A path of possibility rolled out in front of her. She took that very first step in her mind.
“No way,” she whispered.
Was it possible? Could it be something as simple as that?
“What?”
“Birth flowers. Different for every month,” she whispered, continuing to turn over this new idea. She let it flit and find fertile ground for the seeds to land, sprout, and grow.
She didn’t know the birthdays of every victim off the top of her head, but she did remember some of the varieties of flowers either mentioned or shown in the crime scene photos. A couple had been very unusual, not a typical bunch of flowers someone would pick up in a grocery store, or even a florist. She suspected they might even require special ordering.
Her mind on fire now, she grabbed her phone and quickly looked up sites with information on birth flowers.
“Carnation. Violet. Daffodil.”
“What are you muttering over there?”
“Birth flowers,” she said, talking more to herself than to Candace as she continued to read. “Daisies, larkspur. Mine is gladiolus.”
“Why are we still talking about birth flowers?”
She remembered the birthday of only one of the victims, because she had been born on Evie’s own birthday, but ten years earlier. Try as she might, however, she just couldn’t remember what kind of flowers had been in that victim’s bedroom.
If it had been gladiolus…well, it wasn’t 100 percent proof, but it would go a long way toward convincing her that she might have stumbled across an explanation for the varying types of flowers left at the crime scenes. Because really, who gave anyone gladiolus, except for a very specific reason? Like because that person had an August birthday.
“I need my files,” she mumbled.
She had the basics of all the cases on her computer at Rowan’s place. But the more in-depth stuff, including the crime scene photos, were in print. And her really detailed impressions of the crimes were handwritten in her journal, which was also at her place.
“What?”
They were nearing her street now, and she kept thinking, turning everything over and over. She did not want to go into her house. God, no. Though, when she thought about it, the police presence there might very well have scared the prowler out of trying it again.
If Rowan were going to be home tonight and could bring her over, or even meet them, she would ask him to go in with her. If he couldn’t do that, unless she wanted to go into the house by herself, it was going to have to wait until tomorrow.
That would drive her absolutely insane. Now that this possibility was spinning in her brain, she couldn’t think of anything else.
“It’s this one, right?” Candace said as she pulled up in front of the house. Evie’s little rental convertible still stood in the driveway, looking exactly as it had when she’d left it.
It would be so easy. Just do what Candace had suggested. Get out of this car, into that one, and drive away.
But it would also be easy to go into the house and get the box of files and research documents. It was on the floor under a table in her room. And it wasn’t like she was alone.
“Would you consider standing watch for me?” she asked, hating the idea even as she suggested it.
Candace looked over at her. “What do you mean?”
Licking her lips, she said, “The birth flowers. I can’t stop thinking about them. I’ve been trying to figure out why the victims of the flower killer, as I’ve been calling him, all received different types.”
Candace, who was the only person other than Rowan who even knew about Evie’s side investigation—unless she’d told her husband—gasped. Her jaw dropped and her eyes rounded. “You think maybe they were their birth flowers?”
“Exactly.”
“Oh my God, that’s so fucking creepy!”
“Tell me about it.”
If the killer knew the birthdays of his victims, that meant he had researched them. He had not chosen those women at random; he’d planned everything out. And he had come to the murder sites with the flowers on him.
If it was true, they were dealing with one incredibly organized serial killer…with a very obvious signature: birth month flowers.
She glanced toward the front porch. It was partially blocked by another of those overgrown bushes the landlady hadn’t cut back, just like the ones in the backyard. Although Evie couldn’t see the entirety of the porch, she could, at least, confirm that the front door was closed. The house looked quiet, normal.
Rowan will kill me.
Yeah, he would. Maybe she should wait and get him to bring her back here tonight. Or come himself. But she hated that idea too. It seemed safer for her to do it now, when it wasn’t even fully dark yet, with Candace staying on the front porch acting as lookout and alarm system should something be wrong inside.
Besides, she realized, there was something else that might be very useful in her box of files. Something Rowan might be very appreciative of.
She knew she’d read something about a girl running in the neighborhood the night of Harry Baker’s murder. If Rowan and his brothers had been searching for the girl, and Evie had more information about her, he’d probably be very grateful.
Not grateful enough to not go off about you going inside.
No. Probably not that grateful.
“I think I’d better text Rowan,” she said.
Candace lifted a brow. “Seriously? I mean, there’s two of us, it’s daylight, you’ll be in there for, what, ninety seconds?”
She nodded.
“Pfft. I wouldn’t even tell him.”
“You don’t think he’ll notice if I suddenly come back with a big box full of files?”
“Tell him they were in the car.”
Nope. She was not a liar. Not ever, if she could help it. And given how she’d shut him out of his own room last night for lying to her, she would certainly never do the same to him.
“I’m going to text him. If he absolutely loses it, I’ll ask him to come here and meet us.”
