Page 61 of Beyond Protection
I unrolled another photograph from Pike Place. Mac's face caught mid-smile.
Michael looked at it. His expression cracked—just slightly, just for a second. Fear for family broke through the tactical assessment.
"She's good," he said quietly. "Getting these angles. These moments."
"Too good," I agreed. "Which means she's trained. Systematic."
Alex pulled his laptop closer. "Let me start searching. Museum studies, conservation programs, anything that matches the clinical language."
Michael nodded, and his attention turned back toward me.
"Mac thinks you left because you're mad at him," he said. "For being a distraction. For making your job harder."
"That's not—"
"I know that. You know that." Michael's eyes held mine. "Make sure he knows that."
Alex tapped a pen against a legal pad. "The language in these messages—'improper handling,' 'progressive deterioration,''optimal condition.' It's not generic stalker language. It's someone applying professional vocabulary to an obsession."
"Conservation," I said.
"Or collection management. Someone trained to assess, document, and preserve." He pulled his laptop closer.
"I'll search academic databases, quietly. I'll scrape ProQuest and JSTOR for conservation theses, then cross-match phrases on CVs and conference abstracts."
Michael nodded. "I'll reach out to my old lieutenant. Hypothetical scenario. Get protocols ready for when we have enough."
Luna's head lifted. She'd been motionless, but now her ears swiveled toward the windows. Tracking something I couldn't hear.
She stood slowly. Her posture shifted. Alert.
A low growl rolled through her chest. Quiet. Sustained. Warning.
"She doesn't usually do that," Michael said.
Luna's attention stayed fixed on the windows. Outside, darkness pressed close—the rural kind—inky, almost black.
I moved to the window. Scanned what little the porch light revealed. Trees dripping. Michael's truck and my rental. The gravel driveway disappeared into shadow.
Nothing moved.
Luna growled again. Lower. More insistent.
"She doesn't react to deer." Michael stood. "Not like this."
I caught his arm. "Stay inside."
"It's my property."
"And it's my job to clear threats." I pulled my jacket on. "You have a flashlight?"
Michael handed me a Maglite from a kitchen drawer. Heavy enough to double as a weapon.
Luna paced to the door, whined once—high and urgent.
"She stays." I checked the Glock holstered under my jacket. "Lock this behind me. Don't open it until I knock—three times, pause, two times."
Michael nodded.
