Derrick sat beside me, drawing me against his chest to share warmth. “You’re cold. I should get your coat.”
“No—wait.” I closed my fist, then splayed my fingers over a small hearth near the bench. Magic sparked and caught fire. The flames grew brighter, snapping as they took hold of the kindling stacked in the grate. “Some spells are easier than others,” I explained with a smile, resting my head into the crook of his shoulder.
We sat in silence, the fire keeping us warm. A question burned on my tongue, but I was afraid of the answer.
“Can I ask you something?”
He nodded.
“What did Abrams mean when he said we were like the others?”
It took him so long to answer, I started to think he wouldn’t.
“After Sophie’s murder, my parents were desperate. There were no leads, no suspects. One day, a witch traveled through the village, and she heard about the murder. She offered to help—for a price. I begged them not to go, but they were willing to try anything. For the first time in months, they had hope. The witch promised to cast a spell that would lead them to the killer. It sounded too good to be true, and it was. My parents paid her a fortune in advance, and when they arrived the next day, the witch was gone.”
“Oh, Derrick.” I didn’t know what to say. I hung my head, tears streaming down my face. It was a miracle he’d opened up and let me near the case after what his family had experienced at the hands of a so-called witch. Their hopes had been shattered by a true charlatan. Was it any wonder he’d accused me of being one when we first met?
“Tessa.” He tucked strands of hair behind my ears and tilted my chin up to his. “You’re not like that. It took me a while to realize it because I didn’t want to go through it again, but in true Tessa form, you battered my defenses.”
I hiccuped and swiped at my eyes. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“It’s the highest compliment.”
“I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time. I had no idea.”
Wrapping his arms around me again, Derrick pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “How could you? My sister’s murder made me realize how important it was for me to excel at the agency. I became a detective so I could solve her case and keep murderers off the streets. But it doesn’t make the helplessness go away, the feeling I’m always a step behind, that I can’t protect the ones I love. That’s always in the back of my mind.”
My palm cupped the side of his face, and I turned to look into his eyes, hoping to convey the truth in my words. “You’re a good detective, Derrick Chambers.”
“You think so?” His voice was a low rumble in my ear.
“I do, and that’s my highest compliment.”
He smiled, and the tenderness in his eyes made me feel like I was falling off a steep cliff. I realized all the traits I’d found so unappealing were simply his way of doing the best he could for those around him, that he held himself to an impossible standard—and I wanted nothing more than to see him succeed.
“We need to go back to the beginning. What Sophie said about the roses, I think that’s the key.”
Derrick nodded. “I agree, but no one we’ve questioned has been able to determine the source.”
“Then we haven’t been asking the right people. We need to go wider with the information. Someone has to know something.”
“The agency doesn’t have the manpower to go door-to-door asking about roses. Besides, not everyone likes to be questioned by the authorities. Some people get defensive when asked simple questions.”
I smirked. “If you’re alluding to me then I know what you mean. But I have an idea. What if we could appeal to a wider audience all at once and frame the question without giving away our intentions?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“We place an ad in the Gazette. Forget trying to find the one person with the answers about the rose. Let’s have that person come to us.”
Chapter 21
John Lincoln stretched his legs in front of him and leaned back in his chair. It creaked under his weight, threatening to buckle beneath him.
“Let me get this straight. The agency wants to place an ad in my paper to track down the origin of the rose left at the crime scene?”
“That’s right,” I said. “Someone out there might have information or know someone who does. The Gazette is the fastest, most direct way to find them. The rose may be the killer’s only mistake. It ties him to the murder in a specific way. If we can learn more about it and why it was left at the scene, we’ll be a step closer to catching him.”
John crossed his arms. “Aren’t you taking a risk the killer will see the ad as well?”
