"By the way, Ms. Lane, I need to ask you something."


Max waited until the police officers had drifted to the corner to compare notes before he lowered his voice.


"What is it?"


"Given what that psycho just did, how many years is he looking at?"


"Years?" Hazel blinked, caught off guard. "The investigation just started, and you're already calculating his sentence?"


Still, she appreciated his concern. She thought for a moment before answering. "Well, the confirmed offenses include attempted breaking and entering, illegal possession of a firearm, attempted homicide, and endangering public safety. If the court runs the sentences consecutively, he's probably looking at five to fifteen years. It depends on the evidence chain and the judge's mood."


"Five to fifteen? That's it?" Max frowned.


"The penalties are lighter because the crimes were 'attempted.' If he'd actually succeeded, it would be a different story."


Great. The 'attempted' loophole.


Max wasn't happy. He knew exactly what York was capable of. A guy like that—cruel, relentless, and sadistic—deserved to be locked under the jail, not given a timeout.


York was a lunatic with a grudge. Hazel had only been the opposing counsel who sent him away last time, and look at how hard he came after her. This time? Max was the one who physically took him down. He highly doubted York was going to find Jesus in the prison yard and decide to forgive and forget.


The guy was a ticking time bomb. If he got out, he'd just show up in Max's life again.


Max mentally tallied the score. Between The Hustle, Justice Delayed, and The Chronicle, this villain had practically triple-killed him. A few more resets and York would be on a killing spree. Was Max just professionally feeding this guy kills or what?


But under the current laws, you couldn't lock someone up for life just for almost killing someone. It sucked.


"Why the long face?" Hazel asked, noticing his intensity. "You have a personal beef with him or something?"


Ten years was a life-ruining amount of time for a normal person. She couldn't understand why Max looked like the guy had gotten off with a parking ticket.


Max looked at her. He needed to make her understand the stakes without sounding crazy.


"I don't have a grudge against him," Max said grimly. "You do."


"What? Me?" Hazel pointed at herself, stunned.


"York. Does that name ring a bell?"


"York? York... York?!"


Hazel's eyes went wide as the memory of an old case slammed into her. "Where did you hear that name? Wait—are you saying the gunman is York?"


Max couldn't reveal his sources, obviously.


"Yeah. That Captain Wayne slipped up and mentioned it. He seemed to know the suspect. The guy was carrying a piece and clearly knew what he was doing—he's no petty thief. I just connected the dots. I take it you know him?"


Hazel nodded, the color draining from her face.


"Three years ago. I helped send a man named York to prison. He was a cop charged with police brutality—torturing a confession out of my client. We later found out he was taking bribes and working with organized crime. But... he was sentenced to five years. It's only been three. How is he out?"


"How do you think?" Max scoffed. "He's got friends in high places. Parole, reduced sentence, the works."


"Friends... you mean—"


"Shh!" Max cut her off, glancing around the station nervously. "Not here."


Hazel's mind was racing. "It all makes sense. York was on the Force; that's why the officers here recognized him. And that explains why you said the stalker moved like a pro... you weren't making that up."


"So, you thought I was just making stuff up the whole time?" Max asked.


"Uh... heh." Hazel laughed, looking a little awkward. "Can you blame me? It's kind of wild. You're a... sales rep. Suddenly you're playing detective? Anyone would have a hard time believing that."


Her expression quickly shifted to guilt. "If I'd believed you sooner, I never would have left Lily home alone."


"Hazel, I'm fine. You were just trying to make money for us," a small voice piped up. A little hand reached out and patted Hazel's shoulder reassuringly.


Max turned to see two heads—one big, one small—leaning in. He hadn't even noticed them sneaking up to eavesdrop.


"Hey! I heard you guys talking," Vivian said, her eyes gleaming with gossip. "You actually know this criminal, Hazel? Is there a backstory here? Spill the tea!"


Vivian had caught about sixty percent of the conversation. The other forty percent was vague mumbling that went right over her head, which only made her curiosity spike.


