Too late.
* * *
“YOU DON’T LOOK like a killer.”
Gabrielle’s head whipped up at Detective Lane Carmichael’s low voice. She was at the police station, in the interrogation room of all places.
She’d been the one to call Lane, but when he’d swung in with his cavalry, she’d found herself in police custody.
“You know I’m not a killer, Lane.”
His lips compressed. “Maybe I don’t know nearly as much about you as I thought, and I certainly don’t know anything about the new guy you’ve got with you.”
Lane had separated her from Cooper as soon as they arrived at the station. “Where is he?” Gabrielle demanded instead of responding to Lane’s jibe.
Lane pulled up a chair and stared back at her. “Van McAdams is in the morgue, but you knew that, right? He was dead when you called for help.”
Bile rose in her throat. “He wasn’t dead then. He was trying to talk.” An impossible task, considering what had been done to him.
“Giving you a last-minute message, was he?” Lane asked.
She thought of the letters that she’d seen in the blood. Her eyes squeezed closed. “Look, I know you saw what he wrote. Despite this crazy act right now, you’re a decent cop.” Actually, a good cop. Maybe he was jealous. She didn’t really know what his deal was. But there’d been a definite edge in his voice when he referred to the “new guy.” “You’re a—”
He grabbed her arm. “What are you talking about? What did McAdams write?”
Her eyes flew open. “I-in the blood. He tried to write a message. If you didn’t see it, if one of the techs didn’t, your guys are just getting sloppy.”
He glared at her. “There was no message in the blood.”
“Yes,” she said, voice adamant, “there was.” There had been no missing it.
“Then tell me...what did it say?”
Gabrielle licked her too dry lips. “There were three letters. I think...I think it was an E, an O and a D.”
His brows shot up. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She didn’t know, but Gabrielle intended to find out. “They could be the killer’s initials or perhaps even the first three letters in his name.” Maybe you need to do your job and figure it out.
But he just shook his head grimly. “You report the stories, Gabrielle. You aren’t supposed to get in the middle of them. I told you this before. What you’re doing is too dangerous.”
Yes, he had told her that before: same song and dance, different day. The fact that he kept trying to control what she did...no, the fact that he kept trying to change her and make her into someone else—a girl who played things safely—that had been why their short-lived relationship had crashed and burned.
Lane exhaled slowly. “If you aren’t careful, you could find yourself caught in the sights of a killer.”
Then he shoved away from the table, stalked to the door, and he left her there.
Just...left her.
But the image of Van McAdams stayed with her, tightening her stomach and seeming to squeeze her heart. I’m so sorry. I wish that I’d arrived sooner.
Because seeing him like that, actually still alive—it was just like the night she’d found her father.
He’d been alive, too, when she first burst into her home. He’d been hurt so badly. She’d wanted to save him.
She’d only been able to watch him die.
A tear slid down her cheek as her shoulders hunched.