He didn’t answer. Too focused on the finger rolling across the desk, the blue-gray skin a brutal contrast to the bright-red nail polish and the glittering diamond wedding ring.
“Coop. You still there?” Sutton asked.
He stared at the severed digit, at the clean cut through bone, and calculated the problem he hadn’t seen coming. The facts pointed in one direction, and he didn’t like where they led.
He forced his voice steady. “I know the lender.”
“How? What are you looking at?”
“A past-due notice,” Coop replied.
“For what? Getting bits and pieces isn’t helping.”
He could hear the growing frustration in Sutton’s voice, but he didn’t have time to break it down. “I’ll explain later. Gotta go.”
“No. Wait—”
The landline went dead as the receiver clattered into the cradle. Coop stood and leaned over the desk for a closer look. Not at the gruesome sight but the packaging.
“What the fuck, Coop?”
O’Reilly was looking to him for answers he didn’t have yet. Coop reached for a pencil and flipped over the small square of bloodstained paper that had slipped free of the wrapping.
PAYMENT IN FULL DUE IN 48 HOURS
NEXT MISSED DEADLINE: THE GIRL
A muscle ticked in his cheek. Forty-eight hours from when? The package could have sat in Erica’s mailbox for days. The ultimatum may have been received too late for the girl.
O’Reilly dragged a hand through his hair. “This is sick. Where did it come from? You didn’t have it when I left here last night.”
“It was delivered to 207 Sycamore.”
“Sycamore?” His partner checked his notes. “The Wilson house is 208 Sycamore.”
“Yeah. And it wasn’t mailed. No postage. Hand delivered.”
O’Reilly frowned. “How the hell does it end up in Erica Stevens’ box?”
He sat in his chair, leaning back as he sorted through it out loud. “Kedrov wouldn’t risk the US Mail or a courier. He’d send one of his men, most of whom are fresh off the boat. They speak broken English and would be familiar with American addresses.” He tapped his fingers on the armrest. “Half the houses on that street look the same in the dark, and the mailboxes are clustered.”
“They screwed up? That’s it?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Coop said. “Right message. Wrong box.”
O’Reilly let out a low whistle. “Hell of a mistake.”
“Yeah,” Coop said quietly. “And it might’ve saved the girl’s life.”
O’Reilly hesitated then said what was eating at him. “You’d think a psychic would know there was a severed finger in the box. The stench alone should have given it away.”
His sarcasm was cutting. Still shaken up from the surprise, no doubt. But it rubbed Coop the wrong way. He turned his head slowly, eyes cutting to him.
O’Reilly held up both hands. “I’m just saying. She knew a lot of other things she shouldn’t have. Why not this?”
Coop replayed Erica’s explanation of her gift.Emotion leaves a mark; trauma echoes.She had gotten nothing from Debra or the package because only someone alive would transmit to her.
O’Reilly leaned in, voice low. “What’s up with you, man? You’re acting weird about her.”
