“You two are so weird,” I comment.
“Thank you!” Rio smiles. “All jokes aside, if you listen to nothing else I say, at least abide by this: steer clear of Agent Travis Huntley. He’s getting pressure from higher-ups to get this case closed. No one, especially law enforcement, wants to see New York City spiral into hysteria like it did before.”
I nod my head, understanding what he’s getting at.
Zane chimes in. “Travis needs someone to pin the copycat murders on, and who better than the child of the original?”
“Maybe the actual murderer,” I mumble resentfully.
Zane shakes his head. “Travis isn’t usually concerned with things like the truth. He cares about his closure rate so he can finally make special agent.”
“What am I supposed to do if he brings me in again?”
Rio reaches into his briefcase and hands me a small card. “You call me asap.”
I look down at the thick little white card. It’s simple with black ink and Rio’s contact information.
“Arriving at our stop: Brooklyn,” Zane announces.
I peek out the car window as we pull up to the curb in front of Taki Yuki. “I don’t think you can park here.”
Zane points to himself. “NYPD, remember?”
Talk about abuse of power. Although I shouldn’t complain. He’s doing it so I don’t have to walk far.
“Thanks,” I say as I slide out of the car.
Rio rolls down his window. “Save my number in your phone. Next time you see Travis, call me right away.”
I nod my head in agreement. “Okay.” Rio begins to roll up his window, but I call out to stop him. “Wait!” I hold up his knife and step forward. “Thanks for letting me hold onto this.”
Rio holds his hand up, in refusal. “Keep it. I think you’ll get plenty of use out of it.” He winks at me as they drive away.
My jaw hangs open as I stare at the spot where the Honda Civic used to be.
Do they know? There’s no way they could know. But…What if?
Blinking, I shake my head and turn to go inside. It’s early evening, and I have the morning shift tomorrow.
My feet feel like cement blocks as I head up the single flight of stairs. I reach into my purse and pull out my keys. Panic clawsat my throat as I reach my front door. Sweat dots my forehead and the back of my neck.
Another gift, wrapped in natural brown paper and tied with a white bow, sits on my welcome mat.
How is he doing this? My father is locked up and doesn’t have access to the internet. Last I heard, he wasn’t allowed mail either.
With panic strong in my chest, I dip and snatch the package, unlock my door, and hurry inside. Unceremoniously, I drop my things right inside the door and take the box to the kitchen.
With a delicate touch, I tear open the paper, revealing a black velvet clamshell box. Carefully, I pry it open and find gold stud earrings. The metal shimmers in the faint LED light above my head.
My hands shake as I stare down at the jewelry.
Daisies.
The gold studs are shaped like daisies.
Another typed note is pinned in the box by the posts of the earrings.
The Lord rejoices in what remains unspoiled and intact.