Candace shrugged, then reached into her purse for her own phone and started checking emails. Evie, meanwhile, pulled up her message app and realized Rowan had responded to her last one. She simply hadn’t heard the notification. Make that notifications.
Please don’t go without me. I’ll take you to get the car tomorrow.
Thirty seconds later: Evie?
And then a half-minute more: Damn it. I’m in a meeting and can’t call you. Please text and let me know you got this and you won’t go into your house!!!!
That was the final text, and it had come in only about a minute ago.
Considering her options, she looked around and saw a woman pushing a stroller one block up. A guy was jogging toward the beach. Two cars pulled into nearby driveways.
There were people around, she would not be alone, it was not even dark yet, and it would take her mere seconds to grab what she needed.
Plus, her instincts were screaming at her not to wait. She wanted answers of her own, and she wanted answers to give to Rowan. Maybe if she could help him move past this situation with his family, he and she could move into something more serious and permanent, where there were no lies and no secrets.
She texted him back.
Going in for one thing. Candace is with me. Plenty of people around. I’ll be in and out in under a minute.
Biting her lip, she quickly added, Please don’t worry. And don’t be mad.
He was gonna be mad, no doubt about that, and no help for it. But by the time he responded, she’d be done and on her way back to his place. There, she could calm him down with critical information he had been looking for. And maybe one or two other ways.
“Okay, let’s do this,” she said, dropping her phone into her purse. She could read all the angry texts once this was done.
“I have my pepper spray,” said Candace as she got out of the car and joined her on the sidewalk. “Do you want it?”
Violent criminal. Her stomach flipped as she thought about the attack that had occurred one week ago tonight. Hard to believe her world had changed so drastically in such a short time.
Life could smack you at any moment; she knew that better than most.
She looked at the front of her quiet house. No lights on, not a whisper of movement, utterly silent. But the thought of going inside it suddenly made her stomach roll. She had been comfortable there, on the road to happiness. Now it felt different. The gingerbread cottage just didn’t appeal to her as it had at first sight. There might be a witch inside, or there might not, but either way, the little place she had called home now felt malevolent.
Suddenly, an image of Blair filled her memory. Sweet and funny Blair, who had just started her first teaching job. Life had done more than smack her.
She could practically hear her friend’s voice asking her what in the hell she was thinking. It was almost as loud as Rowan’s.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered.
“Huh?”
“I can’t.” A weight she hadn’t even realized she was carrying lifted off her shoulders. Yes, she was disappointed, but she knew it was the right decision. “It’s stupid and unnecessary. I can get the stuff tomorrow.”
It was a risk she didn’t need to take. And she was not going to take it.
Because life could smack you any time it wanted.
“Oh come on, thirty seconds, kiddo. You’ve got my curiosity up now too. I wanna know about those flowers.”
“No, it can wait,” she said. She had her keys in her hand. She quickly thumbed from the front door key to the one for the car. Decision made.
Candace frowned and rolled her eyes. But rather than getting back in her Mercedes and waiting for Evie to get into her car, she pointed toward the porch. “You’ve got a package.”
Remembering she had ordered some books from Amazon, Evie nodded and started walking toward the house. Candace fell into step beside her.
“I can’t believe I didn’t get over to see this place before it became toxic,” Candace said. “It’s super cute. Tiny.”
“Yes, just one bedroom. But it was big enough for me.”
“Great location.”
It really was. She doubted she’d find anything like it again and mentally cursed Angstrom for probably the millionth time in her life. Whether she was in danger here anymore or not, he had ruined the place for her. Knowing someone had been prowling around inside made it no longer hers. It was Angstrom’s now, touched by his darkness through whatever surrogate he was using to frighten her. Or worse.
When they reached the porch, Evie bent down to pick up the box. It contained several hardback books and was heavy. She had to shift a little to hoist it into her arms. When she did, she dropped not only her keys from one hand, but also her purse from her shoulder.
“Let me help you,” Candace said as she crouched down and started shoving things back into Evie’s bag.
“Thanks,” Evie said. Spying her phone, which had skidded to the exterior wall, she turned around and reached for it. And then she heard a clangy little jingle.
She looked up at her friend just in time to see Candace twist the key in the front door lock. “What on earth are you doing?”
“You wait here. I’ll get the damn box.”
“No, Candace, don’t!”
But the brunette ignored her, shoving the door open and stepping inside before Evie had even gotten back up to her feet. Horrified, Evie stepped into the small foyer and grabbed the other woman’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Where’s the box? Just point the way.”
“Out.”
Candace was looking around, peering across the living room toward the kitchen. The house was utterly still, not even the drip of a faucet making a sound. The wooden floors in the old place creaked terribly when you walked across them, but right now, silence reigned.
“It’s empty, honey,” Candace said, patting Evie’s arm. “We’re in now, just grab the thing and we’ll go, okay? You can tell Rowan it was all my fault.”
