pursed his lips, nodding. “And you thought I’d keep the chain of evidence intact and my mouth shut about this.”
“That, too.” Paul smiled.
“Understood—provided we find nothing that poses a security risk.”
“Fair enough.”
“Major, you’ll want to see this.” The man stood bent, shining a high-intensity flashlight into the box.
Beech double-timed it over to where they stood. Della and Paul followed.
“Hardly benevolent.” Beech motioned to her to look.
Della peered inside. A bloody knife lay on a bed of shredded newspaper. She sucked in a sharp breath, forced herself to not back away.
“There’s a note,” one of Beech’s men said.
Signaling with a lift of his chin, Beech issued an order. “Extract it.”
Another of his men pulled out a test pack, prepared a smear slide and then ran some preliminary studies on blood he’d gotten from the knife. “Tracking human, sir.”
Della swallowed hard. She felt Paul looking at her but lacked the courage to meet his gaze.
“Read the note,” Beech told the first.
“Yes, sir.” He held the paper tilted to the light.
Della clasped her hands at her sides and stiffened, bracing.
The man cleared his throat, then read, “‘Your time is coming, Della. Once in a while, could you eat something other than Chinese food? Who will clean all those cartons out of your fridge after you’re gone? I wonder, but soon I’ll know.’ It’s signed, ‘D.B.D.’”
Della sucked in a sharp breath, absorbed the shock.
TWO
The color drained from Paul’s face. “He’s been in her house. In her refrigerator.”
Beech looked at Della. “Who’s D.B.D.?”
“I don’t know.” She swung her gaze to Paul. “I’m not being evasive, I really don’t know.”
“Who else has a key?”
She looked back at Beech. “No one. Well, Miss Addie, next door. She’s my landlord. But I haven’t given a key to anybody.”
Paul asked, “Do you have one stashed outside somewhere in case you lock yourself out?”
“No.” Her mouth went dry, her inner lips sticking to her teeth. “I never thought to do that.”
“What about the Chinese food?”
“I ordered a ton of it Thursday night. I couldn’t decide what I wanted, so I got a little bit of everything.”
“So there are a lot of Chinese food cartons in your fridge and they weren’t there before Thursday?”
“That’s right.” Della frowned.
“That narrows down the timeline on when he entered.”
It did.
A muscle in Paul’s jaw ticked. “You’re not telling me everything.”
She wasn’t, and she didn’t want to now. Not with Beech here. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
“No explosives, so it’s your call,” Beech said. “What do you want to do?”
What was she going to do? He’d been in her home.... The threats were definitely escalating. “The only person in Tennessee I know is my ex. I’d like to check his status.”
“You two still close?”
“No. But I can’t look his way without evidence.” She’d been on the receiving end of that from him. She’d never deliberately put another person through that. “I need to track this package.”
“What about the knife?” Beech asked. “Don’t you want the locals to take it from us to protect the chain of evidence?”
She wanted this mess to go away. She wanted peace. She’d never have it, but the shade of it she’d spent three years building was as close as she’d get, and she wanted it back. “Can you keep possession and give me a little time to see what I can find out?”
“I can.” Beech rubbed at his thick neck. “I shouldn’t, but I will.”
Della knew why he was willing. When she’d been assigned at the Nest, Beech had been at the Pentagon. According to Madison’s assistant, Mrs. Renault, he’d hooked up with an ambassador’s assistant named Christina. They’d been discovered, she’d been fired and he’d been sent to Iceland for a year. They’d done nothing wrong, but he’d played by the rules and been burned—and that’s why Paul had called him. Beech would understand. Others wouldn’t. Beech had returned from Iceland and married Christina, so at least things had worked out for him. But he hadn’t forgotten the challenges of having suspicion hanging over his head. “I appreciate it, Major.”
Beech nodded, turning to one of the guys. “Log it in. I want art, and cut her a written receipt for it.”
Art. Every conceivable kind of photo of everything.
“Yes, sir.” He began taking snapshots of the outside of the box and working his way to capturing images of the contents.
“Could you email me a photo of the shipping label?” Della asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded and got busy.
Soon they were done and departing. “Della,” Major Beech said. “You realize you’re on dangerous ground, right? If this was Dawson, he’s crazy and he has a violent history. If not, whoever it was has been in your home. Don’t take that lightly.”
“I’m not, and I am aware.” Very dangerous ground. She’d been acutely aware of danger for weeks.
“Very well. If you need me, call. Paul has the number.”
“Thank you.” Della shook his hand and watched them load into their vehicles and pull away as silently and swiftly as they’d arrived.
She turned to Paul, whose expression was more sober than she ever recalled seeing it. “What?”
“What?” He frowned. “Della, what’s going on? You’re surprised but not shocked. Someone has invaded your home and you’re not acting violated. Why?”
“I feel violated—everything victims usually feel. I’m just trying to keep my wits.”
His frown warned he wasn’t buying it for a second. “I brought you to North Bay. I got you in with Lost, Inc. If some nut on one of your cases is after you, I have to help.
