It's raining again and Joel and I are rushing toward the station from the parking garage with our jackets over our heads in an attempt to stay dry. My heart is pounding, my head pushing questions of whether or not I'll be able to stop Karen's death at me a hundred per second. I want to lock this case down.

There's a high that comes in an investigation. I've never felt it before because I was never front and center, but now that I am, I can't tear myself away. I'm chasing something on a whim, yes, but I won't stop until I get what I'm looking for.

The guy at the front desk catches sight of Joel, furrowing his brows and staring down at his lap defeatedly. It's nice not having his eyes follow me for once in my life. I don't care if he has the wrong idea. I don't even care to wonder what he's thinking. I'm focused on this task right now.

We step into the elevator and I push my wet hair behind my ears, glad that I wasn't wearing any makeup that could be messed up by the rain. I didn't have time to put it on this morning, and it actually paid off.

"Can you tell me something?" Joel asks suddenly as he pushes the button for our floor.

"What do you mean?" I ask. The elevator lurches as it begins to lift upward, and I reach for the handrail to support myself. I end up a little closer to Joel than I'd like to be, and I don't know what to make of the proximity. There are two inches of space between us where we're both holding on, and if I closed it, we'd be touching.

It would be the first real contact since I shook his hand, since I watched him get shot.

I slip away, trying to be as subtle as possible about it.

"Just something... anything about you." I know he probably thinks it's a long shot and that I won't answer. Normally, that would be correct. Instead, I'm trying to make this run as smoothly as possible. It's just a question, after all, and he's trying to be polite. I decide to ease up a little and try to think of something.

"I'm majoring in sociology, mostly criminology specifically," I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Not something most people already know," he says. "Like, what's your favorite two am snack?"

"Lucky charms with almond milk," I reply. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Not much," he answers. "But now I have to ask, why almond milk?"

"Because I'm lactose intolerant." It's a small detail, one most people don't pay attention to. Most of the time, I take special vitamins to help me with eating. You'd hardly know I was allergic to anything in the first place. It's a forgettable thing about me, but something tells me Joel is going to remember it.

"I never would have guessed."

"It's not that noteworthy."

"It could be if we're ever looking into your background and diet."

I glance at him incredulously. "Why would H2 be looking into me?"

"Maybe you committed a crime?" he offers.

I haven't. Not yet, anyway.

I snort. "Anything else you've got to ask me, detective?"

"How about your shoe size?" he asks playfully.

"Eight and a half. You?"

"I'm asking the questions, Vi." He arches an eyebrow, reaching out to hold the door open for me. "I've got one last question."

"Sure."

"If you're right about this, and the times don't match up on this guy's alibi, can I take you out for dinner?"

I never get the chance to answer him. I'm not sure what I would say anyway.

We're walking into H2 contentedly when I realize that there's no reason to be smiling. There's no easy banter anymore, not once I take it all in. The officers are milling about, frantic, the way they get when something has gone really wrong. Phones are ringing, people are chattering, and Chief Carrigan even looks uneasy.

"Carrigan, I need a word," Chief announces.

Chief beckons me over from across the room and I gulp at the graveness of this.

Joel immediately heads over to Stan's desk, switching from his playful self to the emotionless detective I've only seen a couple of times. He's worried too. He doesn't even know what's happening, and he's worried like the rest of us.

I've never seen Chief like this. Never. His eyes are wide and he's chewing on his lower lip nervously. Seeing the frantic look on his face only makes me unnerved.

As soon as the office door is shut, I hear him exhale, his breathing ragged, and it really sinks in. Something is really, really wrong here. And I have a feeling it's about me.

"You're scaring me, Chief," I say, and my voice cracks a little, betraying me.

"I think you ought to be scared. I think we both ought to be." He crosses his arms, closing his eyes like he can't believe this is happening. "I had a folder on my computer. All my notes about what you do are in it. All the cases you've worked, every suspect, everything you've said about your abilities."

