Olivia had known something was up. When she entered her apartment, she had that feeling—the one where the creepy-crawlies made every hair stand on end—on her arms, on the back of her neck. Ignoring it would cost her dearly, and she would never forgive herself after this. She knew that, once her own gun was pointing towards her head, and that sick fuck Lewis was at the other end.
Elliot saw the report on the news about the rapist set free in Manhattan, and he couldn't help thinking of her. She would be horrified right now—obsessing over the injustice of it all, going over her playbook again and again to try and think of a new angle, a new way to stop him. He sighed. He respected her for that.
Since he had left, he had not been able to connect with anyone at his new job as a bouncer. Things went downhill—Kathy left him, but for good this time. Now he only saw his kids on the weekend, and there was a gaping hole where their daily presence had been. And the hole only widened when he thought of Olivia.