Max and Hazel exchanged a glance. They didn't need telepathy to read each other's minds.


"Trade secret," Max said. "Don't be nosy."


"Hey! I was asking Hazel. What's it to you?"


Hazel gave a bitter smile. "Vivian, it's not that I don't want to tell you. It's just that this mess already put you in danger. We don't want to drag you in any deeper."


"'We'? He's 'we,' and I'm just 'you'?" Vivian huffed, crossing her arms. "I can't believe I'm losing to a man. That is way out of line!"


Hazel paused, her cheeks flushing slightly as she glanced at Max. "I just mean... it's dangerous. I didn't want either of you involved."


"Dangerous? Well, now I have to know! If you won't talk, then... hey, you! You tell me!" Vivian pointed a manicured finger at Max.


Max rolled his eyes. "Why should I?"


"Because I'm your creditor! If you talk, I'll waive last month's rent." Vivian slapped her invisible checkbook on the table, flexing the superpower of being rich.


Tch. Max thought. Does she really think I'm that broke?


He whipped out his phone. A few taps later—


Ding!


Vivian's phone chirped. The money had landed.


"There," Max said smugly. "We're square."


"You..." Vivian glared at him, looking ready to bite. Then, her eyes narrowed craftily. She raised the stakes. "Okay, fine. If you talk, rent is fifty percent off from now on. Plus free utilities. How about that?"


"Well..." Max wavered.


"Ahem!" Hazel coughed loudly from the sidelines. Way to stand your ground, detective.


"Cough! It's not about the money," Max said quickly, trying to save face. "I mean, I'm not just trying to save on rent. It's mostly because our landlady here has astonishing combat stats. Having her in the loop provides a sense of security."


"Exactly!" Vivian preened. "If nothing else, three or four little thieves couldn't even get close to me!"


"Ahem!"


Just as they were getting into the rhythm of their banter, a very dry, very official cough interrupted them.


Detective Wayne stepped in, cutting off the conversation. He pointed a finger at the collection of gear laid out on the table.


Max's weighted tactical vest, stab vest, taser baton, and pepper spray were lined up like exhibits in a museum of paranoia.


"Mr. Mason," Wayne said, his face solemn. "We have a question. Did you know in advance about the illegal acts York was planning?"


The detective's eyes were sharp. In this whole case, everyone else had acted like normal, panicked civilians. The variable was Max.


He had spotted the suspect early. He had warned Vivian. He had called the police. And ultimately, he was the one who took the guy down.


It wasn't an illusion. Max had been everywhere.


It was as if Max had seen right through York before the criminal even made a move. He had set a trap while York was completely oblivious, waited for him to walk into it, and then snapped the jaws shut.


And he'd succeeded. Given what Wayne knew about York's skills, this was baffling.


Max knew that whatever he said next would determine how the police viewed the case—and how hard the book would be thrown at York.


He took a deep breath and nodded.


"You're right. I did make preparations. But that's entirely because... York had already broken into my room."


"What?"


The collective gasp in the room was audible. Even Hazel looked shocked; she hadn't known about that part.


"He broke into your room?" Detective Wayne frowned. "Then how did you discover it?"


"Can we turn on the projector?" Max asked. "There's something on my phone I need to turn over to the police."


Wayne glanced at Officer Quinn and nodded.


A moment later, Max's phone was mirrored onto the wall. He clicked on a video file.


The footage showed the interior of a bedroom. Hazel, having been in there once before, recognized it immediately as Max's place.


Then, on screen, the door... opened.


As the video played, the expressions on everyone's faces went through a colorful transformation.


"You installed surveillance in your own home?" Wayne looked puzzled for a second, then shook his head. "Impossible. A guy like York would have spotted a standard setup. He would have smashed the camera or wiped the drive immediately."


"Heh. He probably couldn't find this one," Max said. "Because I installed spy cams."


The room went silent. Everyone stared at Max with weird, complicated expressions—especially the women.


What kind of decent person installs hidden spy cameras in their own bedroom?