didn’t matter anymore. While profiling had value and often helped identify suspects, physical evidence of her attacker could not be refuted.
Bryce pulled up a chair, careful not to touch her hands again until the lab technician could scrape beneath her nails. “I never told you how sorry I was about Danny’s death. I had no idea when I contacted you.”
His condolences caught her off guard, and she struggled to respond. She hadn’t handled his death well, and even now, the mention of his name filled her with grief and guilt. “I should have reached out to his friends. I just—I just couldn’t deal with telling people at the time.”
“How did it happen?”
She was always uncomfortable with knowing how much to share about what had happened. “It was a car accident. He hit another car—a van—with a family inside. No one survived.” She didn’t tell him the rest. He deserved to think better of his friend, and what would he think of her profiling skills if he knew Danny had been under the influence of drugs when he hit that van or that she’d had no idea about his addiction to painkillers? It didn’t say much about her profiling skills that he’d fooled her for months.
Ross reentered the room with a lab technician who got busy scraping beneath her nails and collecting the skin samples.
“Send these to the FBI crime lab,” Lucy told him. “I’ll call my boss and have them fast-tracked. But even then, it’ll be weeks before the results are back. In the meantime, I’d like to see the case files so I can work up a profile.”
Ross nodded. “I’ll have them copied and sent to you.”
“When he contacted me, Bryce said the task force is focusing on his brother as their main suspect. How solid is the case against him?”
“It’s mostly circumstantial. That’s why we haven’t been able to make an arrest yet. It’s also the reason I was able to convince my chief to allow you to consult on this case. He’s anxious for some solid leads. I told him you would be able to provide some. He wants to make an arrest before another woman dies.”
“This evidence will prove my brother is innocent,” Bryce insisted. “Your task force needs to turn its focus elsewhere.”
“Right now, we’re focusing on the leads we have. I’m heading out to the scene where you were attacked, Agent Sanderson.” He set his card on the tray in front of her. “Call me if you think of anything else.”
“I will.”
He nodded to them both then headed out. Moments later the lab technician finished collecting her samples and left.
Lucy glanced at Bryce, now so excited for this new development that could prove his brother’s innocence. She’d offered her services, but profiling wasn’t an exact science. She might not be able to completely rule out Clint Tippitt as a suspect. DNA might do that...or it might prove his guilt. She wondered if Bryce was ready for that outcome. Did he believe in Clint, or was he foolishly blind to the truth? She’d been that way with Danny—blinded by love to who he really was—and people had died because of it. She hoped Bryce Tippitt wouldn’t make the same mistake.
“I should go check on Meghan and make sure she gets home safely.”
“Of course. Go. She needs you.” She felt silly for her earlier exclamation asking him to stay. He had a responsibility to his daughter first and foremost. “I’ll be fine.”
“I would normally ask my friend Cassidy to take her. They spend a lot a time together. She’s like a mother to Meghan, but she’s working. I’ll take her to her friend’s house, then I’ll come back afterward and check on you.”
“You don’t have to. I’m fine, Bryce. Really.”
“I’ll be back,” he assured her. “In the meantime, I’m going to ask Cassidy to check up on you. She’s the nurse who took Meghan out of here earlier. She’ll take care of you.”
She assured him again she was fine, and he left. She had to admit she was glad he was coming back. Silly or not, she felt better with him around. She didn’t know if it was because he’d saved her life or because he was her only contact in town—or simply just her last, final connection to Danny. Whatever the reason, Bryce Tippitt and his daughter had made an impact on her. For the first time since Danny’s death, she didn’t feel quite so alone.
The door opened and a nurse entered, pushing a rolling cart loaded with bouquets of flowers. “These arrived for you,” she said happily.
Lucy was confused. “Who are they from? Who even knows I’m here?” She didn’t know anyone in town, and none of her friends or family back in Virginia could have known about the attack already.
“Honey, it’s already all over the news that you were attacked and managed to escape. These are from well-wishers all over town.”
She set a vase with flowers on the table beside the bed, and Lucy felt her eyes starting to water at the aroma of the fresh-cut flowers. “They’re lovely, but I have allergies. Could you set them by the window where I can see them, but they’re not close enough to aggravate my allergies?”
“Of course.” She moved the flowers to the corner of the room, then pulled out the cards and handed them to Lucy so she could look through them. “If the police are done with their questioning, I’ll see about getting you something for the pain so you can rest tonight. With no evidence of anything broken and only a mild concussion, the doctor says you’ll probably be released in the morning.”
Lucy was glad to hear it. She would also be glad to get out of this hospital bed and the gown and into regular clothes. Mostly, she would be glad to stop feeling like a victim and get back to finding the killer. Yes, they had his DNA, but it would take time for the lab results to come back, and until they did, the women of this town were still in danger.
She glanced at the cart of flowers. The scent was still tickling her nose, but they were far enough away to prevent a full-blown flare up. There were at least fifteen bouquets. Fifteen people who didn’t know her but had heard about her predicament on the news and felt compelled to send her get-well flowers. Those small acts of kindness spoke more about this town than the killer on the loose did.
Lucy picked up the stack of note cards that had accompanied the flowers and looked through them. Most of the names she didn’t know, but one stood out. Mrs. Ferguson, the owner of the B&B where she was staying, had sent her an arrangement. That was sweet—Lucy would be sure to thank her.
She flipped to the next card and the warm, comforting feeling she’d been floating on turned to chills. Beneath the buzzing bee symbol of the flower shop was a threat.
Next time you die.
Bryce dropped Meghan off at a friend’s house for the night, then booked it back to the hospital. He knew he didn’t have to stay with Lucy. The nurse had assured him she would rest most of the night. But he wanted to be there, since he was the one who’d brought her to town.
And it had nothing to do with the way her hand had felt so light and delicate in his. Nope. Nothing at all.
He tried to phone his brother again as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. There was still
