Entering on shaky legs, she pulled her gun and scanned the sitting area then rounded the alcove to the bed. A cry lodged in her throat at the sight of the white lilies lying on the bed.
Lilies are for purity, Robert had said. Just like I want you to be pure for me.
Tears spilled over as she surveyed the room and eased toward the bathroom. A bath had been run. Rose petals floated in the water. A bottle of champagne sat on the bathroom counter with two champagne flutes waiting.
And then the note.
Sleep tight, love. Soon you’ll be in my arms again. Very soon.
* * *
GRIFF PHONED JACOB to relay his conversation with Ginny as soon as he made it to his cabin.
“Did she mention where this attack happened? In North Carolina or another state?” Jacob asked.
Dammit, he should have probed her for more information, but his specialty was to extinguish and investigate fires, not serve as a detective in a homicide investigation. “No. The next time I see her I can find out. But since she’s from Asheville, it’s probable that it occurred in North Carolina.”
“I’ll ask Liam to look for a case that fits this scenario.”
Griff entered his house and punched in the code to the alarm. “Anything on the forensics from the last fire?”
“The lab just called. They have a match on some prints. A couple of teenagers at the high school. A kid named Jerome Miller who was caught shoplifting cigarettes at a gas station, and Randy Henner. Randy was caught driving without a license.”
“Both are petty crimes, and a big jump to escalate to arson,” Griff said.
“I know. If these teens are already taking risks and looking for a rush, booze might have triggered their behavior to escalate.”
“Boys will be boys getting out of hand,” Griff muttered.
“Maybe. The assembly at the school is tomorrow at ten. I contacted the principal and told her I plan to question the boys afterward.”
“I’ll be there.”
“One more thing, Griff. Bring a picture of Ginny if you can get one, and Liam can run it so we can find out who she really is.”
An uneasy feeling tightened Griff’s chest. He didn’t like spying on anyone behind their back. But Ginny was playing a dangerous game, and he didn’t want her to get hurt, so he agreed.
Maybe Liam would confirm she was exactly who she claimed to be, and that he could trust her.
He told Jacob about the dating site. “If Joy met her killer on this site, we need to explore it.”
“I’ll call forensics again and see if they’ve been able to recover anything from Joy’s computer.” Jacob paused. “See you tomorrow.”
Griff muttered agreement, then poured himself a whiskey. He needed some sleep, but how could he sleep when he was worried a killer might be targeting Ginny?
* * *
GINNY STOOD FROZEN and trembling, reliving every horrific memory of Robert in her head as the rose petals bobbed gently across the bathwater.
When they’d first met, Robert had turned her head with flattering compliments and sweet nothings he’d whispered in her ear. He’d wined and dined her and promised to support her while she finished her degree. He’d carried her shopping bags at designer boutiques and lavished her with expensive jewelry to ensure she dressed in style.
She’d insisted she didn’t need fancy clothes or jewelry, that she was a simple girl who liked homemade meals and quiet nights, one who dreamed of a family of her own someday.
He’d given those words lip service, but three months into the relationship, he announced he didn’t want children, and he certainly didn’t want her body to be disfigured with a pregnancy. Appearances mattered to him. She had to work out. Diet. Learn how to dress and behave.
Be the perfect wife.
That meant looking good on his arm and entertaining his friends and clients in the home he intended to design for them. A glass house where she would have to tiptoe around on eggshells for the rest of her life.
She’d realized then that they weren’t a match. Home was about family and loving each other, not being perfect or about surface appearances or impressing rich strangers who tossed money around like it was nothing.
That night she’d told him so, and he’d become irate. Told her she owed him and should be grateful for all he’d done for her.
That he would never let her go.
She lifted her fingers and traced them across her throat, a suffocating feeling overcoming her as she recalled his fingers pressing into her vocal cords. His words had hammered home her reservations and she’d decided she had to leave. When he’d found her packing, he’d announced she had to be taught a lesson then he’d tried to strangle her.
She’d screamed and fought him, but he’d dug his fingers into her windpipe and for a moment she’d almost passed out. But in the struggle, she’d managed to grab a lamp and she’d smashed it against his head. He released her and she’d run for the door, but he’d chased her down, then given her a beating she’d never forget.
A lesson she deserved, he claimed as she lay bleeding and hurting on the floor. Later, he’d pulled her against him, comforted her, then run her a bath and sat beside her to nurse her wounds as she’d shivered in shock.
But his plan had backfired. The rage had built inside her that night like a fire that couldn’t be extinguished. Instead of coercing her as he’d planned, he’d done the opposite. The first strike across her face had cemented her determination to leave him and given birth to hatred.
Outside the wind banged against the glass, startling her back to the present. She swallowed hard to chase the memories back into the darkness, then summoned her strength. Tess’s sweet face flashed behind her eyes, and she wiped at tears.
She hurried to the bedroom door and locked it, then dragged the dresser in front of the doorway. Furious at Robert for unnerving her with his games, she let the bathwater run down the drain, threw the rose petals into the trash and poured the champagne down the sink. The bottle went into the trash, then she snagged the lilies from the bed and added them to the pile.
Fueled with adrenaline, she opened her laptop and began combing the dating site for a man named William or Winston who fit Robert’s general description. Twenty minutes later, after scrolling through a dozen Williams, and three Winstons, she found a possible match. William Roberts.
Roberts? Could he have used his first name as his last in the profile?
Again, the man’s face was hidden in shadows. He had a short beard, neatly trimmed, and stood by a Mercedes wearing a dark pin-striped suit. Enjoyed French wines. International cuisine. Had made his money in the stock market.