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“Just checking on you,” Blake said in greeting. “I wanted to make sure you were holding it together.”
“More or less.” Devon continued scrutinizing the house for a hint of where her sister might have gone.
“You sound preoccupied.”
“I am. I can’t find Merry. She seems to have vanished while I was in the shower.” Abruptly, Devon remembered the flowers. “Oh, thanks for the roses. They’re amazing.”
“What roses?”
“You have a shorter memory than I do. The dozens of long-stemmed beauties that just arrived with the card that almost made me blush. Those roses.”
“I’m drawing a blank.”
“Very funny. I guess you came to your senses and realized how atypically mushy you’d been.”
“I’m not being funny. I didn’t send you any flowers.”
Blake’s tone was too solemn to be teasing, and Devon’s smile faded. “But your name is on the card. I don’t understand….” Her voice trailed off as an ugly possibility struck. “Oh God.” She dropped the phone. “Merry!” She raced through the house, calling her sister’s name. “Merry!” She ran to the front door, reaching for the handle.
The door was already ajar.
Devon shoved it open, frantically scanning the grounds around her town house.
There was a heavy set of footprints ground into the snow, leading from her front door to the parking lot.
“Oh no,” she whispered. She hurried back inside and scooped up the phone. “Blake, I have to hang up.”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Merry. I think she’s been kidnapped.”
CHAPTER 27
Forty minutes later, Monty burst through Devon’s front door, in a scene that was eerily reminiscent of two Saturdays earlier.
“Talk to me,” he commanded, striding into the living room without even removing his coat. “Tell me everything that happened.”
While Devon talked he squatted down, rubbing his fingers over the area of the carpet where Terror had been sniffing, and bringing his fingers to his nose.
“Chloroform,” he stated grimly. “The bastard knocked Merry out before he took her.”
“Why would he kidnap Merry?” Devon demanded. “Just to show me he means business? She’s no threat. She doesn’t know anything.”
“It could be a scare tactic.” Monty straightened, examining the vase of roses as he spoke. “On the other hand, you’re right. It’s a lame move. More likely the kidnapper thought Merry was you.”
Devon paled. “How do you figure that?”
“Whoever did this was a hired hand. He was probably given instructions to deliver the flowers and grab the woman who accepted delivery—assuming that woman would be you.”
“Instead, it was Merry. Dammit.” Devon raked a trembling hand through her hair.
“Cut out the guilt. It’s not your fault.” Monty was reaching for the envelope the card had come in. “Let’s not waste energy panicking. Let’s use it to find Merry.” He scanned the envelope. “‘Beautiful Bouquets,’” he read aloud. “Time to give them a call.” He whipped out his cell phone.
The doorbell rang.
In a dazed state, Devon went over and opened it.
Blake stalked in. “Your sister…?” He glanced from Devon to Monty, who was already grilling someone on the other end of the phone.
