him coming. "I'll be fine."
Jasmine hesitated, but finally relented. "I'll back off because he's not out yet. But only if you promise to call the police and ask them to do a drive-by."
"It'd have to be the sheriff. I'm outside the city limits."
"Whoever. Have someone walk the perimeter of your property."
"Okay."
"Let me know if you get another call. I mean it. I don't care what time it is."
"I will." Skye disconnected, then went around the house to make extra-sure she'd locked the doors and windows. She performed the same 48
routine every evening--once, twice, three times. Occasionally she got up in the wee hours of the morning just to check them again or to sit at a window and peek through the blinds and the iron bars she'd paid a contractor to attach, watching for the worst.
Tonight was one of those nights. She wouldn't call the police. She wouldn't call anyone. If Burke or someone like him came after her, she'd terminate the threat--right here.
The vibration of the cell phone in his pocket woke David long before dawn. Blinking to clear his vision, he squinted at the furnishings in the room, trying to figure out where he was. He was sleeping in a twin bed.
There were two large beanbag chairs and some shelves that contained...
Jeremy's toys and books. He was in the guest room at his old house.
He must've fallen asleep before Lynnette came home.
Rubbing his face, he yawned and got up, intending to see if his ex-wife was in her bed. He had a lot to do in the morning and wanted to go home so he wouldn't have to wake to the kind of tedious rehashing that usually followed one of her emotional outbursts. He'd spent most of the weekend and all day Monday working on those old murder cases, going over the autopsy reports, studying the crime-scene pictures, rereading the statements of those who'd last seen each victim alive. He had to find something that would put Burke back in prison before anyone else got hurt.
Especially Skye.
He started for the door, but when his cell phone vibrated, he remembered that was what had awakened him in the first place.
Pulling it from his pocket, he snapped it open. '"Lo?"
"Detective Willis?"
"Yes?"
"This is Sergeant Blazer at the Marysville Boulevard station."
David tensed at the possibility that he was about to be directed to a new crime scene. The worst calls always came in the middle of the night or in the early morning hours. Just a few weeks ago, he'd helped process a house in Oak Park where a man had shot his wife and two children before turning the gun on himself. "Yes?"
"Jasmine Stratford from The Last Stand called here a few minutes ago."
A knot immediately formed in David's stomach. Why would they be hearing from Jasmine? "Was she looking for me?"
"Not specifically. She wanted to make a report."
David's blood ran cold as he imagined the criminals Skye, Jasmine and Sheridan angered on a daily basis, and the revenge they might seek. "On 49
what?"
"I guess her partner in that victims' group got a threatening phone call last night."
"Which partner?" he asked, but he already knew.
"Skye Kellerman."
His grip tightened on the phone. "Did Jasmine give you any details?"
"Some guy called and said, 'When I get out, I'm gonna slit your throat.'" The sergeant's voice assumed a note of self-importance. "I told Ms.
Stratford it was probably a pervert who gets his kicks out of scaring women.
But she and her friends have more enemies than I can count on two hands, and a lot of those enemies are pretty damn dangerous. That's why I thought you might want to know about this, in case it wasn't a prank."
"You did the right thing, Sergeant. I appreciate the courtesy." Except for the part about getting out, David might've been able to believe it was someone who'd heard about the attack on Skye and was using it to terrorize her in retaliation for the assistance she'd given a wife or lover. But the mention of a knife, together with getting out... How many people could know about
Jasmine hesitated, but finally relented. "I'll back off because he's not out yet. But only if you promise to call the police and ask them to do a drive-by."
"It'd have to be the sheriff. I'm outside the city limits."
"Whoever. Have someone walk the perimeter of your property."
"Okay."
"Let me know if you get another call. I mean it. I don't care what time it is."
"I will." Skye disconnected, then went around the house to make extra-sure she'd locked the doors and windows. She performed the same 48
routine every evening--once, twice, three times. Occasionally she got up in the wee hours of the morning just to check them again or to sit at a window and peek through the blinds and the iron bars she'd paid a contractor to attach, watching for the worst.
Tonight was one of those nights. She wouldn't call the police. She wouldn't call anyone. If Burke or someone like him came after her, she'd terminate the threat--right here.
The vibration of the cell phone in his pocket woke David long before dawn. Blinking to clear his vision, he squinted at the furnishings in the room, trying to figure out where he was. He was sleeping in a twin bed.
There were two large beanbag chairs and some shelves that contained...
Jeremy's toys and books. He was in the guest room at his old house.
He must've fallen asleep before Lynnette came home.
Rubbing his face, he yawned and got up, intending to see if his ex-wife was in her bed. He had a lot to do in the morning and wanted to go home so he wouldn't have to wake to the kind of tedious rehashing that usually followed one of her emotional outbursts. He'd spent most of the weekend and all day Monday working on those old murder cases, going over the autopsy reports, studying the crime-scene pictures, rereading the statements of those who'd last seen each victim alive. He had to find something that would put Burke back in prison before anyone else got hurt.
Especially Skye.
He started for the door, but when his cell phone vibrated, he remembered that was what had awakened him in the first place.
Pulling it from his pocket, he snapped it open. '"Lo?"
"Detective Willis?"
"Yes?"
"This is Sergeant Blazer at the Marysville Boulevard station."
David tensed at the possibility that he was about to be directed to a new crime scene. The worst calls always came in the middle of the night or in the early morning hours. Just a few weeks ago, he'd helped process a house in Oak Park where a man had shot his wife and two children before turning the gun on himself. "Yes?"
"Jasmine Stratford from The Last Stand called here a few minutes ago."
A knot immediately formed in David's stomach. Why would they be hearing from Jasmine? "Was she looking for me?"
"Not specifically. She wanted to make a report."
David's blood ran cold as he imagined the criminals Skye, Jasmine and Sheridan angered on a daily basis, and the revenge they might seek. "On 49
what?"
"I guess her partner in that victims' group got a threatening phone call last night."
"Which partner?" he asked, but he already knew.
"Skye Kellerman."
His grip tightened on the phone. "Did Jasmine give you any details?"
"Some guy called and said, 'When I get out, I'm gonna slit your throat.'" The sergeant's voice assumed a note of self-importance. "I told Ms.
Stratford it was probably a pervert who gets his kicks out of scaring women.
But she and her friends have more enemies than I can count on two hands, and a lot of those enemies are pretty damn dangerous. That's why I thought you might want to know about this, in case it wasn't a prank."
"You did the right thing, Sergeant. I appreciate the courtesy." Except for the part about getting out, David might've been able to believe it was someone who'd heard about the attack on Skye and was using it to terrorize her in retaliation for the assistance she'd given a wife or lover. But the mention of a knife, together with getting out... How many people could know about
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