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“We went on four dates,” Mace answered.

For a moment, the tension in the room loosened.

Then Max turned toward the front windows and growled.

Every Ranger reached for a weapon.

A shadow stood across Main Street beneath the lights at the Library.

By the time Saint aimed the exterior camera toward it, the shadow was gone.

Something remained on the sidewalk.

A small brown box.

R Y L I E T A T E had been printed across the top.

This time, Trigger didn’t move toward it.

No one did.

We had finally learned what the Keeper wanted.

He didn’t need to enter the tavern to frighten us.

He only needed us to wonder when he would.

11

MACE

Sheriff Tate’s house looked peaceful.

That bothered me.

Nothing about the last few hours had been peaceful. Someone had watched Trigger and Rylie sleep months ago. He had planted listening devices, left a prepaid phone, and drawn them toward the old summer camp one careful step at a time.

Now we were standing outside the home where Rylie had grown up, looking for a key in a sweatshirt a murdered girl had given her more than eighteen years ago.

Trigger got out of his truck and walked around to Rylie’s side before she could open her door.

“I can get out of a truck by myself,” she told him.

“I know.”

“Then why are you standing there?”

“Because I’m your husband.”

Rylie looked at Sheriff Tate. “Did you teach him that answer?”

Her father shook his head. “I taught him to say, ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He’s still learning.”

Trigger held out his hand. “Come on, Counselor.”

Rylie placed her hand in his and stepped down. She wasn’t frightened or helpless. She had spent years as a lawyer, and I had a feeling she’d faced men who thought they could intimidate her before.

The difference was that this man had already killed eight women.