couple from his assistant, Steve.
“Did a search for Rose Browning,” the e-mail read. “Found some blogs out of her neck of the woods that mention her. Fascinating stuff. Quite a rep as a matchmaker. Hints of some mystical mojo. Can I meet her? Pretty please?”
Mystical mojo, indeed.
What he’d learned from Rose’s brother-in-law only complicated his mixed-up feelings about her. Even as she wriggled deeper under his skin, he kept discovering more reasons why letting her get any closer was nothing short of insanity.
He was a scientist. He dealt in facts, in the tangible. People in law enforcement sometimes talked about what profilers did as voodoo or magic, but he knew it was all about logic and patterns of behavior. Killers weren’t nearly as complicated as people wanted to believe. They killed out of anger or greed or jealousy, and even the superstars of the murder world, the serial killers, had knowable reasons for their murders.
If he found Orion, it wasn’t going to be the result of psychic messages. Of that, he was positive.
At the same time, he considered as he packed his car for the trip back to Rose’s, was it fair to dismiss what she had to say? She had two sisters who claimed to have some sort of psychic gift. Obviously, they’d lived in a household where magic was considered a viable explanation for actions and behaviors. Maybe Rose was using terms like
After all, what if he’d been raised to believe in the supernatural? Might he use mystical terms like
Perhaps, what Rose ascribed to magic was nothing more than a keen understanding of human nature. An uncanny ability to recognize compatibility between sexually attracted couples. And maybe she’d seen in Orion’s victims some sort of increased probability of actions that would put them in jeopardy.
Alice Donovan had been at the bar the night she’d died, to drink and dance away the memory of a bad romantic breakup. She might have been more reckless than usual with her personal safety-something Rose would have picked up on. And Melissa’s blindness to betrayal, such as that of her cheating fiance, might have made her more vulnerable to becoming the killer’s victim.
Rose wasn’t a liar and she wasn’t insane. Daniel knew that on the gut level. So what, if his new theory didn’t explain everything perfectly? It came close.
Maybe he could live with that.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE he called McBride.” Rose looked at her sister with dismay.
“McBride didn’t know what to think.” Lily touched her sister’s arm. “He’s heard of the man, of course, but you know he’s protective of the Browning girls. He didn’t like what Daniel seemed to be insinuating about you.”
Rose could imagine. “Daniel doesn’t believe me.”
“But you predicted four murders.” Lily looked indignant.
“Would that have been enough for McBride, at first?”
Lily sighed. “You know the answer.”
Rose pulled back the window curtain beside her, gazing out at the gathering storm clouds. “At least he’s still listening to me. Or was, until Agent Brody got hold of him.”
“I can’t believe Brody used me against you.” Lily scowled.
“I doubt Daniel put up much resistance.” Rose let the curtain drop, tears burning her throat.
“Is there something going on between you two?”
Rose looked away, reliving the feel of Daniel’s mouth against her throat. “No.”
At least, not what she’d hoped.
Lily seemed to accept her answer. “I wish you’d told me about this when you first started seeing the death veils.”
The tears welling in Rose’s eyes spilled down her cheeks. “I thought they were punishment for getting things so wrong with Dillon and Carrie. I was ashamed.”
Lily bent forward. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”
Rose fought the urge to cry on her sister’s shoulder. “I don’t want to see death anymore.”
Lily stroked her hair. “I spent years running from my visions, so I don’t have the right to lecture. But you can’t keep torturing yourself.” She dropped her hand. “Does Iris know?”
Rose nodded.
Lily’s eyes dropped, but not soon enough to hide the hurt in their golden depths.
Rose touched Lily’s hand. “I told Iris only a couple of days ago, and only because she wouldn’t leave till I confessed.”
Lily’s lips quirked. “Sounds like her.”
“I was going to call you this weekend to see if I could come visit, but everything…fell apart.” An unexpected ache bloomed in Rose’s chest.
“I’m so sorry about your friend. Last night must have been hell. Have you even had any sleep yet?”
“A little.” Rose glanced at the kitchen clock. “Lily, it’s almost three. Who’s picking up Casey from school?”
“McBride. I’m yours for the night if you need me.”
“I’m fine. Your daughter needs you at home.”
Emotion flickered in Lily’s eyes. “My daughter.”
Rose smiled. “Still going well?”
Lily nodded. “She goes to a therapist a couple of times a month, to make sure she’s adjusting, but I swear, she has everything worked out in her head already. It’s amazing, considering what her life was like after the abduction.”
“Poor Mrs. Grainger,” Rose murmured, thinking of the disturbed woman who’d kidnapped Casey when the child was only three. “Losing her own child and then losing her mind.”
“She was Casey’s mother for six years. No matter how sick she was, she must have done a few things right for Casey to have been able to adjust so well. Casey still misses her.”
Tears prickled in Rose’s eyes. “Poor baby.”
“I think it helps that she and Abby Walters are going to the same school now. Casey still takes Abby under her wing. I think it makes her feel in control.”
Rose sighed. In control-she’d felt that way once. It was time to feel in control again. She’d call security companies first thing in the morning to see about getting an alarm system installed. She’d just have to pinch pennies to afford it.
Thinking of alarm systems reminded her of Jesse Phillips and the discussion she’d had with Frank Carter that morning. She doubted the police had checked his alibis for the nights in question yet. They were probably still tracking down Mark Phagan’s movements from the night before.
She was tired of feeling helpless, afraid to venture from her own house alone for fear of becoming a victim, thanks to the mysterious messages she’d received. If she stayed at home all the time, she couldn’t even use the one tool at her disposal: The death veils that, at least, gave her fair warning of who the killer would next strike. She couldn’t live like this.
There had to be something she could do besides hide.
Lily leaned toward her. “If you need me to stay with you, I really do think Casey’ll be okay with her daddy for one night.”
“I’ll be fine.” She looked up at her sister. “But before you go, I could use your help with something.”
DANIEL SPENT THE DRIVE from the Chinese restaurant to Rose’s house on the phone with his assistant, going over the research he wanted Steve to do for him over the weekend. “I need as much background as you can find on Mark Allen Phagan, born in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, and currently a lawyer in Birmingham, Alabama, and a man in his early thirties named Jesse Phillips,” he said as he pulled into the alley behind Rose’s house. “Only info I have on Phillips is a current place of employment-Professional Security Systems in Birmingham.”
“Got it,” Steve said. “Anything else?”
Daniel stared at the empty parking spot where Rose’s Chevrolet had been earlier that afternoon. “That’s it, for now.” He rang off quickly, tucking the phone in his breast pocket.
Parking, he grabbed the bag of Chinese food and walked around the house, hoping Rose’s car was there.
But the car in the driveway wasn’t hers.
