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Chapter no 6

The Naturals

Three days later, I left for the program. Michael was the one who came to pick me up. He parked out at the curb and waited.

โ€œI do not like this,โ€ Nonna told me for maybe the thousandth time.

โ€œI know.โ€ I brushed a kiss against her temple, and she cupped my head in her hands.

โ€œYou be good,โ€ she said fiercely. โ€œYou be careful. Your father,โ€ she added, as an afterthought. โ€œI am going to kill him.โ€

I glanced back over my shoulder and saw Michael standing with his back to a gleaming black Porsche. From a distance, I couldnโ€™t make out the expression on his face, but I had a suspicion that he wasnโ€™t having any trouble interpretingย myย feelings.

โ€œIโ€™ll be careful,โ€ I told Nonna, turning my back on the boy with the discerning eye. โ€œPromise.โ€

โ€œEh,โ€ she said finally. โ€œHow much trouble can you get into? There are only a few students in the entire school.โ€

A few students who were being trained to analyze crime scenes, pore over witness testimony, and track serial killers. What trouble could we possibly get into?

Without another word, I hauled my bag out to the car. Nonna followed and, when Michael opened the trunk but made no move to help me with my bag, she shot him a disapproving look.

โ€œYou are just going to stand there?โ€ she asked.

With an almost imperceptible smirk, Michael took the bag from my hand and hoisted it effortlessly into the trunk. Then he leaned close, into my personal space, and whispered, โ€œAnd here Iโ€™d pegged you as the kind of girl whoโ€™d want to do the heavy lifting herself.โ€

Nonna eyed me. She eyed Michael. She eyed what little space there was between the two of us. And then she made a harrumphing sound.

โ€œAnything happens to her,โ€ she told Michael, โ€œthis familyโ€”we know how to dispose of a body.โ€

Instead of giving in to the mortification and burying my head in my hands, I said good-bye to Nonna and climbed into the car. Michael followed suit.

โ€œSorry about that,โ€ I said.

Michael arched one eyebrow. โ€œAbout the death threat, or the imaginary chastity belt sheโ€™s fitting you with as we speak?โ€

โ€œShut up.โ€

โ€œOh, come on, Cassie. I think itโ€™s nice. You have a family that cares.โ€

Maybe he thought that was nice, and maybe he didnโ€™t. โ€œI donโ€™t want to talk about my family.โ€

Michael grinned, completely undeterred. โ€œI know.โ€

I thought back to what Agent Briggs had told me about Michaelโ€™s gift. โ€œYou read emotions,โ€ I said.

โ€œFacial expressions, posture, gestures, the works,โ€ he said. โ€œYou nibble on the inside of your lip when youโ€™re nervous. And you get this little wrinkle at the corner of your right eye when youโ€™re trying not to stare.โ€

He said all of this without ever taking his eyes off the road. My gaze flitted to the speedometer, and I realized how fast we were going.

โ€œDo youย wantย to get pulled over?โ€ I squeaked.

He shrugged. โ€œYouโ€™re the profiler,โ€ he said. โ€œYou tell me.โ€ He eased off the accelerator ever so slightly. โ€œThatโ€™s what profilers do, isnโ€™t it? You look at the way a person is dressed, or the way a person talks, every little detail, and you put that person in a box. You figure out whatย kindย of individual youโ€™re dealing with, and you convince yourself that you knowย exactlyย what everyone else wants.โ€

Okay, so heโ€™d had an experienceโ€”and not a good oneโ€”with a profiler in the past. I took that to mean that the difficulty Iโ€™d been having getting a read on him was no accident. Heย likedย keeping me guessing.

โ€œYou wear a different style of clothing every time I see you,โ€ I said. โ€œYou stand differently. You talk differently. You never say anything about yourself.โ€

โ€œMaybe I like being tall, dark, and mysterious,โ€ Michael replied, taking a turn so quickly that I had to remind myself to breathe.

โ€œYouโ€™re not that tall,โ€ I gritted out. He laughed.

โ€œYouโ€™re annoyed with me,โ€ he said, wiggling his eyebrows. โ€œBut also intrigued.โ€

โ€œWould you stop that?โ€ Iโ€™d never realized how irritating it was to be the one under the microscope.

โ€œIโ€™ll make you a deal,โ€ Michael said. โ€œIโ€™ll stop trying to read your emotions if you stop trying to profile me.โ€

I had so many questionsโ€”about the way heโ€™d grown up, about his ability, about why heโ€™d warned me to stay awayโ€”but unless I wanted him making an intense study of my emotions, Iโ€™d have to get my answers the normal way.

โ€œFine,โ€ I said. โ€œDeal.โ€

He smiled. โ€œExcellent. Now, as a show of good faith, since Iโ€™ve already spent a good chunk of time getting inside your head, Iโ€™ll give you three questions to try to get inside mine.โ€

The puzzle solver in me wanted to ask what kind of clothes he wore when there was no one around to see him, how many siblings he had, and which one of his parents had turned him into the kind of guy who was a little angry

at the world.

But I didnโ€™t.

Anyone comfortable driving this fast wasnโ€™t going to shy away from a few little white lies. If I asked him what I wanted to know, all I would get was more mixed messagesโ€”so I asked him the only question I was fairly certain heโ€™d answer honestly.

