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“I need Conover at my house.” With her socks on, she picked up the phone, took it off speaker. “Someone was in my house while I was gone yesterday.”

“You okay?”

Big breath. “Yes.”

“Is it possible there’s someone still in the house?”

The idea only then settled like an elephant on her chest. “No.” She relaxed as the details of last night cleared in her mind. “I don’t think so. I set the alarm when I came in and checked the house. A window was open, so I think someone had been in here but left before I came home.”

No need to mention the other unlocked window. It was possible it had been unlocked for weeks or months. But that cop instinct of hers said she’d been right last night about why it was open. Which meant, she kept to herself, that someone could have come in again last night. Damn it.

“Where are you?” Movement rustled in the background on his end.

“In my room.”

“Lock the door. Pull something—anything in front of it. I’m sending the nearest unit to you, and I’m on my way. I’ll call Conover en route.”

Vera ended the call. She wasn’t sure if she’d thanked him or even said goodbye. Her gaze settled on her bedroom door. She blinked. Considered her options. No way was she hiding in here.

She grabbed her phone and slid it into her back pocket and walked out. Moving quickly, soundlessly, she checked the other bedrooms. Clear. On her way toward the stairs, she paused at the bathroom door, stared at the words now melting on the mirror. Couldn’t be what it looked like. No. Way.

Not possible.

She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat and moved on. To the count of ten, she stood at the top of the stairs and listened. Nothing save the ticking of that old grandfather clock in the entry hall that she forgot to wind up more often than not. Her gaze surveying left to right, she started down the stairs. Room by room she searched. Living room was clear. Library and bathroom too. She eased into the kitchen ... clear.

Thank God. She so needed coffee right now.

Then again, she supposed someone could have been hiding somewhere she’d failed to look last night. Set up the message and hung around to see her reaction.

“Not his style.” The serial killer known as the Messenger would have gotten in, left the words for his victim, and gotten out. No deviation. No hanging about with a vic in the house. He did not take those sorts of risks. But leaving notes on mirrors like this was his favorite method of delivery.

Stop.Where the hell had that thought come from anyway? The Messenger was in prison. Had been for a dozen years. Vera shook herself. Last night’s overindulgence had obviously rattled her brain.

She dismissed any further thoughts about that part of her past.Not going there.

Someone—maybe someone related to the Time Thief case—was messing with her head. Couldn’t be anything else. Finding information about her biggest cases during her tenure with the Memphis Police Department was easy enough to do on the internet.

Satisfied with her assessment, she prepared a pot of coffee versus a single cup. Conover and Bent might want coffee as well. Besides, she doubted one cup would get her through this hellacious morning.

8:30 a.m.

Vera watched as Conover reached for his bag of tricks in the middle of her bathroom floor. “So, what’s the verdict?” she asked.

He looked from Vera to Bent and back. “Without giving you the exact type or brand, I’d say laundry detergent. Maybe from your own laundry room, since that’s where the window was opened. But, as you know, I can’t be sure of anything until I’ve run all the necessary tests. I’m basing my preliminary assumption on the scent and the oily feel of the residue that was on your mirror.”

Whatever hope Vera had held out that it would be some other substance, like plain old alcohol, deflated. The answer Conover had given fit the MO she didn’t want to think about. But the Messenger was an old case that could not possibly be back in her life. No way. Even theidea was implausible. The memory of Elizabeth bringing it up echoed in her head. Had to be a coincidence.

The whole concept was ridiculous. Could. Not. Be. Him.

She nodded at Conover. “I understand.”

Conover looked to Bent. “You want me to lift prints from the window?”

“And this door.” Bent nodded toward the bathroom door.

“Will do.”

Vera headed for the stairs. The frustration building inside her was not something she wanted Bent or Conover to witness. So maybe not only frustration. More like shock, worry,fear. Damn it, she hated feeling this way. No matter what she told herself, some flaw in her reasoning wouldn’t let go of the remote possibility that yet another part of her past was back to screw with her.