Love me to death

TWENTY-TWO

Lucy was wrapped up in her own thoughts as Sean drove to WCF. She hated feeling like a victim again and vowed she wouldn’t. She wasn’t a victim. She’d fought back six years ago, and while she lost a couple of rounds, she’d won the battle. She’d survived. She’d prospered. She had a life and a future and family.

Someone watched you yesterday at the ice rink. Some sicko saw you with Sean. Saw you kiss him. Dirtied what was pure and fun.

Her stomach heaved and she closed her eyes, prayed that Sean couldn’t see her inner turmoil. But when her eyes were closed, memories of what Roger Morton had done to her flooded her mind: flashes like a camera, others watching as she was raped and beaten.

She couldn’t bear the thought that her affection toward Sean had been tainted by a voyeur. A stalker. Pain seared her, physical angst, until she could hardly breathe.

The flowers and card told her he was a stalker. Her mind knew it and rebelled against it, angry and ready for action. But the intangible spectator, watching her as if she were a show, fueled the ember of pain that she still harbored deep inside.

Intellectually, Lucy could tell herself that she wasn’t a victim, that she was a survivor and everyone involved in her attack was dead. She could repeat the mantra endlessly, but it didn’t change how her stomach felt, or the prickle across her skin when people looked at her, or the way her throat tightened when she let her guard down and the memories flooded in unexpectedly.

It had all been better, until now. Kate’s lies, Morton’s death, the stalker. Everything felt real again.

The car stopped before she realized they were already at WCF headquarters.

Sean said, “I wouldn’t have sent you red roses.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. He reached out and put his hand on her cheek, then ran his fingers through her hair.

“I would have sent multicolored daisies, dozens of them in yellow and white and blue and purple and pink and every color I could find.”

“Why daisies?” she whispered.

“Because they would make you smile, then laugh, and you would smile again every time you looked at them. Every time you saw a daisy, you would think of me. Because no one else would give you such a whimsical bouquet of flowers.”

He pulled her the short distance toward him, meeting her halfway, and kissed her. It started soft, as if he intended to give her a quick, supportive kiss. But it didn’t end. His mouth pressed against hers, confident, calm, but insistent. His hand held her neck, his fingers moving in small circles like five dancing fairies, easing her tight muscles. Her lips parted as she relaxed, her nerves calmed, and she leaned into Sean, her right hand finding his face, the rough stubble beginning to push through his skin. She rubbed lightly, the sandpaper texture alluring, then her hand moved to his soft, thick hair, savoring the contrast.

Sean kissed her repeatedly, as if to assure himself that she was here, and she returned the urgency, her internal pain and fear retreating deep inside, behind locked doors, where she prayed it would stay.

He reached down and unbuckled her seat belt, then pulled her as close as possible with the console separating their seats. Lucy put her head on Sean’s chest and closed her eyes, feeling peace and safety and hope.

Somehow, they would find the answers. And whatever those answers were-whoever was responsible-Lucy would survive. She’d survived worse.

Before she had her family. Now … she thought she might have something else. Someone else.

“Lucy,” Sean said quietly in her ear, “are you okay with this?”

“Giving you a tour so you can bug WCF offices? I don’t know. But-I understand why you have to do it. But as soon as I get the files I need, we go to Kate, right?”

He smiled. “Right, but I wasn’t talking about WCF. I was talking about us. About me. You. This.” He kissed her.

She licked her lips, then firmly kissed him back, showing him that she was very okay with this. “Actions speak louder than words.”

“Maybe I just want to hear how much you like me.” He grinned devilishly. “I have a very sensitive ego. It needs constant reminders that I’m worthy of you.”

He said it playfully, but Lucy heard just a hint of awe and apprehension in his voice, as if she were special and he really did need to know how she felt.

“I like you,” she assured him. “You’re wonderful. You’re worthy of me. Let’s get this over with and take our mutual admiration society home.”

“Before we go upstairs, call Kate. We need to know about the flowers.”

Noah needed daylight.

He’d been holed up in Kate’s windowless computer room at Quantico all day. While he understood the need for the added computer power, he didn’t understand why they couldn’t have set up anywhere else. His cubicle at regional headquarters had a window.

“Your tension is suffocating me,” Kate said.

“How do you work in here?”

“I’ve had worse. You can leave-I’ll call you when the files are uncoded.”

Kate was running a program to re-create every email that had passed through Roger Morton’s account. She needed to keep on top of it to prevent hiccups, and she was simultaneously grading tests from the current session of FBI recruits. Running this program had taken nearly three days. Noah would never have survived in cybercrimes.

Noah had decided to work from here rather than his cubicle downtown because he was still uncomfortable about pulling in someone to help who had such a twisted history with the victim. But Kate had been nothing if not professional. A bit hotheaded at times, but sharp.

“Where’s Abigail?” Kate asked.

