“Okay...”
Vaughn looked uncomfortable. It was cute. The detective had medium length brown hair, parted to one side. A square jaw, a five o’clock shadow. Not 6’5”, hazel eyes, not blue, and definitely no trust fund.
Ivy silently cursed Abby again, this time for getting that stupid song stuck in her head. She didn’t even think that Abby was responsible—it was probably one of her students—but it just felt right to blame her friend for pretty much everything right now.
“It’s sensitive, and we’re not really sure if it is actually a math problem. It’s just... there are these numbers, right? Prime numbers, and—”
Darnell grimaced as his partner stumbled over his words.
“What we’re trying to say is that you can’t mention anything we show you. And, I’ll be honest, some of the images are pretty graphic.”
What is happening in my life?
“You have no obligation to help. And if you want us to come back... ?” Vaughn let his sentence trail off.
“It’s fine. I’m just not sure what you mean by a ‘math problem.’”
Vaughn smirked.
“We’re not either—that’s part of the problem.”
Another sidelong glance from his partner.
“We were at a crime scene and there were these prime numbers scattered all over the floor. We think it might be a math puzzle,” Darnell said. “But we’re way out of our league. Vaughn?”
The younger detective—twenty-five? Twenty-eight?—got out his phone. Swiped his finger, cocked his head. Pinched the screen. Squinted.
Ivy knew what he was doing. He was trying to hide some of the more ‘graphic’ images. She waited patiently. After a good thirty seconds, he seemed satisfied and held a photo out to her.
Ivy had no idea what she was looking at.
Smashed wood. A crumpled piece of paper with the number thirteen on it. A dirt floor.
“May I?”
“Sure.”
Vaughn passed her the phone, and she accidentally touched the screen. The image reset to normal size and Ivy grimaced.
“Oh, shit—did it?”
Vaughn reached for the phone. Ivy kept it.
“It’s okay.”
The scene was disturbing. More wood—broken boxes or tables, maybe?—other sheets of paper with numbers on them. Ivy saw all this, but couldn’t take her gaze off the man lying in the dirt. His eyes were open and cloudy.
Ivy had only ever seen one dead person before, and that situation had been entirely different. Intense, dangerous. No time to think or process. Just act.
“We found boxes with numbers engraved on the top and different ones inside. All prime numbers... you okay?”
Ivy shuddered, recalling the fire. The heat. The carnage.
The first two fingers and thumb on her right hand suddenly felt hot. Always did when she thought about the fire. All of her other wounds—scorched nose and throat from smoke inhalation, minor burns on her face and arms—had completely healed. But not her fingers.
“Is he... is he dead?”
Vaughn reached for the phone again, but for some reason, Ivy continued to hold it tightly, wouldn’t let him have it.
