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“In one word? Bad.”
She grinned. They passed a rain-soaked teenager on a red mountain bike. Then they pulled into the drive and Asa opened the door, greeting them with a grim face. “What is it?” she asked.
Asa held up an envelope. “Teenage boy on a bike brought this by. Said a tall guy with blond hair and a beard offered him five hundred dollars to deliver it to this address. Guy wore sunglasses. Nike T-shirt and jeans. I don’t think our guy is dumb enough to reveal his true identity to a kid we’re going to question so I think it’s a safe guess that he was disguised.”
“Have you opened it?” Ty said.
“No. Just got it. I was about to but you pulled in.” Asa handed him a pair of gloves. “It’s addressed to you.”
A chilly draft swept over him as he slid his hands into the latex and took the envelope. He carefully opened it, making sure not to tear too much in case they could get DNA, but that was a pipe dream. Inside was a solid white piece of paper written in the same handwriting as the first note to him and the cards left on the victims.
He read it aloud. “‘Agent Granger, how did you like the puppet strings? Do you like dancing for me? My garden girls love to dance—no strings attached. I have a favorite flower, but she doesn’t want to bloom. She’s feisty and I know you care deeply for her, but Agent Granger, flowers that won’t bloom, wither and die. When one flower won’t bloom, I’ll have to pluck another who will. Keeping your loved ones close won’t save them. I know who’s next. Don’t you wish you did too?’”
How was he going to tell Bexley that Ahnah might not make it because he couldn’t find her in time and that no one close to him, including her, was safe?
A rap on the glass door startled Ty, and he turned to see Bexley standing there, hair wet and rain slicking down her cheeks—or that might be tears.
He hadn’t even had time to gather his thoughts and plan out how to tell her. He rushed to the door and opened it. “What are you doing here?”
“Probably signing someone’s death warrant. Probably mine.”
Chapter Seventeen
Blue Harbor
SCU beach house
Thursday, September 6
6:01 a.m.
Ty poured a cup of coffee into his mug. Exhaustion leached into his bones and weariness blurred his vision. Bexley’s bomb had unnerved him in ways he couldn’t begin to describe. The UNSUB had contacted her. Made demands. Expected compliance. Bexley wasn’t supposed to tell him that—only for him to hit the trails and leave her alone.
He’d been prowling and preying on their moments and now wanted Bex isolated. Or he might want Ty to feel isolated, rejected. Either way Ty wasn’t letting Bexley and Josiah stay in that home without him or someone for protection. After a lot of thought and consideration from the team, they all thought it was best for Bexley and Josiah to stay here with them. There was a chance someone might die, but the killer had made no promises that anyone would live if Bex obeyed.
Bexley entered the room and pointed at the coffeepot, her thick locks all over the place, and his gut tightened. She was still wildly beautiful. And in danger because of him. Retrieving a mug from the cabinet, he poured her a cup. “Morning, sunshine.”
She hummed low and sipped the brew. Thunder boomed and a fresh wave of heavy rain fell. “Not gonna see sunshine for a minute,” she said. “I wish I could stay in bed all day.”
“I feel that. Hurricane Jodie keeps up east and Hatteras could be decimated by storm surges.”
“I saw that this morning. She’s moving faster than they originally predicted.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“I still don’t know.”
Asa stormed into the kitchen, as dark and gray as the rainclouds. Fiona followed with a grim expression.
“They found a new victim. Roanoke Marshes Lighthouse. We’re heading to Manteo. Owen and Violet are coming downstairs now.”
Another victim.
Ahnah. Dread pooled like thick oil in his gut.
“This is my fault, isn’t it?” Bexley whispered, and her hands trembled, sloshing coffee over the side of her mug. “I went against his wishes. He knows.”
“No,” Ty said. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