“She’s been working all day on getting the GPS data from Morton’s car. It’s a federal holiday, not that you were looking at the calendar or anything.”

“I don’t see you taking the day off, Armstrong.”

The phone blinked but didn’t ring. Kate answered it. She listened for a minute, then said, “I didn’t see the logo on the truck. The delivery guy was five foot eleven, wore black pants, navy-blue jacket, red turtleneck underneath. Probably a sweater as well; I couldn’t see because the jacket was bulky. Green cap-white words …” She closed her eyes. “GW Florist. He had a long blond ponytail.… Yes, of course I’m sure it was a guy. Lucy, what’s wrong?”

The edge in Kate’s voice had Noah turning his attention to her phone conversation with Lucy.

Kate said into the receiver, “Don’t leave the house.… Dammit, Lucy!”

Kate stood and paced as far as the phone cord could go. “I want to talk to Sean.… Listen, Sean, I’m coming home as soon as I can. I don’t like this at all.… I can’t believe you let her go to WCF! … You’d damn well better keep an eye on her.” She slammed the receiver down.

“Is everything okay?”

“Just peachy. Lucy has a-”

“One sec,” he said as a new message popped up on his screen. “The ballistics from the Ralston homicide came back. No match to anything in the database.”

“Did they check it against Morton? That was recent-”

“They did. No match.”

Her computer beeped, and Kate turned to the screen. She grinned widely. “I’m a genius.” She pressed a few buttons. “It’s printing now. We have a lot of reading to do tonight. I want to take it home.”

“So is there something wrong?”

“You heard the call.”

“Couldn’t miss it.”

“It’s Lucy. I think she has a stalker. I need to follow up on some roses that were delivered. I’d assumed they were from Sean. They weren’t.”

After Lucy gave Sean a “tour” of WCF offices and he’d planted bugs in the conference room and Fran Buckley’s office, he left her there with the admonition not to leave the building until he returned. Then he drove back to Georgetown to GW Florist.

Sean walked into the small shop on Wisconsin. It was empty, except for a young female clerk behind the counter. He walked up and smiled.

“May I help you?” she asked.

Sean had considered different ways to get the information about who sent the flowers. Often, retail businesses wouldn’t share private customer information with just anyone. And while he could often flirt information out of women, it wasn’t a guarantee and he’d get only one chance.

He pulled his wallet out of his front pocket and opened to his private investigator’s license. “Sean Rogan, private investigator. I was retained by a woman who is being stalked. This morning, she received one dozen red roses delivered by one of your drivers. There was no signature, but the message disturbed her greatly. Do you have records of who ordered such a delivery?”

She looked closely at his identification and frowned. “I’m not supposed to give out any information.”

“I understand. I’ll file a police report on her behalf and they’ll come back with a warrant.” He pocketed his ID.

“I don’t know-well, I only work afternoons. I can call my mother, who owns the store.”

“Do you keep records of deliveries?”

“Of course.”

“I have the name and address the flowers were delivered to.”

She nodded. “I can look it up by delivery address.”

Sean gave her Lucy’s address and waited a minute while she typed. “Yes, we have one dozen long-stemmed red roses going to that address this morning.”

The tension in his stomach increased tenfold. “Do you have a name?” That he kept his voice professional was a testament to his training.

“Mr. Lorenzo was a walk-in customer and paid cash,” she said.

Sean straightened. “Lorenzo?” he snapped.

She fidgeted and stepped back. “Y-yes,” she said. Sean must have sounded furious, because she looked like a doe caught in the headlights.

“Cody Lorenzo?” he said, forcing himself to sound calm.

“Yes.”

What was Lorenzo up to? After accusing Lucy of getting Prenter killed, maybe-maybe-Sean could see him sending flowers to apologize. But there was no I’m sorry on the card. What was he doing watching Lucy at the ice rink? Why send a cryptic message? The cop had to know it would disturb her.

Yet it happened far too often-ex-boyfriends, and sometimes ex-girlfriends, unable to let go, resorting to stalking. And Lorenzo was a cop-they had access to information the average John Q. Public didn’t. When a cop turned stalker, it rarely ended well. They often used their resources to bully their victims.

Sean would not let Lucy be bullied by anyone, particularly Cody Lorenzo.

“Mr. Rogan?” The clerk bit her bottom lip.

Sean attempted to smile but wasn’t sure if he pulled it off. “Thanks. I may need to talk to the person who helped Mr. Lorenzo this morning, in case I have more questions.”

She handed over a card for the shop, with a number on the back. “That’s my mom’s number. She’ll also be here tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you for your time.” Sean handed her his card. He was still fuming about Lorenzo, unable to figure out what he was up to-other than scaring Lucy-but on his way out, some long-stemmed white daisies caught his eye.

Sean turned back to the clerk. “Can I get one of those daisies in a bud vase?”