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I focus back on the facts. Apparently, I’m hunting down a lead on victim number one. Who wasn’t Gretta Holmes.
I’m a little curious, so I return to my computer and wiggle the mouse. It’s locked, and I put in my password, Ashley.
It doesn’t work and I’m a little surprised because even in my last timeline, the one of her murder, I used it. I try Eve.
Nothing.
A tiny sweat breaks out down my back because I haven’t a clue, not one, of what else I’d use.
Mulligan. Nope.
I’m drumming my fingers on my desk and my gaze falls on a picture of me and Mikey, grease-covered and grinning. I’m about ten.
Michelangelo.
The screen opens. Interesting.
I get into our criminal files and search Robert Swenson’s name. The results take a swipe out of me. He served a dime for attempted murder and three counts of sexual assault—the report names two other women besides Gretta. Was paroled ten years ago, put on the sexual predator list, and was caught with a fourteen-year-old girl a couple years later. He’s currently in Stillwater, chewing up a twenty-year sentence.
There’s also a brief mention of Angie. She wasn’t charged with Gretta’s death, in return for her testimony against Robert. I do the math and guess her son would be in mid-twenties by now. I hope she moved on and found someone who wouldn’t betray her, hope little Samuel found a good man to raise him.
“Oh, I’m glad you’re here.”
The voice slides through me like honey. I look up and for a second, I can’t breathe.
Eve stands in the doorway, her hair short—really short, almost shorn to her head, but still fluffy and pretty. She’s wearing a pair of linen pants, a sleeveless shirt and sandals. She doesn’t look like she’s coming from work, but maybe. A satchel hangs from her shoulder, and she’s holding a paper bag.
A lunch bag. A wild hope shoots through me that it’s my lunch, and she’s here to bring it to me, and we’re that couple now, that can’t go a half-day without seeing each other.
“Eve,” I say, and come around the desk. “You look…really nice.” I come up to her, too eager, maybe, but she is smiling so warmly, I can’t help myself.
I reach for her.
She laughs and puts out her hand to my chest. “Rembrandt? Seriously? You want him to kill you?”
Him? I stop, and it’s then I spot a ring on her finger.
Not my ring.
A wave of despair sweeps through me.
It was probably too much to hope, but…and then it hits me.
Silas. I’m so going to murder him. “Sorry,” I mutter. I’m new here, so I’m not quite ready to commit a felony until I know all the facts.
Eve takes a step away, as if reinforcing her words. “I was going through some old boxes, and I found this. I thought I’d drop it off for you.” She holds out the bag. Offers a tight smile.
I take it and open it.
My journey concert shirt. The image of Bets, bleeding on the ground, slashes through my mind. I must go pale because Eve touches my arm. “You probably saved her life that night.”
I swallow hard, my eyes burn and I blink fast as I look at Eve. “You’re mom—she’s—”
“She says hi, and that she missed you at Dad’s memorial birthday last night. But I get it. We’re so close to catching this guy—” Her gaze moves past me to the board. “My office sent over the DNA test you ordered. Did you get it?”
Her office. So, she’s still on the job. Another sweet rush of relief. “I did.”
“You’ll get him, Rem. No one is as good as you.”
