Balling my fist, I murmured a spell and splayed my fingers, sending a spark of magic over the wick. The flame caught and wavered as I brought the candle toward the entrance of the room. Its light cast a glow over a long table, illuminating a cyclone of papers and case files. The methodical order in the other room didn’t transcend into this chamber. It was as if a different person occupied both spaces, one rigorous, the other erratic.
Worn journals were stacked along the edge of the table, their covers coated in a layer of dust. I picked one up and flipped through its musty pages, noting the elegant handwriting inside. Returning it carefully, I lifted the light to examine a row of boxes against the wall. Beside them was a cot with a single pillow. A melted candle and more folders sat on a small table, which I moved closer to, running my hand over a wool blanket. An image of Derrick poring over case files deep into the night flashed through my mind. How many nights had he spent here? Judging by the tangled blanket and well-read files, more than a few.
On the other side of the room was a long board affixed to the wall. Notes were push-pinned into the surface. I held the candle higher and moved down the length, slowing as I reached the end, where a trio of roses hung upside down, suspended by their stems. I brushed my fingers over the dry, brittle petals. The scent had long since dissipated, and all but one had turned brown with age. A slip of paper with a handwritten name had been tacked next to each flower.
The third rose was fresh, its stem a wealth of green thorns. They’d found Ella with a rose tucked between her fingers. I read the names pinned near each stem:Sophie,Jane, andElla. My hand trembled, and a bead of wax dripped onto my wrist. I barely felt the burn.
“You can’t be in here.”
Startled, I dropped the candle. Its flame sputtered as it hit the floor, plunging the room into darkness.
Derrick’s large frame loomed in the doorway. I reached for the wall, hoping to orient myself, but I misjudged the distance, and my hip slammed the edge of the table. The stack of journals toppled, sending up a cloud of dust. I sneezed, and my foot rolled over the fallen candle, making me lurch and brace for impact.
Before I could hit the hard floor, hands wrapped around my waist. Derrick adjusted his hold, and I landed against the firm wall of his chest, his palm cupping the back of my head.
“Relax. I’ve got you.”
Easier said than done. The low timbre of his voice sent a shiver snaking through my body. How was I supposed to relax with every inch of him pressed against me? A tingling tickled my nose, but I wasn’t quick enough to pull away and sneezed twice in rapid-fire into his shirt. The third sneeze rammed my nose into his sternum. Horrified, I prayed for death.
Derrick’s chest rumbled. Was he laughing? This wasn’t even remotely funny. I’d almost broken my nose, not to mention my neck, and to make matters worse, I was enjoying the way his fingers sifted through my hair. The gentle pressure felt wonderful against my scalp. Did he realize he was doing it? I was afraid to ask because he might stop.
His arms tightened around me, and he backed us slowly out of the room. Bright light flooded my vision as his office came into focus. With a tilt of my head, our eyes locked, and for a moment, neither of us moved. All traces of laughter vanished from his face, replaced by an intensity that heated my skin. I’d expected anger, not this breathless tension that hung thick in the air.
He blinked, and the moment evaporated. Derrick’s hands loosened around my waist, and his lips formed a grim line. The anger I’d expected had finally appeared.
“That’s twice I’ve caught you breaking into something.”
I held up my finger. “To be fair, the first time, I didn’t actually break anything. You startled me before I could. So, technically, this is the second time you’ve startledme.”
His eyes narrowed, but I stood my ground under his impressive glare. I was starting to think it was mostly for show and beneath his gruff exterior was something else entirely. There was only one way to find out.
“We need to talk, Detective.”
“About how I caught you going through my locked evidence room? I could have you arrested.”
His threats had no effect. I moved closer, smoothing his shoulders and straightening the lapels of his expensive jacket. His pupils were wide as they followed my bold exploration. I curbed a grin at his comical expression. Apparently, he was used to people cowering beneath his glare, not ruffling his feathers.
“That all sounds very familiar, but no. We need to talk about whether anyone else knows.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, putting a muscled barrier between him and my wandering fingers. “Does anyone else know what, Miss Daniels?”
I leaned in and whispered, “About the roses the killer leaves behind. I counted three. Ella wasn’t the first victim.”
Chapter 8
“It’s not what you think.”
“It’s not?” I scoffed and held up three fingers. “Three roses. Three dead girls. It’s exactly what I think. They all have the same killer, one who leaves a calling card.”
Derrick scrubbed a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted. Beneath his tailored jacket, his linen shirt was wrinkled and unbuttoned at the top. It seemed out of character for him, the same way the table in his evidence room overflowed with papers and files, a chaotic distraction to the perfect shell of his outer office. Maybe he wasn’t one-sided after all.
He walked around his desk straightening the folders I’d knocked over. “They’re just roses, Miss Daniels. A potential lead, nothing more.” Reaching underneath, he found where I’d taken the key and held out his hand. “I’d like my key back.”
It was still in the door. I moved to retrieve it.
“You don’t believe that, or you wouldn’t have those flowers tacked up like killer trophies. Who are the other girls? I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
A condescending smile curved his lips. He studied me in a way that felt familiar, always searching, waiting for a tell.