My fists clench. "Why did you have that? Why would you do that to me?"

"I had to keep some documentation. You're a complicated person, Carrigan. Your anomaly or whatever the hell you want to call it is something special, and I refer to the documents when I bring you in for something. It was supposed to be safe. I kept it protected and encrypted. I wasn't reckless about it."

"So what happened?" I question.

"It was locked. Everything was locked down," he rambles.

Chief is rambling. Chief doesn't do that. He never reveals what he's thinking. He never breaks.

I'm scared.

No, I'm terrified.

"I'm gonna ask you one more time," I go on. "What the fuck happened?"

"Today we were hacked," Chief finally says, and the world comes out from under me. "Whoever they were could've gotten to any of the files on my computer, but the only one that showed any trace of being compromised was yours."

"No," I whisper. "No. No, that can't be true. Why me? Why me of all people?"

"I don't know what's going to happen, but we can talk to the DA and get you in witness protection. We can keep you safe until this blows over," he says, but I doubt he can do anything for me now.

"What if they want to use me?" I ask, my chest constricting. "What if they decide to hurt someone I love and use them as leverage?"

"We don't know what they want yet." He leans against his desk, trying to stay collected and failing. "Carrigan, I know this is confusing and a lot of things are going through that head of yours right now, but I need you to breathe. I need you to stay calm."

"How am I supposed to do that?" I yell. "How am I supposed to stay calm when something that people would kill for, the curse that I've been dealing with since I was a kid, is now potentially in the hands of someone we would normally be going after? How am I supposed to be okay with that?"

"I know this is overwhelming—" he starts.

"Overwhelming? You had a case file about me that I didn't know about and now people could get hurt because of me!"

I'm now a liability. When I first came to the chief with what I could do, he didn't believe it until I proved it. Even after, not once did he use my gift for personal interest. He's a rarity. Everyone else who could potentially know what I can do is a coin toss as to whether or not they'll be on my side.

He raises his voice. "We don't know what will happen!"

This isn't the chief I know. He's never upset, never anything but calm. He's always composed, always okay. Always ready to assess the challenge at hand and fix it. It doesn't matter that we don't know what the person who hacked us wants. The point is that we don't know who they are, what they want with me.

I'm striding over to the door now. I need air.

"Where are you going, Violet?"

"Away from here!" I thunder.

I make a beeline for the stairs, trying to get out of H2 before I fall apart. He, wisely, doesn't chase me. Joel is right there to grab my wrist before I can reach the exit, foiling the plan. I yank my arm out of his grasp, whirling around.

"You need to stop running off like that," he says. "I can't chase after you all the time."

"So don't. Leave me alone," I snap.

"Why'd you bolt?" he asks softly, his thumb brushing my cheek. I shrug his touch away. "Is it about the hack? I know it seems scary, but I'm sure it'll be okay. They couldn't crack any of the files. Chief says nothing important was taken."

Maybe nothing important for the NYPD. Me on the other hand...

The lump in my throat is almost unbearable. "You don't understand."

Joel's eyebrows knit. "Then help me get it."

I grimace. I've already said too much, and I better shut up quickly. There's no sense in babbling about something I can't share with him.

He steps back, closer to H2. "How about you and I get back in there and solve a case? Let's stop thinking about this. Focus on Valerie, because she's right in front of you."

I nod, still feeling like I might puke at any second. Everything is moving too fast, and I'm not sure that tomorrow I'll be safe. This I can control, and that's the most important thing. I can deal with a case. I can't deal with my other problem.

"Vi," Joel says. "I don't know what's going on with you, and I don't know where you're at right now, but I do know that you've got nothing to worry about if you stick with the NYPD. This is an excellent department, and you can be sure of that."

Can I? "Thanks, Joel." I tell him what he wants to hear because that's what seems like the best response. I need to get him off my back.

Stan is already on it when we reach him. Joel apparently filled him in during the chaos. Even though he probably only had time to scratch the surface of my theory, Stan seems to have gotten it just fine.

