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Which was another indication it might be about him. Cheveyo wasn’t a common surname and Joe couldn’t count the number of times people had misspelled it over the years. If it wasn’t about him, it might simply be labeled as Joe.
Marcus walked around the building and nodded at them both. “Morning. Nothing happened during the night?”
Joe shook his head. “I let Moose out just after midnight and didn’t see anything then. Although I could have missed this, as I didn’t follow him out this far. We did a few walk-throughs during the night and didn’t see or hear anything unusual.”
Marcus took a few photos of the envelope where it sat and then donned gloves before lifting the brick and then the envelope. “Mind if I come in and we’ll see what’s inside this time?”
He handed Joe his phone so he could document the process and set the envelope on the receptionist’s desk. Lia moved to the side and Moose leaned into her legs.
Marcus donned gloves and used a pocketknife to slide open the envelope. After a peek inside, he dumped the contents onto an evidence bag he’d set on the counter.
Another ripped picture. Marcus pulled out his tweezers and quickly flipped over and arranged the pieces until they made a complete photograph.
This picture was of Lia working in the saloon in one of the upstairs bedrooms. She was standing, holding a rotten board she’d ripped out of the floor. Another red X had been drawn over her face and a blue noose had been added around her neck.
Joe set down the phone and crossed to pull her into his arms. Her body was stiff and unyielding.
Marcus scowled at the paper and then covered it with his hand. “Sorry, Lia. I shouldn’t have opened this in front of you. We’re going to get this bastard. He’s not going to hurt you. We’re not going to let him.”
Lia didn’t turn away from the photo. “There was writing on the back. What does it say?”
Marcus sighed and turned back to the photo. He turned the pieces quickly, obviously hoping to keep her from studying it. When Moose whined, she reached down to pat his head, but she didn’t look away from the photo.
The printing on the photo matched that on the envelopes, and the words made Joe feel ill.
Joe’s fault.
Some sicko was targeting Lia because he was pissed at Joe. It was his fault she was scared and that the bright future she envisioned was being threatened.
“It’s not true.” Lia’s soft voice broke the silence as she circled her arms around him.
Marcus turned to her. “What do you mean?”
She used her chin to point at the words. “That. It’s not true.” She turned those liquid brown eyes up to Joe. Then she cupped his jaw with her hand. “It’s not true. This man is a coward and is blaming you and me for something that isn’t our fault. He’s wrong and he’s a manipulator. Don’t you let him get to you. You can’t believe him. None of this is your fault.”
Joe blinked back tears at her vehement words. Then he buried his head in the hair on her shoulder and just held her for a long moment. When he was in control, he leaned back to look her in the eye. “He’s not getting to you. We won’t let him.”
She smiled. “Damn straight. And he’s not getting to you either. Not even up here.” And she tapped his temple.
He nodded slowly then leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Okay.”
Feeling more in control, he turned to Marcus. “Now what?”
Marcus sighed. “We figure out who you pissed off.”
He nodded. “Lia mentioned we’d been looking into the hostage takers, but not the hostages or their families. I sent out requests to the team last night. It’s still early in Sacramento, but I’m hoping to hear some theories later today.”
“What’s your gut telling you?”
Joe sighed. It wasn’t telling him enough. “This feels like fresh anger, not something that’s been simmering. It’s kind of scattershot, maybe even spontaneous. Like he’s doing whatever pops into his head. I think he’s a first-time criminal and acting from a place of anger or grief. Probably both.”
Marcus grinned. “That’s good. You almost sound like Nico with his profiler mumbo-jumbo.”
Joe laughed, feeling better. His gut often led him to the way to deal with hostages. He’d listen to it to keep Lia safe.
She squeezed him. “Grief and anger are often indistinguishable. If this feels like recent pain, I wonder if it’s connected to the situation you helped resolve back in Michigan. I know you weren’t called in early enough to help save the hostage, but would the victim’s family know that?”
Good question. He’d been too focused on helping Stevie avoid murder charges to ask questions like that.
