She lifted the box a few feet in the air. Then the lid came off and the bottom of the box hit the porch with a thud.
April’s scream reverberated in his ears as the severed head bounced once, splattering her white dress with blood, and rolled off the porch.
Chapter Two
April opened her mouth to scream again, but the sound died in her throat, which seemed to be closing. She gurgled instead, falling back against the wooden railing of the porch, her hand still clutching the pink ribbon, the lid of the hatbox swinging wildly and flinging droplets of blood throughout the air.
“Oh my God. It’s the head.” Clay pointed to the soggy hatbox tipped on its side. “Don’t touch that.”
Her gaze darted to his face. Was he out of his mind? Why would she touch that box again?
She dropped the lid and swallowed. “It—it’s a severed head.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that.” He pulled a cell phone from the front pocket of his green uniform shirt. “I’ll get someone to pick it up.”
“I would hope so.” Her hands clutched at the skirt of her dress, until she noticed the streaks of blood marring the white billows. She dropped the material and folded her arms over her midsection. “You don’t seem surprised. You called it the head. You know that head?”
“I do, although I didn’t expect it to show up on my porch. I didn’t expect you to show up on my porch, either.” He started talking on his cell phone and held up his key chain, jingling it in the air.
She nodded and he tossed the keys at her. She caught them in one hand and opened the door to his house—a house and home that could’ve been hers.
She set the keys on a table by the front door. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Nothing with Clay could ever be uncomplicated. There had to be a head in a pink hatbox sitting on his porch the very day she decided to drop in for a visit.
Her eyelids flew open. Was that what she was doing?
Her gaze traveled around the room. He hadn’t much modified his manly space...or his habits. Everything had a place. Even the pillows on the couch sat erectly and in order.
April sauntered to the couch and flipped one of the pillows on its face. She scanned the framed pictures on his bookshelf, looking for her face in vain.
She jumped as a siren wailed on its way to Clay’s house. A few minutes later, what sounded like a hundred vehicles pulled up outside. She peeked through the blinds at the uniformed officers swarming Clay’s driveway. The head obviously had something to do with Clay’s work as a Border Patrol agent. He’d been almost more surprised to see her on his doorstep than the head in the box.
She crossed her arms, cupping her elbows, as a shiver zigzagged up her spine. Clay played a dangerous game down here at the border. Although part of the Tucson Sector, the Paradiso Border Patrol Office was small and everyone—including the drug dealers—knew the agents. Had someone left that head as a warning to Clay?
Good luck. Clay would always do his duty.
The door burst open, and her heart slammed against her chest.
Clay stuck his head into the room. “Detective Espinoza wants to talk to you for a minute.”
April smoothed the skirt of the dress with shaky hands. “Is the head still on the driveway?”
“It is, but they’re going to bag it soon. I’ll ask the detective to come in here, if you want.”
“I’ll be all right as long as I stay on the porch.”
He pushed the door wide, and she swept past him, the dress crinkling between them.
April stepped onto the porch, lifting her skirts to avoid the cone that had been placed next to the stain of blood where the box had sat.
A gray-haired Latino in a suit and a cowboy hat stuck out his hand, his eyes widening as they dropped to her dress. “Ms. Hart, I’m Detective Espinoza. Agent Archer told me you’re the one who picked up the box and it had been here when you arrived.”
“That’s right.” She took in his rugged features and frame from the top of his black hat to the tips of his silver-toed boots. He hadn’t been one of the cops in Paradiso or one of the Pima County detectives during her family troubles.
“What time did you arrive at Agent Archer’s house?”
She glanced at Clay from the corner of her eye. “About five o’clock.”
“The box was already on the porch?”
“It was.”
“Did you see anyone around the house when you got here?” His gaze flicked again to the wedding gown and then back to her face.
“Nobody.” She snapped her fingers. “The dog. Clay, where’s Denali? Do you still have him?”
“Of course I still have him.” He lifted one eyebrow. “He’s staying overnight at the vet.”
“Is he okay?”
Espinoza cleared his throat. “So, you didn’t see or hear anything unusual when you drove up to the house. Did you get out of the car?”
“I didn’t get out of the car. I was tired from my drive and put the seat back to take a nap. Clay got here about an hour after I did, waking me up when his truck pulled in behind me.”
“Why did you pick up the box?”
“Clay had his hands full.” She shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Espinoza narrowed his eyes. “Hart. You’re the daughter of C. J. Hart?”
April’s pulse skittered and jumped. “I am. Does that matter?”
“Just asking.” He waved his pencil up and down the dress. “Why the wedding gown?”
“I just came from a wedding.” Her jaw tightened as Clay shifted beside her.
“We’re going to want to test that blood on the dress. Did it come from the head?”
“I picked up the box by the ribbon on the top, thinking it went all the way
