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O pal stepped back and looked at the pots filled with marigolds and zinnias.

“Perfection,” she said, ripping off her gloves.

It was late Saturday afternoon. Renard was at work, but he was going to come to her house after he finished. When he slept here, she didn’t seem to have as many nightmares.

Maybe things were moving too fast and her feelings were getting too deep. But she couldn’t seem to put on the brakes.

Especially after Thursday night at the club.

She’d spent a lot of time thinking about that scene she’d watched. And wondering if it was something she wanted.

“Opal! Opal!”

She turned to see Barney waving at her frantically from across the street.

“Barney! What is it?” She stood and looked over at him.

“It’s Aunt Grace!” he cried. “Can you come and help me? She’s fallen over and I’m having trouble waking her.”

“Oh my God! Let me grab my phone to call the ambulance.” Where had she left it?

“I have already. I just . . . I need help . . . I don’t . . . I can’t . . . please!”

“Whoa. It’s okay.” Poor guy was in a complete panic.

She rushed across the road and into the dark house. Jeez. She’d never been in here and it smelled kind of musty. It was filled with dark furniture and most of the drapes were pulled.

It didn’t seem like a healthy or nice place to live.

“She’s down here.”

Barney moved down the stairs to what had to be a basement level. Opal’s house didn’t have a basement. Which was a bit of a relief.

“Um. Down here?” she asked, trying to peer into the darkness.

“Yes, oh, she’s moaning.”

“I could wait up here for the paramedics.”

“Please, Opal,” Barney begged. “I-I just n-need you to check o-on her.”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming.” She moved down the stairs and then she saw the Grackle lying on the floor.

She had her eyes closed, but was that . . . was that duct tape on her mouth? She turned as she felt movement behind her.

Then there was a sharp pin prick to her arm.

And nothing.

* * *

Renard frowned at his phone.

He’d tried texting her. And when that had gone without a reply, he’d called her.

Nothing.

He glanced up as the back door of the restaurant opened and Saxon rushed in, looking uncharacteristically flustered. Behind him was Duncan Jones.

“What?” he snapped, his gaze moving between Saxon and Duncan.

“It’s Opal,” Saxon told him.

“What? What the fuck is going on?”

“We got a call about an hour ago,” Duncan explained. “One of her neighbors was out walking their dog when he noticed that Opal’s front door was open. Then he saw her phone on the ground. He went looking for her but couldn’t find her.”

Fuck. Shit.

“She might have gone out,” he said.

Without her phone or shutting the door?

“I went to check the house,” Duncan explained. “Looked like she’d just finished gardening. Her keys were inside. Her phone had several unanswered texts and calls. I’m sorry, Renard. But it looks like she’s missing.”