“Give her a biscuit and an ear scratch for me,” Lauren said. “And we all have to get back to work, me included. I’ve got a lawyer to call.”
“I won’t be long.” Sophie hugged her goodbye. “Maybe we’ll take in a movie later.”
The men left with Sophie, and Abby prepared to take her leave, also. “I think Mr. Tall, Dark and Deadly has a thing for you,” she teased as she collected her purse and sunglasses from the kitchen counter.
“Marco?” Lauren’s face grew warm. “He was just being nice.”
“Marco is never ‘just nice,’” Abby said. “Not that he’s not a decent guy, but he’s very reserved. And a little scary.”
“Do you think so?” She’d never felt afraid with Marco.
“He was in Special Forces,” Abby said. “Those guys are all a little scary. But very sexy, too.” She nudged Lauren. “And I think he definitely likes you. You should ask him out.”
“I don’t need another rejection right now.”
“I don’t think he’d reject you,” Abby said.
“Even if you’re right, now’s not the time to start a new relationship. I really need to get my life together.”
“Maybe Marco would help.” At Lauren’s scowl, Abby held up her hands in a defensive gesture. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop matchmaking. But, you know—keep it in mind.”
The apartment felt emptier than ever when the women were gone. Lauren set about putting away coffee cups and wiping down the counter. After she spoke with Shawn, her lawyer friend, she should update her résumé. And maybe see about doing some freelancing. The local university might need someone in their television department.
She returned to her list and began making notes. Was there a way to get hold of Richard Prentice’s tax records? Maybe through some kind of public records request? That might be revealing...
Pounding on the door made her jump—not a friendly knock, but a heavy beating against the wood that made the wall shake. She grabbed up her phone, ready to hit the speed dial for 9-1-1. “Who is it?” she called in a shaky voice.
“I have a delivery for Lauren Starling.”
She tiptoed to the door and peered through the peephole. A burly man in a tracksuit stood on the landing. “You’re not with a delivery company,” she said. “Go away.”
“I have a package for you.” He held up a box about eight inches square.
“I don’t want it. Go away.”
“I’m going to leave it here on the landing. You need to open it.”
“Go away before I call the police.”
“Suit yourself.”
She watched as he set the box on the doormat and walked away. She waited a full five minutes, heart racing, mind whirling. Who was sending her a package? Was this some kind of joke, or a bomb?
Finally, reasoning there was only one way to learn the answer to her questions, she eased open the door and looked around. The area was deserted. Quickly, she picked up the package and took it inside, where she set it carefully on the table and stared at it.
No return address. No postage or metered label, either. She put her ear to it. No ticking. But would a bomb necessarily tick? She wished Rand and Lotte were still here. The dog could probably tell if the package contained explosives. She could call them, but Rand had enough on his mind right now without worrying about her. The local police might help—or they would just as easily dismiss her as that crazy woman who’d been on television. She couldn’t take any more humiliation. Better to handle this herself.
Feeling a little silly, she grabbed a knife and slit open the end of the box. Inside, she glimpsed red foil paper and white silk ribbon. Less afraid now, she worked the knife around until she could lift off the top. Inside the first box was a second, gift-wrapped package. Again, no label.
She carefully worked loose the ribbon on this box and opened the flaps. Inside was a single dried rose and a printed card. “In loving memory,” the card read, “of Lauren Montgomery Starling.”
Trembling, she turned the card over. Printed in pencil, in neat block letters, were the words, “Such a short life wasted. We’ll all miss you when you’re gone.”
Marco stood in line behind Rand and Sophie at the sandwich shop, but his mind was still back at the apartment with Lauren. The first time he’d laid eyes on her in that abandoned mine tunnel where she’d been imprisoned, he’d felt a connection to her. Not just physical attraction—any man might have felt that for the blonde, blue-eyed beauty with the killer figure. The affinity he felt for Lauren went deeper than that, to something in his core. Which was crazy, really. They didn’t have anything in common. She was a beauty queen celebrity who lived in the public eye. He’d made a life out of skulking in the shadows.
Maybe it was her strength that resonated with him. It was different from the physical power and mental discipline he practiced, but her ability to endure moved him. She’d had to deal with more trouble in the past few months than most people would ever face in a lifetime, but she still managed to keep smiling and keep fighting. The smile had been a little shakier today; losing her job had to hurt. The stress of all that had happened to her was showing; she was drawn and pale. If Prentice was behind this latest attack on her, Marco wanted to find the guy and teach him a lesson he’d never forget.
His phone buzzed and he slipped it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. Pls come. More trble. Don’t say anythng 2 others. Don’t want 2 upset Sophie. Lauren.
He pocketed the phone once more and tapped Rand on the shoulder. “I’m going to skip lunch,” he said. “Something’s come up.”
“Anything wrong?”
“Nah. I just remembered something I have to do. Anyway, you know what they say about three being a crowd.” He nodded to Sophie. “I’ll see you soon.”
He sauntered out of the shop—Mr. Smooth, not a care in the world. But every nerve vibrated with worry. Lauren wouldn’t have contacted him unless she was in real trouble. Though they’d spent some tense hours together when they were trapped in that old mine on Prentice’s estate, he was still a stranger to her. But who else did she have to turn to in the face of real danger? Her sister and her friends couldn’t handle a real threat, while he’d spent most of his adult life fighting off enemies of one kind or another.
He reached Lauren’s apartment a few minutes later and she opened the door while he was still crossing the parking lot. Clearly, she’d been watching for him. “Thank you for coming,” she said. She leaned against the door as if even staying upright was an effort.
He took her arm and guided her back into the apartment, then shut and locked the door behind them. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
“A man delivered this a few minutes ago.” She led him to the kitchen table, where a brightly wrapped box looked like leftovers from a birthday party. “All that was in it was this dried-up flower and that card.”
He bent over the card, not touching it, and read the message printed there. “Look on the back,” she said.
He flipped the card over, and clenched his hands into fists. “Someone is trying to frighten you,” he said.
“It’s working.” She studied his face, searching for what—reassurance? Hope?
He could give her neither. “We can check for fingerprints,” he said. “But we probably won’t find any.”
“No,