“It was,” she grumbled, though she knew Candace was right. They were already inside; the decision had been taken out of Evie’s hands. “I really don’t like this.”
“Just go.”
Sighing, she slowly nodded. “All right, it’s in the bedroom. You stay right here by the open door. I’ll be back in thirty seconds. If I’m not, scream the neighborhood down.”
Candace laughed and pulled her pepper spray out of her purse. “I got your back, kiddo.”
Evie walked quickly across the living room to the short hallway that led to her room, and the house’s single bathroom. Everything seemed normal. Some things looked a little out of place, but that was to be expected since Rowan and the other cops were in here the other night.
And yet…and yet.…
Her heart was pounding wildly, her nerves pinging and sparking.
“Nothing to worry about,” she told herself as she walked into her bedroom. She beelined for the writing table she had been using for a desk, grabbing her journal from on top of it. Then she crouched down to pull out the file box from underneath. It was heavier than the package outside, and she had to get down on her knees to tug it out, sliding it across the carpet.
Wrapping her arms around it, Evie slowly stood up and tried to shift the box into a better position, bracing it on her hip. It really had been only thirty seconds, and she found herself feeling glad she’d gone for it. Rowan would not be pleased, of course, but hopefully even he would agree it had been worth the quick dash.
Ready to leave and walk straight out the front door, she stopped when something on her bedside table caught her eye. Something colorful and fragrant.
Something she had not left there.
Evie froze. Her entire body quaked in shock, and she dropped the box to the floor, hearing it thud from somewhere far away, like she was right back in that sensory-deprivation chamber.
“No,” she whispered, moving beyond shock into confusion. “What…how?”
It couldn’t be. She couldn’t be seeing this. It made no sense. It…
And then she understood. The truth slammed into her brain, clicking all the puzzle pieces into place. She understood everything.
“Not him,” she whispered. “Not Angstrom.”
It hadn’t been Angstrom at all.
Run. Go!
Spinning around, she darted out the bedroom door. “Candace, get out of the house!” she yelled. But before she’d managed the few more steps to the living room, she heard a distinctive pop and a loud thud. She tried to skid to a stop, but her feet got tangled in a runner and flew out from under her. She fell right into the living room, hitting the floor hard.
Which put her about face level with her friend.
Her friend with the bullet hole in her head and blood spreading out beneath her.
“Oh my God,” she cried. “Oh God, Candace!”
“You shouldn’t have brought her with you.”
A man’s voice. Above her. It sounded…familiar.
She saw a pair of dark, heavy-soled shoes move into view as he walked closer and stood over her. Beyond horrified at what had just happened to her friend—oh Christ, Candace, I’m so sorry—she forced herself to look up. Her gaze moved slowly, shock making her feel sluggish, as if she would be unable to lift her head enough to even see his face.
But she found the strength. She lifted her head. She looked. She saw.
She understood. Everything.
And as he aimed the gun at her head, she couldn’t beg, couldn’t ask any questions; she could only manage to whisper one word.
“Gladiolus.”
* * *
Although he was in a meeting with one of the highest-ranking members of the LAPD Detective Bureau and some of his staff, when he read Evie’s last text, Rowan got up and a
nnounced that he had to leave.
“Excuse me?” said the commanding officer of the Robbery-Homicide division. “This is your meeting, Winchester.”
“Sir, like I’ve been saying, Evie Fleming is the one who stumbled onto all this. I am sure she can explain it better than I can.”
The commanding officer, Captain Andochick, plus Captain Avery and the others in the room all stared at him. The senior-level staff members had gathered to demand answers about why he and Evie had been going around asking questions about a bunch of cold cases.
Rowan had fully expected it to come to this, just not so soon, and not in an ambush meeting he’d known nothing about. Apparently, they had stirred up a few hornets, one of whom was Captain Slaughter, who worked right here in this building and had registered a complaint.
He felt every minute that ticked by. He was supposed to meet Raine to try to find the girl they’d been looking for. Then had come the texts from Evie. Now Rowan was about as tense as he’d ever been in his life.
Raine he wasn’t worried about. His brother had only asked Rowan to come along because he was good at handling people. They both thought he would have better luck getting the young woman to talk about what had happened the night Harry Baker died. If they found her.
But Raine could do it without him. Because all thoughts of going to meet his brother had evaporated when he’d taken a quick look at his phone and seen Evie’s last few messages.
Going to the house to get her car was bad. He hadn’t liked it at all and had told her so.
But going into the house to get some records?
That was absolutely out of the question.
“Sit down, Winchester,” snapped Captain Avery. “We don’t want to talk to the writer. We want to hear it from you.”
“Sir, I’m sorry. As you might know, Ms. Fleming was attacked a few blocks from here one week ago. Since then, someone has broken into her house more than once and has been playing psychological games with her. You know about her involvement in the Angstrom case?”
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