“Which means this also isn’t someone likely to take the chance I don’t know anything either,” Regina said on a sigh. “And believe it or not, I really don’t think I know anything anyone would be willing to kill to keep hidden. I have to believe Jeremy was going to tell me tonight and didn’t get the chance.” If only he had. If only she’d pressed him harder on the phone. He might not be dead, or if so, at least she might have some idea what she was facing.
“Of course this is all guesswork,” he said after a moment. “For all we know whatever warning the killer implied wasn’t intended for you.”
He was trying to make her feel better, she realized with surprise. She glanced at him, and for a moment, their eyes met. At the sight of that impossibly good-looking face, a nervous flutter erupted in her chest. She tried to read his expression for any hint of what he was thinking, but came away empty. It was an odd reassurance for him to offer her. She wouldn’t have thought he would bother. She wondered what it meant that he had, wondered if it meant anything at all.
Wondered why she cared. No point reading too much into a simple courtesy.
“I hope you’re right,” she said, unable to keep the doubt from her voice.
They’d reached the street where her office was located. It hardly seemed possible but the crowd of police officers and crime scene technicians was already gone, the street deserted. As they neared the space where Jeremy’s car had been parked, the place where he died, she saw there was nothing there now. The body had been removed, the car towed away. But the memory of what had been there remained vivid in her mind, and she couldn’t suppress a shudder.
He stopped next to her car and put his vehicle in Park. As she unbuckled her seat belt, he reached into his coat and pulled out a business card, offering it to her. “For when you’ve gone over your notes, or if you think of anything else.”
“Of course.” Tucking the card in her pocket, she opened the door. “Good night, Detective.”
“Take care of yourself, counselor,” he said in that low, smooth voice of his, what should have been no more than a basic parting line sounding strangely personal.
She crossed the street to her car, fully expecting him to drive away as soon as she was out of the vehicle. He didn’t, remaining where he was as she unlocked her car and started the engine. Only when she was heading down the street did she see him finally start to drive away, his lights fading from view in her rearview mirror.
The fact that he’d finally left made sense. The fact that he’d waited until she was safely on her way, while somewhat surprising, was understandable.
The fact that she felt better for his having done so, or that the warmth caused by the timbre of his voice and those closing words continued to linger long after he was gone, was much harder to explain.
WHEN HER ALARM WENT OFF the next morning, Regina was jolted out of an uneasy sleep that was anything but restful. Instantly wide awake, she stared at the glowing digits on her bedside clock. It was early. She’d forgotten to reset the alarm the night before. This was the time she’d needed to get up to catch her flight to the Caribbean.
A flight she wouldn’t be taking, she acknowledged without a second thought. Shutting off the alarm, she rose to her feet and padded to the bathroom. All that mattered was finding out who was responsible for what had happened to Jeremy Decker.
Going to bed hadn’t allowed her to escape the horror of last night’s events. Her dreams had been filled with images of Jeremy, first silently begging her for help he was voiceless to explain, then as he’d looked when she’d found him, long past asking for anything.
And almost just as disturbing, an unsmiling police detective with dark eyes that seemed to sear through her, his expression mysterious and unreadable no matter how long she tried to discern what he was thinking.
Regina didn’t let herself linger on the last image. There were much more important things to deal with. She needed to get to the office and go through Jeremy’s file. With any luck, there would be something in it that would help her figure out this mess.
She showered and dressed as quickly as possible, already deciding to stop for coffee on the way rather than take the time to make it. Within fifteen minutes she was ready to go. Making her way downstairs, she tugged on her coat and, ignoring the packed suitcases lined up by it, pulled the door open.
She was about to step outside, her gaze lowering as she fumbled through her keys, when she saw it.
There was something on her front porch.
She froze, her keys forgotten. The snow hadn’t reached the porch, so the object, stark white against the brown of the wood, was plainly visible—and immediately noticeable as out of place. She stared at it for a moment, unsure what to do. Peering closer, she tried to identify it. It was white. Some kind of paper? No, the texture was wrong. It looked like some kind of fabric. Almost like—
A handkerchief.
Dread held her in place for a moment, her mind automatically going back to the last handkerchief she’d seen, the one shoved in Jeremy Decker’s gaping mouth. The one she’d thought was red.
The handkerchief most likely didn’t start out red.
No, in order to end up that color of red, it must have started out white. As white as the handkerchief sitting on her front porch.
And it was just sitting there, slightly crumpled or folded over. It didn’t move other than the edges fluttering the slightest bit. A cold wind was blowing outside. She could feel it swirling around her ankles. Yet the handkerchief didn’t blow away. Something must be holding it in place.
And in a horrifying instant, she knew what it was.
Her mind immediately rebelled, her stomach nearly doing the same. The idea was too terrible to consider. She desperately tried to think of another explanation, and came up blank.
Still, she had to know.
Digging into her bag for a pen, she inched closer to the handkerchief. Coming only as near as necessary, she leaned in, using the pen to ease back the corner of the fabric where it was folded over.
One glance was all it took to see her instincts had been correct.
Expecting it didn’t protect her from the shock of seeing it herself. She reeled back, already wishing she hadn’t looked, already trying to block out the image.
If the killer was sending a message, that message was most likely intended for you.
Detective Waters’s words echoed faintly from the back of her mind.
Waters.
She should call him. She should call somebody. It only made sense that it should be him. Even as the thought occurred to her, she was reaching into her pocket for the business card he’d given her, then for her cell phone.
She forced herself to focus on the tiny digits on the card and dialed the number with trembling fingers.
It took only two rings for him to answer.
“Waters.”
The sound of that voice sent a rush of relief through her, the emotion fiercer than she had any business feeling.
“Detective Waters, this is Regina Garrett.”
There was the briefest of pauses before he responded. “Of course, Ms. Garrett. What can I do for you?”
“I’m at home. There was something on my front porch when I opened my door this morning.”
“What kind of something?”
“A white handkerchief. And there’s something in it. I think—” She swallowed hard, tried