Page 178 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer
Dexter circles twice before settling beside me.
I flip through pages—redacting notes, highlighting names—until something tugs at the back of my mind.
A pattern.
I sit up straighter, blinking at the spread.
I follow the trail with my fingertip, dragging across contracts and invoices, names and numbers, until it all converges.
One name.
A mid-level city controller tied to the clerk’s office.
My heart thuds. “This is the guy that leaked the warrant.”
I look at my phone on the floor next to me.
Not the burner—the one that’s been heartbreakingly, infuriatingly silent.
Just my regular phone. The one that can reach Declan.
It’s late.
I could wait. Let things cool off. Figure out how to apologize for being a total dumpster fire today.
But the weight of what we’re uncovering won’t let me.
Sighing, I grab the phone and type a quick text:
POPPY: Sorry for the late text, but this can’t wait.
I attach the photos and hit send before I can talk myself out of it.
Seconds later, both phones light up.
Not one. Both.
My heart hiccups, nerves jangling before I even know why.
The burner chimes first. I grab it without thinking, thumb hovering over the notification.
UNKNOWN: Who are you texting?
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out and roll under the couch. Really?
A whole day of silence, and now he’s territorial?
“Someone’s feeling clingy,” I mutter, tossing the burner back onto the coffee table and looking at my real phone.
MCPERKINS: I’ll have him picked up by morning.
Short. Sharp. Efficient.
And it leaves me disappointed.
I sit back on my heels. Two screens glowing in the dark like twin lighthouses.
Two different men. Two completely different worlds.
