Page 113 of X Marks the Stalker
“The irony of Blackwell having a heart at all.” I shuffle through more papers. “So that’s what these appointments are for? Heart monitoring?”
“Could be. And blood thinners mean?—”
“He’ll bleed out faster,” I finish, the implicationclear.
Xander nods.
I pull out my color-coded sticky notes and begin marking the calendar with Blackwell’s schedule. Pink for public appearances, blue for private meetings, yellow for medical appointments.
“Are those tiny cats on your sticky notes?” Xander asks, sounding both amused and horrified.
“They were on sale. And they’re not just cats—they’re cats with jetpacks.” I stick one on his forehead. “There. Now you’re adorable and organized.”
He peels it off with exaggerated dignity. “I’ve never been called adorable in my life.”
“That’s because people are usually too busy running away screaming.”
“Including you?”
I meet his eyes over the scattered photos of the man who destroyed my family. “I’m terrified of a lot of things, Xander. You’re not one of them.”
He looks away first, something vulnerable flickering across his face before disappearing.
I return to the medical records. “This building is less secure than his offices. We know when he’ll be at the facility, potentially compromised by medication, and likely with fewer security personnel due to privacy concerns.”
Xander nods. “It’s our best opportunity. We’ll need to account for the building’s security system, staff protocols, and escape routes.”
“I can access the building schematics through my contact at the city planning office. Journalist perks.”
“Can you get them without raising flags?”
“Please. I once convinced the mayor’s secretary I wasresearching an article on historically significant plumbing. I can be very persuasive.”
“Is that how you got those hideous cat sticky notes, too? Persuasion?”
I throw a pen at him, which he catches without looking. “You’re just jealous of my superior organizational system.”
“Yes, I’m deeply envious of your ability to plan murder with cartoon animals.”
I place a jetpack cat directly on the medical facility’s location on our map. “See? Now we’ll never forget the target location.”
He stares at me for a beat, then shakes his head. “You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met.”
“Coming from a man who stalks people professionally, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
We work for another hour, establishing Blackwell’s patterns, identifying security weaknesses, and mapping potential approaches. It feels strangely intimate, our hands occasionally brushing as we pass documents back and forth, our heads bent together over the table.
“We should eat something,” Xander says. “Planning murder burns calories.”
“Is that scientifically proven? Did you participate in a study?”
“Yes. Very prestigious research. ‘The Metabolic Demands of Homicide Planning: A Comparative Analysis.’”
I snort. “Was it peer-reviewed by other serial killers?”
“Naturally. Though Calloway kept drawing little pictures of corpses in the margins of his review.”
I laugh despite myself. “What does a killer eat when planning murder? Something ominous, like raw steak?”
