Beech motioned to his men to retrieve the box from the porch. “I hope you have.” He spared her a smile, grabbing a gear bag from his vehicle. “Any reason to expect explosives?”
“We haven’t examined the package,” Paul said. “But Della was the target of a mailbox bomb when she was active duty.”
“Yes.” Sadness crossed his face. “You were in theater, Afghanistan, but your husband and son...”
She nodded. Clearly he’d been briefed on her dossier on his way over. “The man who did it, Leo Dawson, wasn’t convicted. He was a mental patient they’d cut loose. So they sent him back.”
“Let me guess. He’s out now.”
Again she nodded. “About six weeks, though I just learned of it. But I’m not sure this package is from him. That incident happened over three years ago. He has nothing to connect me to North Bay.”
“As I recall, you weren’t stationed here when he planted the bomb.”
“No, I’d already left the base.” When here, she had officially been assigned to Personnel, but actually she’d been in a top-secret facility only those with extremely high clearances knew existed. They referred to it as the Nest. Her mission had been to protect the Nest’s computer assets. Not that she knew the facility’s purpose. Only the commander and vice commander had clearance for that tight need-to-know loop. “When my family was attacked, I was stationed in Tennessee but deployed to Afghanistan.” She crossed her arms. Talking about this dredged up all the old feelings, painful memories she didn’t want to relive.
Two of his men methodically tested the package. Della glanced back to Paul.
“There’s a discrepancy between the return address and the actual shipping label,” Paul told Beech. “One’s Tennessee, the other a Walton County zip code.” Waloka’s neighboring county to the east.
“Any credible suspects besides the mental patient?” Beech asked.
“Dozens,” she confessed. “Working my cases for Lost, Inc., I ruffle a few feathers.”
Paul smiled. “Della’s persistent about finding people who are lost—even those who don’t want to be found. Makes for some grateful friends, but for a few annoyed enemies, too.” He hiked a thumb toward the front door. “I’m going to check things out inside while you’re here.”
Beech nodded and Paul went into the cottage, leaving the door open.
Beech kept one eye on it and one on her. “You work for Madison McKay. Persistence runs through her whole agency.”
“I do, and it does.” Persistence flowed through every staff member’s veins.
He crossed his arms. “Any enemies in recent memory stand out from the rest?”
“No.” She’d reviewed all the cases she’d handled in the past six months, and the mess in her office showed it. Missing husbands, kids seeking birth mothers, runaway teens, the odd embezzler and witness. But after running updates on old and new cases, she hadn’t seen anyone with serious potential for doing something to her like this.
A few minutes later, Paul returned.
“Anything?” Beech asked him.
“Nothing at all.”
“Major Beech,” one of his men called out. “Package is clear. Permission to open it, sir?”
“Granted.” He turned back to Della. “Why did you call me?”
“I didn’t. Paul did.” She shrugged. “I would have checked it out myself.” He gave her a strange look, so she explained. “I’ve had military explosives training.”
“I see.” That apparently hadn’t been relayed from her dossier, or he hadn’t had access to the entire thing. He glanced at Paul for further explanation. “So you called me because...”
“She’s been separated from the military for over three years. A lot’s changed.” His words and expression were at odds.
Beech pursed his lips, nodding. “And you thought I’d keep the chain of evidence intact and my mouth shut about this.”
“That, too.” Paul smiled.
“Understood—provided we find nothing that poses a security risk.”
“Fair enough.”
“Major, you’ll want to see this.” The man stood bent, shining a high-intensity flashlight into the box.
Beech double-timed it over to where they stood. Della and Paul followed.
“Hardly benevolent.” Beech motioned to her to look.
Della peered inside. A bloody knife lay on a bed of shredded newspaper. She sucked in a sharp breath, forced herself to not back away.
“There’s a note,” one of Beech’s men said.
Signaling with a lift of his chin, Beech issued an order. “Extract it.”
Another of his men pulled out a test pack, prepared a smear slide and then ran some preliminary studies on blood he’d gotten from the knife. “Tracking human, sir.”
Della swallowed hard. She felt Paul looking at her but lacked the courage to meet his gaze.
“Read the note,” Beech told the first.
“Yes, sir.” He held the paper tilted to the light.
Della clasped her hands at her sides and stiffened, bracing.
The man cleared his throat, then read, “‘Your time is coming, Della. Once in a while, could you eat something other than Chinese food? Who will clean all those cartons out of your fridge after you’re gone? I wonder, but soon I’ll know.’ It’s signed, ‘D.B.D.’”
Della sucked in a sharp breath, absorbed the shock.
TWO
The color drained from Paul’s face. “He’s been in her house. In her refrigerator.”
Beech looked at Della. “Who’s D.B.D.?”
“I don’t know.” She swung her gaze to Paul. “I’m not being evasive, I really don’t know.”
“Who else has a key?”
She looked back at Beech. “No one. Well, Miss Addie, next door. She’s my landlord. But I haven’t given a key to anybody.”
Paul asked, “Do you have one stashed outside somewhere in case you lock yourself out?”
“No.” Her mouth went dry, her inner lips sticking to her teeth. “I never thought to do that.”
“What about the Chinese food?”
“I ordered a ton of it Thursday night. I couldn’t decide what I wanted, so I got a little bit of everything.”
“So there are a lot of Chinese food cartons in your fridge and they weren’t there before Thursday?”
“That’s right.” Della frowned.
“That narrows down the timeline on when he entered.”
It did.
A muscle in Paul’s jaw ticked. “You’re not telling me everything.”
She wasn’t, and she didn’t want to now. Not with Beech here. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
“No explosives, so it’s your call,”