"Well, I don't believe it." Stan blinks at his computer screen in awe. "You were right, Carrigan. His flight was delayed, didn't board until eleven. He left the restaurant with Valerie at nine. There's a potential two-hour gap there that he could've easily committed the murder."

The corners of Joel's lips tilt upward. "We better keep you around, Vi."

"I'm not sure why we didn't verify his story sooner," Stan remarks.

"Maybe because he willingly interviewed over the phone?" Joel says. "We'd be less likely to be skeptical when he was so cooperative."

"That was a mistake. I thought he had the most solid alibi out of all of them, and that wasn't true in the slightest." Stan rubs at his neck, processing. "The only problem is we have no DNA evidence at the scene. It was made to look like she was raped. Autopsy shows no signs of that. He had to have worn gloves or something. He was careful."

"But the alibi is our give." Joel narrows his eyes as he scans the information over Stan's shoulder, analyzing the report. "If we poke enough holes in that, he could slip-up and confess."

"We need enough to charge him prior to arrest, or he'll get bailed out by his wife and walk. There's no telling if he's one for an easy confession," Stan replies. "Do we have any definitive proof he did it?"

Joel reaches over and zooms in on one of the pictures of the corpse. Instinctively, I shift my eyes away. The sight of her blue lips and pale flesh is unnerving enough without the close-up of the wound to her head. I can tell by his disappointed groan that he hasn't found what he's looking for.

"Did we find anything that could have been used as a weapon?" Joel asks, frowning in confusion.

"Nothing," Stan says. "He must've taken it with him."

"Or maybe he didn't." I realize slowly.

Both of them turn, giving me an audience.

"He's smart, right?" I elaborate. "Thorough? Wouldn't it be too obvious if he took the weapon with him? The thing was probably covered in blood. There are too many factors to account for if he took it with him. For one, it would be really conspicuous if he brought it in the cab with him. There'd be blood everywhere."

"Maybe the weapon never left," Joel murmurs. "Stan, how fast can we get back to the scene?"

"The rain would've washed away most DNA evidence," he says. "I don't really see the point."

"But maybe not all of it is gone." I drag my lip between my teeth, thinking. "There might still be something we can use."

"A lot of the pipes were pretty busted up in that alley," Stan observes. "Maybe he got one loose and bashed her head in with it? He very well could've put it back after. That said, we don't even know what he killed her with, let alone whether or not he'd be stupid enough to leave it easily accessible. The coroner's office hasn't finished their final conclusion."

"We established he's not stupid." I drum my fingers on my thigh, trying to stick with my train of thought. "Everything, in this case, happened for a reason. He seems pretty damn deliberate."

Stan's brows furrow. "What do you think, Reed?"

"It's worth a shot. If we can get any traces of her DNA and his on the weapon..." Joel begins.

"Then we have enough for an arrest," I finish. "Besides, didn't he offer his prints?"

"Yep. His wife did too. Poor Karen was shaking like a leaf from all the tears she was holding back when she came in. She and her husband let us do a DNA swab for each of them." Stan scrolls down on the digital file, gesturing to the portion listing out the evidence in the investigation and the alibis collected for potential suspects.

"Why would he willingly give us his DNA?" I wonder aloud.

"Because he didn't think he'd get caught," Stan replies matter-of-factly. "If he cooperates, he's less likely to be on the suspect list. Simple as that."

"Some people are sick," Joel says.

I shudder, shaking off the image of this man bashing his own stepdaughter's head in. The whole thing makes me queasy, just imagining this horrible thing happening on a night that was supposed to be happy.

Murder has never ceased to terrify me. The fact that I could be on the same playing field as someone like this doesn't seem right. It can't fit if I know myself like I think I do. Then again, I barely understand my visions, and they're a huge part of me. Maybe I don't have any clue who, or what, I am.

"What are we waiting for, then?" I ask, shaking off my nervous energy. "Let's go check out a crime scene."