Dimitri sat in his office at NYU, a room that blended academia with his criminal psychology work. Dark wood shelves were organized with psychology textbooks, case files, and research papers. At the same time, a large mahogany desk was strewn with criminology journals, half-empty coffee cups, and various forensic reports. The walls were adorned with framed diplomas and professional accolades, reflecting his dedication and achievements. A comfortable chair, positioned for student consultations or colleague visits, added a welcoming touch to the room.
A knock echoed through the office. Dimitri looked up from the stack of papers he was grading.
"Come in!"
The door creaked open, and two women in sharp suits entered, carrying a file marked with Lydia McAllister's name. One of them, with slicked-back blonde hair and a commanding presence, stepped forward and nodded at Dimitri.
"We were sent by Agent Carver," she said, placing the file on Dimitri's desk. "Here's everything we have on Lydia McAllister, the victim. We've managed to keep details under wraps, but the press caught wind of her identity. We've managed to convince them it's a random act rather than a copycat killing but I don't know how long they'll believe that."
Dimitri gestured for them to sit as he opened the file. Inside were the usual reports: autopsy results, crime scene photographs, and witness statements. As he skimmed through the documents, his thoughts were interrupted by his phone buzzing on the desk. He glanced at the screen—it was Jaxon.
"Hey, Dimitri. I heard something about a new case involving a woman. Are you the one handling it?"
Dimitri's pulse quickened. "Yeah, that's right. Why do you ask?"
"I just wanted to know if it's true," Jaxon's voice was unusually tense. "Is she dead?"
Dimitri's heart sank as he glanced at the file in front of him. His shock deepened when he saw that Jaxon was listed among the last people to see Lydia McAllister alive. "Yeah, Jaxon, it's true. She's dead," Dimitri said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm just starting to go through the details now."
There was a brief, awkward silence on the other end before Jaxon muttered, "Alright. Just... keep me posted."
As Dimitri ended the call, he noticed the two women watching him with curiosity and concern. They exchanged glances, clearly wondering about his conversation.
"If I find anything, I'll get back to Agent Carver," Dimitri told them. They nodded and stood up, leaving out the door.
At that moment, Dimitri sent Jaxon a text, Let's meet up, tonight! Send me a location.
Dimitri took a deep breath as he stared at the file, his mind racing.
*************
Dimitri stepped into the bar where Jaxon had agreed to meet him. It was nearly empty, the low hum of the TV the only noise in the background. His gaze landed on Jaxon, tucked away in a shadowy corner, eyes flickering toward the entrance as if he'd been expecting trouble.
"Damn," Dimitri muttered to himself. Jaxon looked like a ghost of his usual self, his hair tousled like he hadn't slept in days, fingers drumming out a frantic rhythm on his glass. The contrast to his usual devil-may-care confidence was startling.
Nervous wasn't a good look on him.
Jaxon's eyes met his as Dimitri slid into the booth, taking his time to arrange himself across from his friend.
"You're late," Jaxon muttered. He tilted his drink to his lips but didn't drink, just held it there, as if for show.
"Am I?" Dimitri's smile was all teeth. "I thought you'd appreciate the extra time to get your story straight."
Jaxon's lips twitched, but the smirk didn't reach his eyes. "Always the profiler, huh? Not everything's a puzzle to be solved, Dimitri."
"Except when it is." Dimitri leaned back, watching as Jaxon's fingers twitched—tap, tap, tap—against the glass. "And this one's about to explode all over your face if you keep stalling."
"What do you want from me?" Jaxon's voice dropped to a low growl, but Dimitri could hear the strain beneath it. "I didn't know her like that."
"Right." Dimitri leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "You didn't know her like that, but you knew her enough to meet her at least once a week before she was murdered."
Jaxon flinched. It was quick, almost imperceptible, but Dimitri saw it. "I'm not lying to you, Dimitri—"
"Yes, you are." The words were delivered softly, with the same cutting sharpness as a scalpel. "You're lying to me right now. Because that's what you do when you're scared."
Jaxon's eyes flashed. "Scared?" He scoffed, but the laugh was hollow. "I'm not scared."
"Then what are you?" Dimitri's voice was steel now, all patience gone. "You're dodging every question I'm asking. Acting like some guilty little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar."
"Maybe because you keep treating me like a damn criminal!" Jaxon's fist hit the table, rattling his glass. The few patrons left in the bar glanced their way, then quickly looked away, like they wanted no part in whatever was happening.
"Give me a reason not to," Dimitri shot back, unflinching.
