“I tried to call, but you weren’t answering. All the calls went straight to voice mail.” He lifted his black brows curiously. “Almost like you were avoiding me.”

Her hand automatically went to her pocket, but she froze. Oh right, my phone. She still wasn’t used to not having it. “You’re pretty full of yourself. Actually, it had nothing to do with you. Thanks to you, I got my phone taken away.” She eyed the motorcycle behind him with the same suspicion she always did. “And you’re crazy if you think I’m riding that thing.”

His serious expression cracked, just slightly, and Violet knew he was toying with her. “C’mon, I’ll have you back before bedtime.”

He tried to hand her the helmet again, but Violet pressed her palm against the cool red fiberglass to keep it from coming any closer. “No thanks, I’ll drive myself,” she insisted, making a point of searching for her keys in her backpack so she could ignore the look of satisfaction that crept over his face.

“I’d give you directions,” he quipped. “But if I’m not mistaken, you already know the place.” He strapped the helmet he’d been saving for Violet to the back of his bike and grabbed his from where it was dangling from the handlebar. His helmet was a sleek polished black with chrome accents, nicer even than the motorcycle he rode on. Then he slipped his shoulders into a well-worn leather jacket and hopped on his bike. “Race you there!” was the last thing Violet heard before he sped away.

The closer she got to Seattle, the more Violet questioned what she was about to do. Generally speaking, she went out of her way to avoid places like prisons, juvenile detention centers, and jails. Those who killed carried imprints.

Sure, Sara had taken her to the county jail, and even to Juvenile Hall, so she could sit in on interviews. Or, more accurately, Violet had recognized early on, so Sara could have opportunities to study the way Violet’s ability worked. Violet had almost gotten used to Sara putting her in situations where there was only one answer—echo or no echo.

And she hadn’t failed a test yet. The problem wasn’t whether she could sense the echoes, it was figuring out a way to make that information helpful to the team. Tracking bodies was one thing—useful only after someone had already been killed. Violet would rather track killers. To find them before they could strike again.

A far more difficult task.

Chapter 8

THE HAIR ON THE BACK OF VIOLET’S NECK TIGHTENED, standing on end as she pulled into a tight space in the parking lot and took a deep breath. This was it, she told herself. She could do this.

She was relieved to find Rafe waiting for her in the parking lot, checking his watch as he strode assuredly toward her car. “What took you so long? Even if you went the speed limit, you should’ve been here like fifteen minutes ago.”

She raised her eyebrows, unamused. “I had to stop and call my parents. No phone, remember? I told them I had a project to finish and I’d be out late.” She grabbed her wallet before locking her car and she followed him through the parking lot.