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Bent would not appreciate her lack of punctuality.

Outside the door withLincoln County Sheriffdisplayed across the front, Vera paused to draw in a deep breath. She squared her shoulders and walked inside.

Myra looked up over her reading glasses. “They’re waiting for you.”

Vera flashed her a fake smile. “Thanks.”

She opened the door and entered the office. Both men stood. Bent from behind his desk and Eric from one of the chairs on this side.

“Vera.” Eric stepped toward her and gave her a hug.

“Eric.” She drew back, smiled. “Good to see you.”

The sparkle in his eyes reminded her of all the times she’d returned from training in some other city and Eric would be waiting. He looked great, as always. Navy designer suit, matching shirt and tie. He could bea model from the cover of a popular magazine or the hottest new media influencer. With Eric everything was always perfect. Flawless mahogany skin and the darkest chocolate eyes. An enviable wardrobe by anyone’s standards, draped on a very handsome man. More important than all the rest, a kind heart and a fiercely intelligent brain.

Vera felt utterly underdressed and wholly ill prepared. Eric likely wondered how she’d gone downhill so far in only seven months.

“Why don’t we sit,” Bent suggested, “and get started?” His gaze held Vera’s a moment before shifting back to Eric.

“I apologize for being late.” Vera settled into a chair. “I’ve been running behind all day. I hope the two of you started without me.”

Actually she was glad she’d been late. Kept her away from that initial awkward meeting between these two. Bent knew little about Eric, but he must suspect there was more to the story. Eric, on the other hand, knew all about Bent. Vera had spilled her guts about her first love to the man who could have been her second love if she’d opened herself that far. Instead, he’d been more of a best friend—as well as a respected colleague.

“We’ve only chatted briefly,” Eric said. “Sheriff Benton wanted to wait for you.”

Vera looked to Bent. “Shall we get started, then?”

Bent began with “Nolan Baker, a local reporter, disappeared about seventy-two hours ago. We first believed he’d been taken by a repeat perpetrator we’ve referred to as the Time Thief, but that turned out not to be the case.”

Vera hoped Bent wouldn’t go into the story about Elizabeth. The woman was the epitome of a small-town rich woman of privilege who wanted all the attention on her family. So not worth the discussion.

Bent looked to Vera then, as if he’d read her mind.

“We first became aware,” she began, “there might be someone affiliated with the Messenger involved in Baker’s disappearance when he left a message for me.”

Bent leaned forward and spread the crime scene photos from her house across his desk. It wasn’t until that moment that Vera realized her nightshirt and panties lay on the floor between the shower and the toilet in the corner of one photo. The creep of red up her neck was like a flame licking a path. If she were lucky, no one would notice the scrap of black since the tee she slept in was black too. There was no mistaking the face on the shirt, however. Jon Bon Jovi’s image, with his eighties hair, had faded but was still there.

“Wow.” Eric looked to Vera. “I’m sure that was one hell of a surprise.”

“To say the least.” Though, at the moment, she wasn’t sure they were talking about the same thing. She eased deeper into the chair, told herself to relax. Didn’t help that both men were watching her. “In keeping with the Messenger MO, no evidence whatsoever was left behind. No one saw or heard anything. Frankly, there are no close neighbors in either situation to have seen or heard anything.”

“He did step outside the usual MO,” Bent said, “when he left the message on the mirror in Baker’s apartment. He picked up the key from the victim’s father, Carl Baker. We have a sketch artist with him right now, though we’re not particularly hopeful about the results.”

Eric’s smooth forehead lined just a little. “So he didn’t get a good look at him when he provided the key?”

“He didn’t,” Bent explained. “The perp wore a baseball-type cap. Dark sweater—black, he thought—and maybe jeans. And sunglasses, so Carl remembered basically nothing about his face or even his age. I have my doubts whether anything he recalls at this point will be accurate.”

“Mr. Baker wasn’t suspicious that the man didn’t wear a uniform?” Eric’s eyebrows pulled together in surprise.

“Baker was worried sick about his son,” Vera explained. “His entire focus was to do whatever necessary to help get him back safely. Anything else was irrelevant.”

Eric nodded his understanding. “Of course.”

“What have you found on your end?” Vera felt confident there wasn’t that much to share, but she could hope.

“Not a lot, unfortunately,” he admitted. “I checked various databases, called my contacts and found no known activity matching that of the Messenger.” To Bent he added, “Obviously there are plenty of serial killers who send their victims messages, but not like this one. He always—without exception—announced his intentions. Never deviated. Never left a job unfinished.” He turned to Vera then. “Until Gloria Anderson.”

Bent looked to Vera. “You didn’t go into a whole lot of detail about how you came to be involved with the investigation.”