her chest.
Together they walked from the post office, their shoulders inches apart as they moved down the steps. Lucy felt so alone that it might as well have been miles that separated them.
On the ride to her house neither spoke. In the past week, Lucy had fallen in love with a man who didn’t love her and had only dated her because he’d thought she was a serial killer. If that wasn’t crazy enough, she’d been contacted by the real killer, who claimed Lucy had taught her everything she knew about committing murder. The police thought Lucy somehow knew the killer, or at least had met her. Lucy had a feeling they were right. She’d always considered herself a strong person, but with each passing hour, as bits and pieces of those letters spun around in her head and the significance sank in, she was having a harder and harder time keeping it together. She feared she was going to dive headfirst into a freak-out, and she wished she had something to hang onto before she lost it. Someone to hold her tight and make her feel safe. Someone to tell her everything was going to be okay, even if it was a lie.
There was no one. Especially not Quinn. He was the last person to make her feel safe or the last man who could fill the emptiness that he had created.
Lucy pulled the car into the garage, and Quinn followed her into her house. “We’ll check again tomorrow,” he said as he reached for his duffle.
She didn’t want to go back to the post office. She didn’t want to stand around, watching and waiting. She walked to the kitchen window and looked out at Mrs. Riley’s fake tulips. Some of them were blue. She didn’t recall ever seeing real blue tulips, but who was she to question someone else’s reality when she felt as if she might truly lose her mind? “What’s going to happen now?” she asked, although she’d written enough books to have a very good idea. She knew that the police saw her as a link between them and a serial killer. The irony didn’t escape her.
“The letters get processed in the crime lab for prints and DNA. Kurt and I will pore over every word, looking for any clue or connection that will point us in the right direction. I think these letters are going to help us find her.” Lucy heard him walk across the room, and she felt, rather than saw, him come to stand directly behind her. “Do you still have my home phone and cell numbers?”
“Somewhere. Probably.”
“Will you call me if you need anything at all?”
“I don’t need anything. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Thanks.” She laughed without humor and glanced down at her white hands grasping the edge of the counter.
“I just meant that you look pretty shook up. Those letters would get to anyone.”
“Do you really think she’ll write again?” Lucy asked and prayed he’d say no.
“Yes. It might be better to give me your key and I’ll go to your PO box. You won’t even have to see the letters. Think about it.”
Lucy had always thought she was so brave. So smart. At that moment, she didn’t know what she was anymore. She just knew that her life no longer felt like her own.
“Okay.” She still had her purse on her shoulder, and she reached inside and pulled out the key to her PO box. She took it off the ring and turned to face him. “Could you do me one favor? Would you bring the regular mail to me?”
“Sure.”
She placed the key in his palm and his hand closed, trapping her fingers in his warm grasp. She glanced up to his face. His gaze touched her forehead and cheeks, then landed on her mouth. He was looking at her as he’d looked at her before. This time she knew that the desire she thought she saw there was an illusion.
She pulled her hand away before she could give in to the illusion and sink into something bigger and stronger than herself. “Do you think she knows where I live?”
He raised his gaze, and his brown eyes looked into hers. “Your phone number is unlisted and there isn’t enough personal information about you on the Internet to lead anyone to your door. Since she sent the letters to your PO box instead of to your home address, my guess would be no.” He shoved the key into the front pocket of his pants. “But I’m not going to take a chance with your life.”
That almost sounded like he cared. She folded her arms beneath her breasts and looked down at her ring-toe sandals. Lucy would rather not take the chance either, but she wasn’t quite sure why he cared. Oh yeah, she was now valuable to his case.
“We’ll increase police patrol in the area, and I’ll check on you as much as I can. We can install a security system and lights. And I know cops who work security when they’re off duty. They can stay with you if you’d like.”
She shook her head, and her gaze slid a few inches from her sandals to the toes of his brown loafers. She had enough family and friends in the area that she didn’t need strange men in her house.
He placed the tips of his fingers beneath her chin and brought her gaze up to his. His light touch seeped into her, spreading warmth down her neck and into her chest. Once again she had to fight the urge not to lean into him and hang onto something stable in a life that was quickly unraveling around her.
“Tell me what you want.”
So many things. None of which he could give her. Except, “The security lights sound good.”
“I’ll get that rolling as soon as I leave. We’ll get them working on it tomorrow.” He dropped his hand to his side. “What about today?”
“I’ll go stay with my mother. Tomorrow I’ll have one of my friends stay with me here.”
“One of the writers?”
“Yeah.” He’d remembered. A few days ago she would have thought that meant something. Now she knew better.
“We’re going to get her, Lucy. I promise, but until then, don’t go anywhere alone if you can help it.”
She wanted to ask him when he thought this whole thing might be over, but she knew he couldn’t give her an answer.
“Keep that stun pen and pepper spray handy.” The corner of his mouth lifted, and he almost smiled.
It didn’t occur to her until much later that night, when she was lying in her old bedroom at her mother’s, to wonder how Quinn knew she carried pepper spray.
Chapter 12
“Oh my God!”
“Lucy, come look at this.”
“What now?” Lucy shoved the carafe under the iced tea maker and moved to the back door. She rose on tiptoe behind her friends, who were all crammed in the doorway looking out at the electrician in her backyard.
“Not every man can make Carhartts look that good,” Maddie said, her face glued to the glass.
The man in question bent at the waist and pulled something from the bed of his truck. His brown Carhartt work pants molded to his hard behind. His name was Randy, and Quinn had sent him to Lucy’s house that morning.
“He must do special butt exercises,” Adele speculated.
“Squats,” Clare added. “I wish he’d bend over.”
Maddie nodded. “Yeah, maybe I’ll go throw a dollar on the ground and see if he’ll pick it up.”
Lucy dropped back on her heels. “You’re all perverted.” As one, they turned, and three pairs of eyes looked at her as if she’d just sprouted a horn in the middle of her forehead. Lucy held up her hands and backed away. “I’m just saying he’s young.”
“And?”
Good Lord, she was starting to sound like Quinn. “I don’t know.” She placed a palm on the side of her face and
