Chapter Twenty-Two: "The Hunter’s Game"

Ridgeview Precinct – Whispers Behind Her Back

The moment Jane stepped into the precinct, she felt it.

The shift in energy. The barely concealed glances. The hushed murmurs just low enough to avoid being outright insubordination.

She ignored it.

Mostly.

"Lost any more veils lately?"

The voice came from somewhere in the bullpen. Jane didn't turn to see who had said it. Instead, she walked with purpose, keeping her expression unreadable.

Another voice. Lower.

"First the rose, now a damn wedding accessory? She's losing it."

Jane clenched her jaw.

She knew what they were thinking. Knew Harris had probably fueled the fire after their meeting yesterday.

But she didn't have time for their doubts.

Because there was one person she did suspect.

Nathaniel Blackwell.

And if she was right, she was staring down a predator who was enjoying every second of this game.

"Detective Michaels?"

She turned to see Megan Price standing beside her desk, concern etched into her features.

"You okay?" Megan asked, her voice careful. "After last night, I mean."

Jane forced a tight smile. "I'm fine."

Megan didn't look convinced.

Jane exhaled. "Did you get the CCTV footage yet?"

Megan hesitated for a beat, then sighed. "Yeah. And you're going to want to see this."

CCTV Footage – A Familiar Shadow

Megan led Jane to the tech room, where a large monitor displayed grainy security footage.

"One of the traffic cameras near the Ridgeview Forest picked this up," Megan said, clicking play.

The footage was low quality, but it showed a shadowy figure moving near the edge of the dump site where the last victim had been found. The timestamp put it close to 2:30 a.m. on the night of the murder.

The figure was tall. Lean. Dressed in dark clothing.

But it was the way he moved—controlled, deliberate—that sent ice down Jane's spine.

Megan clicked another button, zooming in.

The image sharpened slightly, and Jane's stomach twisted.

A brief glimpse of a face. Just enough to suggest familiarity.

Nathaniel Blackwell.

Or at least, someone who looked disturbingly like him.

"You think it's him?" Megan asked, watching Jane's reaction.

Jane stared at the screen, her mind racing.

Nathaniel had an alibi. He always had an alibi.

But this?

This was the first time he had been caught near a crime scene.

Jane's voice was measured. "I don't know yet."

Megan studied her. "Are you hesitating because you trust him? Or because you don't want to believe it?"

Jane didn't answer.

Instead, she turned sharply on her heel.

She needed to see him.

The Bookstore – A Dance of Words

Nathaniel Blackwell's New bookstore smelled of old pages, vanilla-scented candles, and something distinctly him.

Jane stepped inside, her gaze sweeping over the dimly lit interior. The shelves were neatly arranged, the ambiance warm and inviting—an odd contrast to the storm of suspicion brewing inside her.

At the counter, Eleanor Marks was organizing a stack of books, her movements graceful, practiced. And standing beside her, helping her sort the latest inventory, was Nathaniel.

He looked up the moment Jane entered, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smile.

"Detective Michaels," he greeted smoothly. "What a pleasant surprise."

Jane forced a smile, her pulse steady despite the unease curling in her stomach.

"I needed a break from the precinct," she said casually, stepping closer. "Thought I'd find some comfort in literature."

Nathaniel chuckled. "Ah, yes. The perfect escape."

Eleanor gave Jane a warm smile. "You look like you could use a good book and a cup of tea."

Jane nodded, her focus still on Nathaniel. "What do you recommend?"

Nathaniel tilted his head, as if studying her. "That depends. Are you in the mood for fiction… or something more grounded in reality?"

The way he said it made the hair on her arms stand up.

Jane kept her expression neutral. "Maybe something that blurs the line between the two."

Nathaniel's smile widened. "Now that," he said, reaching for a book, "is where things get interesting."

He handed her a novel.

The Hunter's Game.

Jane took it, glancing at the summary on the back. A psychological thriller about a detective chasing a killer who always seemed one step ahead.

Her grip tightened.

She looked up at him. "You have a way of picking books that hit a little too close to home."

Nathaniel's eyes darkened with amusement. "Don't all good stories imitate life?"

Jane forced a chuckle. "Or is it the other way around?"

Nathaniel leaned on the counter. "That's the eternal question, isn't it? Where does fiction end and reality begin?"

For a second, they just watched each other.

A silent battle of suspicion and charm.

Then Eleanor's voice broke the tension. "Jane, are you okay? You seem… different today."

Jane hesitated, then forced a smile. "I'm just tired. Work's been exhausting."

Nathaniel's gaze didn't waver. "Murder tends to have that effect."

His words were casual, almost playful.

But Jane heard the weight behind them.

She set the book down. "I should get going."

Nathaniel nodded. "Of course. But Jane?"

She paused.

He tilted his head, his voice softer now. "Be careful."

She met his gaze. "I always am."

The Precinct – A Divided Decision

"Bring him in."

Marcus Hayes wasn't playing around.

He stood at Jane's desk, the CCTV footage still fresh in his mind. "He was there, Jane. Near the crime scene. That's probable cause."

Jane exhaled. "It's circumstantial."

"It's enough."

Megan nodded in agreement. "At least for questioning. We can't ignore this."

Jane leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temple. "If we bring him in and he's innocent, he'll lawyer up and shut down."

"And if he's guilty?" Marcus pressed.

Jane met his gaze. "Then he'll enjoy the game even more."

Silence stretched between them.

Garrison stepped into the room, his presence commanding. "What's the status?"

Marcus didn't hesitate. "We need to bring Nathaniel Blackwell in for questioning."

Garrison glanced at Jane. "Detective Michaels?"

Jane's fingers drummed against her desk.

The logical part of her knew Marcus was right.

But the part of her that had sat across from Nathaniel, watching the way he twisted reality into something intangible, told her this wouldn't go as planned.

"He won't break," she said finally.

Marcus folded his arms. "Then we make him."

Jane exhaled slowly.

The hunter was becoming the hunted.

But the real question was—

Who was really leading this game?