attack.
* * *
ROSE CLIMBED THE STEPS to the bedroom, her emotions in a tailspin. Relief that Maddox was in her house calmed her nerves, but the moment she went into the bedroom and saw the music box Thad had given her the night he proposed, tears flooded her eyes.
The fact that he’d remembered her love of music boxes had moved her even more. It was the one special thing she and Ramona Worthington had bonded over. She’d thought that the gift was so romantic, that Thad really loved her, that they’d spend a lifetime together.
She’d had no idea he’d wooed her into trusting him so he could end her life.
She lifted the lid to the music box, once again mesmerized by the sound of the love song and the dove twirling on the top. Something about the antique music box stirred a distant memory, reminded her of a music box she’d seen before, maybe as a child.
But she couldn’t place what it looked like or the song it was playing.
An image of a woman’s hand teased at her memory, and a soft voice whispered to her that the music box had belonged to her grandmother.
But her mother had never mentioned a grandmother. In fact, when she’d asked about other relatives, her mother had clammed up.
Heart heavy, she stripped, pulled on a gown and brushed her teeth. But the sight of her ashen, tear-streaked face in the mirror reminded her of the horror of her near death.
She splashed cold water on her face, then fell into bed and drew the covers above her, clenching them as the nightmare of the evening played over and over in her head.
She had escaped Thad tonight.
But would he or the man on the phone come back and try to kill her?
* * *
MADDOX WAITED UNTIL Rose disappeared up the steps, then strode out to Thad’s sedan and searched the car. Nothing inside that looked suspicious. The vehicle was registered to Thad Thoreau.
He retrieved his kit from his car and dusted the interior for prints, then placed the prints in his kit to take to the lab the next morning.
Then he retrieved his computer. He set it up at Rose’s kitchen table, then accessed a list of local hospitals, ERs, urgent-care facilities and morgues. He sent them a picture of Thad for identification purposes.
A few phone calls later, and he’d found nothing. “Call me if this man turns up, or if you get a patient suffering from a gunshot wound.” He left his number, and reminded the nurse on the phone that the man he was looking for might be armed and dangerous, to alert security and not confront him.
Technically, doctors were required to report any gunshot wound, but sometimes things slipped between the cracks. Especially if the patient, or the person who brought the patient in, was armed and threatened the health care workers.
The fact that Thoreau hadn’t been admitted could mean that his accomplice had carried him somewhere off the grid for medical help.
Or that he was dead.
Another reason to search the property tomorrow.
He accessed the national police databases and ran a search on Thad Thoreau.
First of all, the man’s name didn’t pop up as having an arrest record. Neither did it appear that he’d served in the military.
In fact, when he plugged Thoreau’s name into the DMV database, he found three different Thad Thoreaus but none of them matched the picture Rose had shown him. One Thad Thoreau was ninety and in a nursing home, another was deceased and the third was a professor in Salt Lake City.
He checked each of their backgrounds to see if any one of them had a son named Thad, but hit a dead end.
Frustrated, he spent the next hour researching the company listed on Thad’s business card, but couldn’t find a company with that name. The company was bogus—part of Thad’s cover.
If Thoreau was a professional killer, he’d probably used an alias. He phoned Devon Littleman, the best IT analyst he knew at the lab, and emailed him Thoreau’s photograph. “We need to know his real name,” Maddox said after he’d explained the situation.
“This might take a while.”
“Let me know what you find. I’m dropping off his prints tomorrow.” Thoreau could have randomly pulled the identity from a source like a computer or a phone directory, or he could have chosen it from a gravestone or obituary notice.
Whatever his name, Thad Thoreau was not who he claimed to be.
So who was he?
And why had he come after Rose?
It had something to do with the girl on the milk carton...
“Can you put a trace on Rose Worthington’s phone in case the man who threatened her calls again?”
“I’m on it.”
“Devon, pull it up now. She received a threatening call tonight. I want to know where it came from.”
“Hang on.”
Maddox drummed his fingers on the table as he waited. Finally Devon came back.
“There was only one call made to her number tonight. Looks like it came from a burner phone. Sorry, but I can’t trace it.”
Damn. “Thanks. Call me if you find anything else.”
Maddox hung up. Curious, he plugged Rose’s name into the computer and ran a check on her. Guilt needled him for invading her privacy. But she needed his help, and he couldn’t uncover Thoreau’s motive for wanting her dead if he didn’t know more about her.
The wind picked up outside, rattling the windowpanes and whistling through the house. He glanced at the stairs to make sure Rose wasn’t coming back down, but didn’t see her or hear footsteps. Hopefully, she’d fallen asleep.
Maybe tomorrow she’d remember more details about her fiancé that would help his investigation.
Rose’s name appeared on the DMV database, the photograph taken two years before. She had no arrest record, had lived with parents named Ramona and Syd Worthington before moving to Pistol Whip. Ramona, now in her fifties, worked in a gardening center while Syd worked with a freight company.
He studied the picture of the couple, looking for similarities to Rose, but her features were softer, rounder, her eyes a deep amber instead of Ramona’s blue or Syd’s brown.
Rose said she and her parents were estranged. What had happened between them?
Not that it was pertinent to the case, but if he wanted to know the reason someone wanted to kill Rose, he had to learn everything he could about her.
And that included tracking down the girl on the milk carton.
How old was Rose now? He checked her birth date on the driver’s license