Jaxon's jaw tightened. For a moment, Dimitri thought he'd get up and leave, but instead, he let out a long breath and shook his head. "It's complicated."
"Then uncomplicate it!"
Jaxon shifted in his seat, eyes darting around the room as if he expected someone to be listening. "I didn't kill her, Dimitri."
"I never said you did." Dimitri studied his friend, watching the way his hands fidgeted, the way his leg bounced under the table. It wasn't the usual cocky Jaxon sitting across from him. He was nervous, almost scared. "But you're hiding something."
Jaxon swallowed hard, then glanced at his watch. "I can't talk about it here. Just... just trust me on this."
"Trust you?" Dimitri's voice hardened. "I want to, but you're not giving me a reason to. You're dodging me, lying about your connection to Lydia. You need to tell me what's going on, or I'm going to have no choice but to put you on the list of suspects."
Jaxon's eyes flared with something—fear, anger, maybe both. "I can't, Dimitri. Not yet. It's not what you think."
"It never is," Dimitri muttered.
Jaxon stood abruptly, tossing a few bills on the table. "You're chasing the wrong lead, Dimitri. I swear to God, I didn't kill her. But if you keep digging, you're going to put yourself in the crosshairs. Let it go."
With that, Jaxon stormed out, leaving Dimitri with more questions than answers.
For hours that night, Dimitri couldn't shake the conversation. Jaxon was acting sketchy, dodging questions, and hiding something big. It gnawed on him. By the time Dimitri entered the interrogation room to meet with Kian, he was already on edge.
Kian sat at the table, as calm and collected as ever, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked more like a man savoring a private joke, than one facing a criminal psychologist.
"You look tense, Professor," Kian murmured, his voice smooth as velvet. "Trouble with your friends?"
Dimitri's eyes narrowed on Kian, "Are you stalking me, Kian? From prison"
A soft chuckle slipped from Kian's lips, and he tilted his head as if genuinely amused. "Stalking? Now that's a harsh word. Let's just say I'm... attentive. You of all people should know that a good predator keeps track of his prey, no matter the distance."
Dimitri couldn't begin to fathom how Kian knew so much about what was happening outside. His thoughts whirled, piecing together the implications. Was Kian suggesting what Dimitri feared? That he knew Jaxon's involvement? That was an extremely scary thought. The idea that a serial killer could monitor his every move, even from behind bars, felt like a noose tightening around his throat.
"Why the surprise?" Kian leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "How else would I know you're failing me so miserably?"
Kian leaned forward; his eyes gleaming with that familiar intensity. "You're chasing the wrong lead. All that effort, all that brilliant deduction... wasted."
Dimitri's jaw tightened. "I don't think so."
Kian chuckled softly, almost pitying. "Oh, but you are. You're barking up the wrong tree, Professor."
Dimitri's mind flashed back to Jaxon's dodgy behavior, the lies, the tension. He had been convinced Jaxon was hiding something critical, but now... now Kian's words made him hesitate.
"Then what am I missing?" Dimitri asked, his voice low, controlled. He was practically demanding an answer now, damn the game.
Kian's smile widened, and despite the restraints binding him, he stretched lazily, every movement deliberate, as if savoring Dimitri's rising frustration. "Mm... now where would the fun be if I told you?" He lifted a finger, tapping it lightly against his lips. "Try again tomorrow. I might be in a better mood to throw you a bone."
Dimitri's hands curled into fists under the table. Every instinct in him screamed to push harder, but he knew—he knew—that would only make Kian dig his heels in deeper. And the worst part? Kian knew it too.
"Always so stubborn, Professor," Kian purred, his voice a silken caress that sent a shiver down Dimitri's spine. "I'd almost think you enjoyed losing to me."
Dimitri forced himself to stand up, masking his simmering frustration with a cold, detached smile.
He turned and headed for the door, refusing to look back. The sound of Kian's soft, mocking laughter trailed behind him like a shadow.
"Until next time, Professor."
As he stepped out, he expected to see Axel and Agent Carver watching from the other side of the interrogation room but it was empty.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts. Glancing at the screen, Dimitri's heart sank as he read the message:
Another body was found. Same MO.
A flash of rage surged through him, his jaw tightening. He shot a glance back at the door, every muscle in his body coiled with the urge to storm back in there and wipe that insufferable smirk off Kian's face.
But no. As much as he hated losing, that was exactly what Kian wanted—a show of control, of dominance. And Dimitri wasn't about to give him that satisfaction.
He headed straight for the crime scene.