Chapter 1
The sun crept over the horizon, its light breaking through the dense fog that hugged the city streets. Jason Nolan leaned against the counter of Brews, the small café that had become his quiet refuge. Steam rose from his untouched black coffee, curling like ghosts in the still air. He stared out the window, watching the world go by, though his mind wasn’t on the view.
Jason had been up for 36 hours straight. The latest crime scene still clung to him—The Carver’s latest victim, a rookie agent who had barely been in the field six months. The words “TOO SLOW” had been carved into the man’s chest, a gruesome signature from a killer who thrived on taunting his pursuers. Jason had seen worse in his decade with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, but this case was different. This one felt personal.
He absently ran a hand through his dark hair, mussing the strands further. His rugged face, lined with exhaustion, looked older than his thirty-six years. Most people avoided meeting his eyes, which carried a piercing intensity that made strangers nervous. He didn’t mind. Solitude suited him just fine.
“Let me guess,” a soft, teasing voice broke into his thoughts. “Still deciding if the coffee’s poison, or are you just brooding today?”
Jason turned, his lips quirking into a faint smirk despite himself. Noel Daniels stood on the other side of the counter, her hands resting on her hips. Her dark, straight hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and her smooth brown skin glowed under the soft café lights. Her sharp hazel eyes sparkled with humor, and her smile—wide and disarmingly genuine—had a way of cutting through the walls Jason worked so hard to build.
“I’m brooding,” he admitted dryly, lifting his coffee to take a sip. “But I think the coffee’s safe. For now.”
Noel snorted, a sound that somehow came across as endearing rather than crass. “If you’re not going to drink it, I could always swap it out for one of those fancy lattes everyone seems to like. You know, with the foam art and a touch of cinnamon. I could make you a heart.”
Jason raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “If you try to give me a heart latte, I’ll arrest you for cruelty to federal officers.”
Noel laughed, the sound warm and infectious. “Good luck with that, Agent Nolan. Pretty sure the FBI handbook doesn’t cover latte-related crimes.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d called him out by his title. Jason had made the mistake of wearing his badge on his belt the first time he’d walked in, and Noel, observant as she was, hadn’t let him forget it since. Most people would have treaded carefully around a federal agent. Not Noel. She treated him like any other customer—half sarcasm, half charm, and just enough warmth to keep him coming back.
“You should be careful,” she added, leaning forward conspiratorially. “All this brooding might scare off my regulars. They’re not used to dark and mysterious types lurking in the corner.”
Jason shrugged. “Guess I’ll just have to keep the corner.”
Her smile softened. “Long night?”
“Long month,” he admitted, the humor draining from his voice.
Something flickered in her expression—concern, maybe, though she didn’t press. Noel wasn’t the type to dig into things people didn’t want to share, another reason Jason found himself here more often than not. She made him feel…normal. Or at least like he could pretend to be.
“Here,” she said, grabbing a freshly baked scone from the counter and sliding it toward him. “On the house. You look like you need it.”
Jason stared at the pastry for a moment before glancing back up at her. “Trying to fatten me up?”
“Call it barista hospitality,” she shot back with a grin. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you have a soft spot for blueberry scones.”
Jason picked up the scone, taking a bite as she turned to help another customer. For a fleeting moment, the tension in his shoulders eased.
But the relief didn’t last. His phone buzzed against the counter, and Jason instinctively grabbed it, already knowing what it would say.
“Agent Nolan,” came the sharp voice of his unit chief, Sylvia Short, as soon as he answered. “We’ve got another one.”
Jason closed his eyes, the brief moment of peace evaporating. “Location?”
“An alley downtown. You’ll want to see this yourself.”
The line went dead. Jason slid his phone into his jacket pocket, finishing the last of his coffee in one swift gulp.
“Duty calls?” Noel asked as he stood, already grabbing his coat.
“Always,” he said grimly, meeting her gaze for a heartbeat longer than he meant to. He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but instead he turned and strode out the door, the jingle of the café bell echoing behind him.
Outside, the morning sun seemed too bright, a cruel contrast to the darkness Jason was about to step into. As he walked to his car, the image of The Carver’s last victim flashed in his mind. And for the first time, a nagging thought crept in:What if this wasn’t just about the FBI anymore? What if he’s coming for me?
Jason shoved the thought aside and started the car. Whatever was waiting for him at that alley, he’d deal with it. He always did.
But as he glanced in the rearview mirror, the memory of Noel’s warm smile lingered. For a man who lived in shadows, it was unsettling to realize how much he’d come to depend on her light.
