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digging into her flesh. Her hand was bleeding. Doug pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket and quickly blotted the wound.
    “It’s all right,” she said quickly. “Just a prick.”
    “Man, it’s bleeding like a son of a gun,” Doug said.
    “It’s all right.”
    “Let me help you get the blood off, at least. You’ll ruin that great outfit.”
    She barely heard him. Her eyes were still searching through the crowd for the messenger. He was gone. Gone as if he had never been.
    All that remained was the rose, held in her bloody hand.
    A rose. Just a rose.
    Liam had kept his distance from the Valentine Valley people at the funeral. At the cemetery he’d found a large oak where he could lean back and watch. As he saw the man give Serena the rose, he was troubled. Why? It was a rose, a pretty gift for a beautiful woman. But he saw the troubled expression on her face.
    He left his tree, hurrying across the cemetery. The place wasn’t that big. It was set in the middle of studios and offices, and visited daily by all manner of tourists. The man who had given Serena the rose had headed toward the mausoleums. Liam followed him in that direction.
    He entered the first memorial courtyard. No one. He entered the second, cursing himself for not moving quickly enough. He entered the third, and the fourth, then looked up in the last of them. A wall had crumbled. There was a fair space for a man to have slipped through—and into the stream of the city.
    It was just a rose, he reminded himself, from a fan. Someone taking the opportunity of the funeral to get close to Serena McCormack.
    Walking back across the cemetery, he made sure that he could still see the Valentine Valley group. Serena was getting into Doug Henson’s car. Doug was talking to Conar; they were probably discussing somewhere to go for a cup of coffee.
    Liam headed for the hearse and the three tuxedo-clad men from the funeral home who were closing it up. “Hey, do you guys have a fellow working for you who is ash-blond, about five-ten, late twenties, and in a tux?”
    The apparent head of the group responded. “No, sorry, we’re the only ones from the funeral home at this site. You looking for a friend?”
    “Not exactly. Did you notice anyone fitting that description take off around here?”
    “I’m afraid not. But there were hundreds of people here. Lots of fans, you know. We tried to maintain a certain decorum, but … maybe someone wore a tux to look like a mortuary employee in order to rub elbows with some of the elite. This place was a zoo; anyone could have been here, you know.”
    “Thanks for the help.”
    He turned quickly and hurried to his car, aware that Doug Henson had slid into the driver’s seat of his vehicle.
    Moving into traffic, keeping the group in sight, he told himself again that it had been a rose, just a rose. Serena had legions of fans.
    Still, the rose incident bothered him, and he knew why.
    Olsen had shown him the set. The police markings had shown him where the body of Jane Dunne had fallen, the way her arm had been extended … And right where her hand would have been there was a single red rose.
    When it was all over, the killer stood at the gravesite. In darkness and shadow, the killer was just a silhouette, standing before a grave, head bowed, as if in mourning.
    Hands … the killer stretched them out. There was no blood on those hands. No way to see the weapons of a killer. Who would have thought that it could actually work? Well, almost work. Still, these were now the hands of a killer.
    The cops were suspicious, but they knew nothing. It w ould be harder now. Yet better. Now she would be afraid.
    Serena had seen the note. She was suspicious. Soon she would be scared.
    The killer would watch.
    And wait …

Chapter 6
    T HE SET SEEMED STRANGE on Friday morning when Liam arrived.
    It was his second trip to the studio. Yesterday, Olsen and Joe Penny had accompanied him. He had seen the crime tape and the markings. He