โ€œWhatโ€™s with the Porsche?โ€

Michael took his eyes off the road just long enough to flick his gaze over to me, and I knew that Iโ€™d surprised him.

โ€œThe Porsche?โ€ he repeated.

I nodded. โ€œIโ€™m pretty sure itโ€™s not standard FBI issue.โ€

The edges of his lips curved upward, and for once, there was no dark undercurrent to the expression. โ€œThe Porsche was a present,โ€ he told me. โ€œFrom my life before. Getting to keep it was one of the conditions I gave Briggs for joining up.โ€

โ€œWhy wouldnโ€™t he have let you keep it?โ€ I asked, realizing belatedly that Iโ€™d just burned question number two.

โ€œTax fraud,โ€ Michael replied. โ€œNot mine. My fatherโ€™s.โ€

From the tightness in his voice, I got the feeling that keeping the Porsche probably hadnโ€™t been the only condition of Michaelโ€™s participation in the program. Whether heโ€™d asked for the government to overlook his fatherโ€™s crimes or his father had bartered away his son in exchange for immunity, I wasnโ€™t sure.

I didnโ€™t ask.

Instead, I stuck to safer ground. โ€œWhatโ€™s it like? The program?โ€

โ€œIโ€™ve only been there for a few months,โ€ Michael said. โ€œBriggs sprung me to come get you. Good behavior, I guess.โ€

Somehow, I doubted that.

Michael seemed to sense that I wasnโ€™t buying it. โ€œAnd also possibly because Briggs needed someone to read your emotions and figure out whether or not youโ€™re a secret bottle of rage who shouldnโ€™t be granted access to confidential files.โ€

โ€œDid I pass?โ€ I asked, a teasing note making its way into my voice. โ€œUh-uh-uh,โ€ Michael replied. โ€œThatโ€™s four questions.โ€

With no warning, he jerked the steering wheel to the left, pulled a U-turn, and then took a fast right. A few seconds later, the two of us slammed into a parking space at what appeared to be some kind of airport hangar.

โ€œWhat,โ€ I said, my eyes widening as I took in the sleek hunk of metal in front of us, โ€œis that?โ€

โ€œThat?โ€ Michael repeated. โ€œThatโ€™s the jet.โ€

โ€œLet me guess,โ€ I said, only half joking. โ€œYou made getting to keep your private jet a condition of your acceptance into the program?โ€

Michael snorted. โ€œSadly, it belongs to the FBI. When Briggs isnโ€™t out roping the young and impressionable into doing his dirty work for him, he belongs to a specialized team that works with law enforcement across the country. The jet cuts down on travel time. For us, itโ€™s just a perk.โ€

โ€œCassie,โ€ Agent Briggs greeted me the second I stepped out of the car. Just my name, nothing else.

Michael hit a button, and the trunk popped open. I went to retrieve my bag, and Michael shot Briggs a very good imitation of Nonnaโ€™s scowl. โ€œYou just going to stand there?โ€ he asked the FBI agent.

Briggs helped me with my bag, and Michael caught my eye. โ€œAmused,โ€ he whispered. โ€œAnd also some residual embarrassment.โ€

It took me a second to realize that Michael wasnโ€™t interpreting Briggsโ€™s facial expression. He was interpreting mine.

Iโ€™ll stop trying to read your emotions if you stop trying to profile me. Liar.

Without another word, Michael turned and sauntered to the jet. By the time I climbed aboard, he was already lounging in the back row of seats. He looked up, his posture inviting, his eyes telling me to stay away.

Tearing my gaze from his, I took a seat in the row in front of him, facing the cockpit. Weโ€™d see how good he was at reading my emotions based on nothing more than the back of my head.

โ€œTell you what,โ€ Michael whispered, his voice loud enough to reach my ears, but not Briggsโ€™s. โ€œIf you promise not to give me the silent treatment, Iโ€™ll give you a fourth question, free of charge.โ€

As the plane took off and the city grew small behind us, I turned around in my chair.

โ€œYouโ€™re leaving the Porsche in Denver?โ€ I asked.

He leaned forward, close enough that his forehead was almost touching mine.

โ€œThe devilโ€™s in the details, Cassie. I never said that Porsche was my only car.โ€

YOU

Itโ€™s been days since the last time, days of reliving your failure, over and over again. Each minute has been torture, and now youโ€™re on a schedule. You donโ€™t have the luxury of hunting for the perfect girl. The right girl. Thereโ€™s nothing special about the one youโ€™ve chosen, except for the color of her hair.

It reminds you of someone elseโ€™s hair, and thatโ€™s enough. For now.

You kill her in a motel room. No one sees you enter. No one will see you leave. You put duct tape over her mouth. You have to imagine the sound of her screams, but the look in her eyes is worth it.

Itโ€™s fast, but not too fast.ย Itโ€™s yours.

Youโ€™re in charge. You decide. You slide the knife into the flesh under her cheekbone. You carve the heavy makeupโ€”and the skinโ€”off of her face.

There. Thatโ€™s better.

You feel better. More in control. And you know that even though you donโ€™t have time for pictures, youโ€™ll never forget the way the blood looks as it stains her hair.

Some days, you think, it feels like you have been doing this forever. But no matter how many there are, no matter how proficient youโ€™ve become at showing them what you are, what they are, there is a part of you that knows.

It will never be quite right.ย It will never be perfect.

There will never be another one like the first.

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