Page 58 of The Naturals

“What had your name on it?”

With shaking hands, she held out a padded envelope.

“Who did you not steal this from?” I asked.

Sloane looked distinctly guilty. “One of the agents downstairs.”

They’d been screening all of our mail, not just mine.

Angling my head so that I could see what was inside the envelope, I realized why Sloane had screamed.

There, inside the envelope, was a small, black box.

Once the box had been removed from the envelope, there was no question that it matched the first one: the ribbon, the bow, the white card with my name written on it in careful, not quite cursive script. The only difference was the size—and the fact that this time, the UNSUB had used Sloane to get to me.

You know the FBI has me under guard. You want me anyway.

“You didn’t open the box.” Agent Briggs sounded surprised. About ten seconds after I’d realized what was inside the envelope, Agents Starmans and Brooks had burst into the bedroom. They’d called Locke and Briggs. I’d had just enough time to get dressed before the dynamic duo had arrived—with another, older man in tow.

“I didn’t want to compromise the physical evidence,” I said.

“You did the right thing.” The man who’d come with Briggs and Locke spoke for the first time. His voice was gruff, a perfect match for his face, which was weatherworn and suntanned. I put his age at somewhere in the neighborhood of sixty-five. He wasn’t tall, but he had a commanding presence, and he looked at me like I was a child.

“Cassie, this is Director Sterling.” Locke made the introduction, but the things she didn’t say numbered in the dozens.

For instance, she didn’t say that this man was their boss.

She didn’t say that he was the person who’d signed off on the Naturals program.

She didn’t say that he’d been the one to rake Briggs over coals for using Dean on active cases.

She didn’t have to.

“I want to be there when you open it.” I addressed the words to Agent Locke, but Director Sterling was the one who replied.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” he said.

This was a man with children, maybe even grandchildren, even if he was a higher-up at the FBI. I could use that.

“I’m a target,” I said, allowing my eyes to go wide. “Keeping this information from me makes me vulnerable. The more I know about this UNSUB, the safer I am.”

“We can keep you safe.” The director spoke like a man used to having his words taken as law.

“That’s what Agent Briggs said four days ago,” I said, “and now this guy is coming at me through Sloane.”

“Cassie—” Agent Briggs started to talk to me in the same voice the director used—like I was a little kid, like they hadn’t brought me here to solve cases in the first place.

“The UNSUB struck again, didn’t he?” My question—which was a guess, really—was met with absolute silence.

I was right.

“This UNSUB wants me.” I worked my way through the logic. “You tried to keep him away from me. Whatever’s in that box, it’s a step up from what the UNSUB sent me last time. A warning for you, a present for me. If he thinks you’re keeping it from me, things are only going to get worse.”

The director nodded to Agent Briggs. “Open the box.”

Briggs put on a pair of gloves. He pulled on the edge of the ribbon, and the bow came undone. He set the card to the side and lifted the lid off the box.

White tissue paper.