“The psycho left you a present. Victim number six—or nine if you count the ones in Pennsylvania—is on the patio.”
The words landed like a blow. For half a second, Sean just stared at the wall, his mind trying to catch up. “Damn. I'm on my way.”
He ended the call and reached for his shirt. Grace stepped toward him, concern flickering across her face. “Sean? Everything okay?”
He shoved his arm through the sleeve, ignoring the protest from his shoulder. “I’ve got to run.”
Her brow furrowed, and he hated the questions he saw gathering in her eyes, but there wasn’t time to explain. Not here, not with patients arriving and half the story still unknown. He forced a quick smile, which he doubted fooled her, and brushed a kiss across her cheek before heading for the door. “I’ll call you later.”
Before she could ask anything else, he was gone.
Within minutes, he screeched the Mustang to a stop behind a state BCI truck parked at the curb. He barely registered the techs unloading equipment as he strode up the driveway, each step fueled by a growing sense of dread and anger he couldn’t shake.
The moment he reached the patio, his stride faltered.
The victim was naked, mutilated, and prone on one of the outdoor loveseats surrounding the stone fire pit. Sean’s stomach lurched. He and Grace had sat on that exact couch after Easter dinner while ocean air drifted across the dunes and the fire snapped against the darkening sky. He could still picture Grace tucked beneath a blanket beside him, her hand resting in his.
Nearby, a crime scene tech snapped photographs, the rapid clicks slicing through the silence, while another recorded the scene on video. Sean forced his gaze from the body and looked toward Brian, Matt, Brad, and Rafe, searching their faces for answers. The grim expressions staring back told him there weren’t any.
His brother pointed toward the cottage next door. “Mrs. Zielinski’s nephew, Andre, is using her cottage for the week and spotted our vic when he came out to have his coffee on the porch. He went to bed around ten last night and didn’t hear a thing.” Brian lifted his chin toward the body. “The killer left you a note.”
What?
His gaze returned to the victim, and he pushed aside his rage that a place he loved and had lived in during his teenage years had been pulled into this nightmare. But that was the least of their problems right now.
What mattered was the young blonde woman stretched across the loveseat, posed like some grotesque display. She couldn’t have been more than her early twenties. Pale blue skin stretched taut over lifeless features, and even from where he stood, the deep ligature marks around her neck, wrists, and ankles stood out in brutal contrast. A penny dotted her forehead, and the word “sinner” had been carved into her torso.
A knot formed low in his gut.
The message was unmistakable. The killer wanted Sean standing exactly where he was now, looking at what had been left for him.
He turned toward the photographer. “Get pictures of the note so we can open it.”
“Already done. You’re good to take it.”
Brian held out a pair of latex gloves. “It’s your mail.”
Despite everything, Sean caught the grim attempt at humor. “Gee, thanks.”
He pulled on the gloves and reached for the envelope, lifting it by one corner. “Does anyone have a knife?”
One of the BCI techs reached into his open toolbox and handed over a Leatherman multi-tool. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
He flipped open the blade and slid it beneath the sealed flap, taking care not to disturb the glued edge. After withdrawing the folded sheet inside, he dropped the envelope into the evidence bag the tech held open.
The others drifted closer as he unfolded the paper.
The same cutout newspaper letters stared back at him.
Hope you enjoy your get-well present. Next time you won’t be so lucky. S.S.
For a moment, all Sean heard was the distant crash of waves beyond the dunes and the rapid click of the crime scene photographer’s camera. The killer had crossed another line, dragging Sean’s family into his twisted game and daring him to respond.
The urge to crumple the paper into his fist and tear it apart pulsed through him, but he resisted and slipped it into the second evidence bag.
Movement at the edge of the patio drew his attention as the ME and two attendants approached. Dr. Hansen took one look at the victim and shook his head.
