“Are you back yet, dear?”
Miss Dotha’s warm voice washed over me in a comforting wave. “I am.”
She had called my house phone and not my cell phone, which meant I had to be home to answer, but I knew better than to sass her.
“Oh good.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”
“Are you okay?” A ball of dread rolled in my gut. “Are the girls—?”
“It’s nothing like that. We’re all fine. It’s your lovely store. It was broken into last night.”
All at once, I could breathe again. “My store?”
“I called the police, and they’ve filed a report on the incident.” She let me absorb that. “Are you there?”
“Yes.” I hated my voice for cracking. “I’m here.”
“Would you like to come down and see for yourself before I get my son to board up the front?”
“Yes.” I sagged against the wall. “I’ll be down there shortly. And thank you.”
The call ended, but I stayed put, decisions churning through my head faster than I could make them.
“I need to handle this,” I told the guys. “He might have left a nasty surprise for the cops to find.”
The skull at the processor was a turning point in the killer’s—or killers’—evolution.
From the mural on the cave wall, I had to assume this production was all for me. To get to Colby.
They wanted my attention, and now they had it.
“Serial killers don’t change their spots.” Clay exhaled. “Nothing about this case has made any sense since we brought you on board.” He winced. “No offense.” He stood. “We thought we had a copycat but…”
“The killer—” it was easier to think in the singular until we had hard evidence, “—did his homework. The Silver Stag was my last case, and he made a half-assed attempt at recreating it. He hit enough similarities to ensure the Bureau went searching for me. He let them do the legwork to find me then followed me to Colby.”
Only an agent had the level of access required to learn the details of the Silver Stag case.
And only an agent had clearance for the systems storing the information on my whereabouts.
“How did he know about Colby?” Asa rose as well. “You were alone in the clearing.”
“I don’t know.” I picked at my thumbnail. “I missed something or someone.”
“Why would they wait ten years?” Clay shook his head. “It makes no sense.”
“I don’t know that either.” I considered the timeline. “Ten isn’t a powerful number. Seven or thirteen would have been better.” I turned to Colby. “Ready to go, Hairbow?”
Without an ounce of shame, she shucked her headset, shrank, and landed on my head.
A smile twitched in Clay’s cheek, but he wisely didn’t bring up the total lack of discipline in my house.
The guys would have blended in better wearing casual clothes, but agents tended not to pack civvies.
Lucky for me, consultants got to wear what they wanted to work.
We piled into my sporty SUV, Clay swearing about tiny cars the whole way, and hit the road.
A rhythmic boom, boom, boom caused me to slow in front of Mrs. Gleason’s house.