Stolen Heart

The dead man's wallet told me everything I didn't want to know.

I pressed my gloved fingers against the leather, fighting the familiar cold creeping up my spine. The vision hit anyway—flashes of the victim's last moments bleeding through my mental shields like water through a cracked dam.

Terror. Running footsteps. A figure in a dark coat. The flash of a silver blade.

"Agent Morrison?"

I jerked back to the present, stuffing the wallet into an evidence bag before anyone noticed how long I'd been holding it. Detective Sarah Collins stood beside me, her auburn hair pulled back in the same practical ponytail she'd worn since we were kids.

"Sorry," I muttered. "Just thinking."

"About what? You look like you've seen a ghost."

If only she knew. I'd seen worse than ghosts—I'd seen David Chen's final moments, felt his desperation as clearly as my heartbeat. The psychometric visions were getting stronger, harder to control. Three years of suppressing my abilities had only made them more volatile.

"The scene doesn't add up," I said instead, scanning the alley where Chen's body had been discovered. "Single stab wound, wallet still intact, no signs of struggle. Either our killer got incredibly lucky, or they knew exactly what they were doing."

Sarah nodded, making notes. "What kind of person kills someone this cleanly and then just leaves them in broad daylight?"

"Someone who wants the body found." I studied the positioning—arms crossed, eyes closed, almost peaceful except for the dark stain spreading across his chest. "This wasn't random."

A text from my phone with a text from Director Wilson: New partner arriving this afternoon. Play nice.

I frowned. I'd been working solo for eight months, ever since my last partner transferred to Violent Crimes. Wilson knew I preferred it that way.

"Problem?" Sarah asked.

"Apparently, I'm getting a babysitter." I pocketed my phone and turned back to the scene. "What do we know about the victim?"

"David Chen, thirty-two, worked as a freelance investigator. No family, few friends. Pretty much a loner." Sarah flipped through her notebook. "His neighbor called it in when she noticed his door was open this morning."

"Investigator." I made a mental note to dig into his recent cases. "What kind of work was he doing?"

"Insurance fraud, missing persons, that sort of thing. Nothing that screams murder victim."

But something about Chen's case files would tell a different story. I could feel it in my bones, the same instinct that had made me one of the Bureau's top case closers. The same instinct I couldn't explain without revealing abilities that would either get me committed or kicked out of the FBI.

Two hours later, I was reviewing Chen's files when Director Wilson appeared in my doorway. James Wilson had been like a father to me since I joined the Bureau five years ago—patient, encouraging, and one of the few people who seemed to genuinely believe I belonged here.

"Kate, I'd like you to meet Agent Ryan Blake."

The man behind Wilson looked like he'd stepped out of a recruitment poster. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and the kind of easy smile that probably made suspects confess and women swoon in equal measure. Everything about him screamed competent federal agent.

I hated him on sight.

"Agent Morrison." His handshake was firm, professional. "I've heard impressive things about your closure rate."

"Don't believe everything Director Wilson tells you." I kept my voice neutral, but something about Blake set my nerves on edge. "I assume you've read the Chen file?"

"On the plane from D.C." Blake settled into the chair across from my desk like he belonged there. "Interesting case. The positioning suggests ritual elements."

Wilson's eyebrows rose. "Ritual?"

"The crossed arms, closed eyes—it's ceremonial. Like the killer was showing respect for the victim, or maybe following specific instructions." Blake's blue eyes met mine. "What do you think, Agent Morrison?"

I studied his face, looking for tells. "I think it's too early to theorize. We don't have enough data."

"Sometimes the first instinct is the right one."

"And sometimes it gets you killed." I stood, gathering my jacket. "The crime scene's been processed. Ready to canvas the neighborhood?"

Blake followed me to the elevator, and I caught Wilson watching us with an expression I couldn't read. In five years, I'd never seen him look nervous.

The ride down was silent until Blake spoke. "You don't trust me."

"I don't trust anyone." It wasn't entirely true—I trusted Sarah, and I trusted Wilson. But something about Blake felt off, like a perfectly crafted facade hiding something darker.

"Smart policy in this job." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Though it must get lonely."

I didn't answer. Lonely was safe. Lonely meant no one got close enough to discover what I could do, or worse, to use it against me. I'd learned that lesson the hard way.

We spent the afternoon talking to Chen's neighbors and coworkers. Blake was good at his job—charming when he needed to be, persistent when charm failed. But I caught him watching me during interviews, like he was studying my reactions.

By evening, we'd built a timeline of Chen's last week. He'd been working a missing person case, looking for a woman named Lisa Park who'd disappeared three months ago. Her family had hired him when the police investigation stalled.

"Interesting coincidence," Blake said as we reviewed our notes. "Missing woman hires investigator, investigator turns up dead."

"You think they're connected?"

"I think David Chen found something someone didn't want him to find."

I pulled up the missing person file on Lisa Park. Twenty-six, worked at a local bookstore, no known enemies or risky behaviors. She'd simply vanished one evening after work, leaving behind her car, her purse, and no explanation.

Blake leaned over my shoulder to read the file, and I caught a whiff of his cologne—something expensive and subtle. "Look at the date," he said.

Lisa Park had disappeared exactly three months ago. David Chen died three days after being hired to find her. And according to the crime scene photos, he'd been positioned with the same careful respect Blake had noticed.

"We need to find Lisa Park," I said.

"If she's still alive to find."

Something cold settled in my stomach. Blake was right—the careful positioning of Chen's body felt like an apology. Like someone was sorry for what they had to do.

My phone rang as we were packing up. Sarah's name flashed on the screen.

"We've got another body," she said without preamble. "Same signature as your Chen case."

"Where?"

"Warehouse district. Kate..." Sarah's voice dropped. "The victim had your business card in his pocket."

My blood went cold. "Who is it?"

"A private investigator named Mike Torres. According to his office, he was working the Lisa Park case too."

I hung up and grabbed my jacket, aware of Blake's intense stare.

"Problem?" he asked.

"Another body. Same killer." I headed for the elevator, Blake beside me. "Victim had my card."

"How would he get your card?"

That was the question that terrified me. Because the only way Mike Torres would have my business card was if David Chen had given it to him. And the only way Chen would have my card was if he'd been planning to contact me about something important.

Something worth killing for.

As we drove toward the crime scene, I felt the familiar tingle that warned me my abilities were stirring. Whatever was happening, it was bigger than two dead investigators.

And somehow, I was already part of it.