“So, no bad blood between you and anyone?”
“No. I...I don’t like to fight—typically.”
Except for her life.
She guided him the rest of the way to her house, and he parked on the street. Single-family homes lined the block, but he could tell several of them were conversions.
She shrugged off his jacket and shoved her feet into the paper slippers. “Thank you, Detective Brody. Will you call me to let me know what time to come down to the station? If you give me something to write on, I’ll jot down my home phone number. I guess my cell is gone.”
Did she really think he’d drop her curbside while some lunatic had her purse, her address and her keys?
“I’ll walk you up.”
She thrust her arms into the sleeves of his jacket and scrambled from the car, holding on to her cup.
She led him to the side of the house and through a gate onto a brick walkway. Holding up her finger, she dipped beside a planter. She raked through the dirt and pulled out a key.
He’d seen better hiding places, but at least she hadn’t stashed the key beneath the welcome mat.
She puckered her lips and blew on the key before inserting it into the dead bolt. It clicked.
The key scraped when she pulled it out of the lock, and Sean’s stomach knotted with the sound. He cinched her wrist as she reached for the doorknob.
“Wait. Me first.”
Her gaze darted to the door and back to his face. She dipped her chin and stumbled back.
He withdrew his weapon from his shoulder holster and edged open the door. Coiling his muscles, he stepped into Elise’s house.
The rising sun filtered through the slats of her blinds, throwing a vertical pattern across the deep blue carpet on the floor. A low light glowed beneath a whimsical lampshade painted with flowering vines. Colorful children’s books littered a coffee table in the shape of a piece of driftwood.
Sean eased out a slow breath and took another step into the inviting room. “Everything look okay in here?”
She peered around his body, nudging his arm with her head. “Looks fine to me.”
Something scratched at the sliding glass door, and Elise grabbed his biceps, digging her nails into the material of his shirt. She released a noisy sigh along with his arm and pointed to the door. “My mangy friend is looking for a handout.”
A gray-and-white-striped cat pawed at the door again, flicked his tail and walked away.
“How many rooms?”
“This one.” She waved an arm in front of her. “You can see the kitchen, and then there are two bedrooms and a bathroom down the hall. That door leads to the garage.”
“That would be a good place to start.” Sean swung open the door to the garage. A little hybrid crouched in the center of the garage floor and well-ordered shelves surrounded it. A washer and dryer were tucked in a corner. Not many places to hide here. He took a look under the car for the heck of it.
“Let’s have a look in the bedrooms just to be on the safe side.”
“I’m all for safe.”
She led the way down the short hallway, and Sean tried really hard to drag his gaze away from her swaying hips and the dress that seemed to be shrinking by the minute.
The doors to both bedrooms yawned open, and after a cursory look at the rooms and in the closets, Elise assured him all was well.
She traipsed down the hall to the bathroom at the end, calling over her shoulder. “It’s a good thing I have a small house.”
She tripped to a stop at the bathroom door and gasped. “Oh!”
With his heart thudding, Sean took two giant steps to join her. The room tilted and he slammed a hand against the doorjamb to stop the spinning.
Elise hooked a finger through his belt loop. “Wh-what does it mean?”
Sean’s eyes burned as he read the words on the bathroom mirror in red lipstick: Here we go again, Brody.
“I don’t know what it means.”
Sean ran the back of his hand across his mouth.
Oh, but he did. He knew exactly what it meant.
Chapter Three
Elise’s gaze edged from the lipstick words on her mirror to the cop’s reflection. Brody—that was his name. Why had someone scrawled it on her bathroom mirror along with a cryptic message?
She loosened her hold on his belt loop and crept closer to the vanity. Wedging her hands on the tile, she leaned toward the words on the glass.
“Don’t touch anything.”
“Oops!” She snatched her hands off the vanity. “Do you think he left fingerprints?”
“Maybe.”
The color had returned to Detective Brody’s face, but his expression remained hard and tight, alert. The tension vibrating from his body wrapped her in its coils, creating an ache in her shoulders.
She coughed. “It’s him, isn’t it? The man who abducted me.”
“He has, or at least had, your purse and your driver’s license. He found your house and used your key to get inside.”
His matter-of-fact words socked her in the gut. She sank to the edge of the tub and folded over to pin her forehead onto her knees.
Detective Brody crouched beside her, curling one warm hand around her bare calf. “You need to get your locks changed and get out of here for now.”
Poor small-town girl lost in the big city. Everyone back home had predicted she wouldn’t last six months here. She’d doubled that and would continue to prove them wrong.
Hot anger cascaded through her body, and she curled her hands into fists. She jerked her head up and pushed the hair out of her face. Time to take control of this situation.
She hadn’t been Ty’s victim back in Montana, and she didn’t plan to be anyone’s victim here in San Francisco despite what her family feared. It started with answers. It started with Brody.
She planted a finger on Detective Brody’s granitelike chest. “Why is this guy communicating with you? How does he even know you’re on this case?”
He blinked, his spiky lashes and dark eyes momentarily distracting her from her purpose.
Her finger drilled farther into his starched shirt. “I want some straight answers. Is this guy a serial killer? Has he been communicating with you?”
Brody shifted away from the accusatory finger and rose to his feet, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his gray slacks. “The only serial killer we have at work right now in the city is a guy killing transients. You’re hardly his typical victim.”
She ground her teeth together. “I’m nobody’s victim. I got away, remember?”
“I do.” He raised his eyebrows.
She didn’t expect him to understand the vehemence behind her words, and she didn’t care what he thought about it. “So, why is this guy sending you messages via my bathroom mirror? How did he know you’d be here, in my house?”
“A lot of serial killers follow other cases.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and lifted his shoulders. “I’ve been a homicide detective in the city for several years. My name’s been in the papers a few times. He obviously knows who I am and correctly figured I’d be working this case.”
Her