HOLT
“As we’re in Lacey’s office,” Holt said. “And you’re going through her boxes, I’m guessing you’re looking for something to tie her to all this?”
“I think I have something that will,” June told him.
He moved closer as she crouched by one of the boxes. “Why Lacey?” He glanced around. “Why are we starting here?”
“Because of Mexico,” June told him.
Holt’s eyebrows shot up at that remark. “What are you thinking?” He watched her. “Or rather, what do you know that I don’t?”
She tugged another box partway free. “Can you help me get this on the desk?”
Holt nodded and lifted it easily, setting it down where she indicated. As he did, their hands brushed when she steadied the box.
The contact was brief. Barely anything.
Still, something in him reacted with ridiculous immediacy.
It was no longer just a memory. Not only an old reflex or an old feeling. It was worse than that, because sitting across from her at dinner, walking beside her on the boardwalk, and now standing close enough to catch the warm, familiar scent of her hair and skin had peeled back something he had spent years pretending was settled.
But now Holt knew he’d only been fooling himself. His feelings for June had never gone anywhere.
They had quieted. Hardened. Been buried under distance, pride, divorce papers, time, grief, and the practical business of survival.
But they had never completely gone.
That knowledge landed heavily and cleanly inside him.
Holt stepped back before it could show on his face.
June had found a pair of scissors in a drawer and slit open the top of the box. He had to concentrate on their conversation as he realized she had yet to answer his question about Mexico. June started rifling through the contents inside.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Holt glanced into the box of neatly labeled files.
She finally found what she wanted, but instead of pulling it free immediately, she looked at him again.
“It started with that pink letter,” June told him. “There was something about it that just doesn’t fit everything else that’s going on.”
June glanced up briefly, meeting his curious gaze.
“I don’t follow.” Holt frowned. “What feels different to you about it?”
“It’s different from the other notes. You know the ones, Willa, Margo, Rad, and you got.”
“How so?” Holt’s interest piqued. June always had a way of taking a scene and flipping it in a way no one else could.
She looked at the file in her hand, hovering half hidden in the box.
“All the other threatening notes are direct. Back off. Leave town. Stop asking questions. But the pink letter…” June shook her head and turned back to him. “It sits oddly.” Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. “It’s time we met face to face…” Her eyes widened. “Did you try to trace the number on the letter?”
“It was a burner phone that went dead just after Lacey called the number,” Holt answered her.
“I get a feeling we took the wording of it wrong,” June told him. “I’m not convinced it was a threat…” Her words trailed off, and he could see her mind working overtime again.
“Not a threat?” Holt breathed. “Look what happened to Lacey when she went to meet the person who left it.” He shook his head, not following or agreeing with June’s interpretation of the note. “I’m not seeing how you could not see that as anything but a threat. One that was clearly set as a trap to hurt both you and Lucy.”
“Unless Lacey went to the meeting instead of Lucy, maybe whoever sent the note panicked,” June suggested. “Maybe they even see Lacey as some sort of a threat?”
