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“The print lab isn’t staffed on Sundays. There won’t be technicians working again until the morning. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up. The only prints lifted off that first poem you got were yours.”
Holly’s heart sank.Of course, Jared hadn’t left his prints on the poem. He was an ex-cop.
“In the meantime,” Andy continued. “I already have a patrol car monitoring your neighborhood. I also pushed through your restraining order given you being run off that bridge. I’m afraid there’s not much more I can do at the moment. If you feel unsafe, maybe you could stay with a friend?”
Holly bit her lip. Aside from Laurie, she didn’t have any. And she couldn’t risk drawing Jared to Laurie’s home with her two young daughters.
“It’s okay. I’ll stay here for now.”
“Holly, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
She could hear the fatigue in the detective’s voice. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.He’s doing all he can.
“Andy? What about Jared’s alibi from the other night with Tommy Reed? Were you able to confirm it?” Holly glanced at the waning daylight beyond her window.
“Not yet. I asked Detective O’Malley to give me a call tonight to update me. I’ll let you know.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Don’t let him rattle you. It’s going to be okay.”
Holly stared at the note after hanging up. She strained to remember if that envelope had been there yesterday when she’d flipped through the mail. If it had been, why hadn’t she noticed it?
Now, she couldn’t clearly recall itnotbeing there either. She lifted her fingertips to her temples.Maybe I just didn’t see it.After running her off the bridge, it was hard to imagine Jared breaking in to leave a note. If he’d been in this house, she’d likely be dead.
She glanced at the sun setting beyond the window and thought of the long night ahead.
A knock at the front door made her nearly jump out of her skin. She whipped her head toward the entryway, then pulled a steak knife from a drawer before moving to the front of the house. It was too dark out to make out the person standing on the front steps, only that it looked like a man.
Her shoulders sagged with relief after she checked the peephole. It was Clint.
He smiled in the glow of the porch lights, looking his usual handsome self. When she opened the door, he held up a bottle of red wine.
“Hi.” His cheerful expression faded, the spark in his eyes dimming with worry. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Her heart still hammered against her ribs. “I’m fine,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as her handsome neighbor.
His gaze fell to the knife in her hand.
She followed his gaze. “I was just…um.” She lifted the knife. “Cooking.”
“Oh.” His expression relaxed. “What are you making?”
“I hadn’t decided yet.”
His brows knit together. He studied her as if waiting for her to elaborate or say she was kidding. When she did neither, he lifted the bottle again. “Well, John has retreated to his room with that book you loaned him, and I didn’t feel like drinking alone.” He shook his head. “That came out wrong. Not that I share wine with my fifteen-year-old.” He ran a hand through his hair.
Was he nervous?
“I just thought it’d be nice to share this with someone.” He cracked another smile.
She glanced at the bottle, unable to shed from her mind the image of Jared creeping around her house.
“I know you’re on a deadline,” he added, seeing the hesitation in her eyes. “So feel free to say no, although if you don’t mind me saying so, you look like you could use a drink.”
He cast her a lopsided grin, and she opened the door wider for him to step inside.
“Yes, I could.”