The next morning, Colt and Belinda both tried to talk me out of going to work at the Rebellious Rose, insisting that I needed more time, but I knew sitting around Momma’s house would only make me feel worse. I was nowhere near ready to start going through her things, and if I sat around, my mind would dwell on the stuff of my nightmares.

Work was the best thing for me.

Tilly had gotten up before all of us to go check on her dog before she headed to the catering kitchen. Belinda was the next to leave, and after trying—and failing—one last time to get me to call in to work, she insisted she’d call me after she talked to an attorney. We’d agreed we would only go to the station if the attorney advised it.

As soon as he and I were alone together, Colt gave me a worried look. “I don’t want to leave you,” he said. “In fact, you’re a mess. Do you know how many nightmares you had last night?”

“Four.”

“That’s right. Four nightmares that made you wake up crying and screaming. You need to give yourself a break, Maggie.”

After each one, Colt had held me close and wiped my tears, assuring me I was safe. I knew his request came from a place of genuine concern, but I was still determined. “You have no idea how much I appreciate that you lost sleep for me.”

“Mags, I’d stay up all night if it would make you feel better. That’s not the point.”

“I know, and that’s what makes me appreciate you even more, but that man has stolen too much of my life. I want to go work for Alvin this morning. I need to. It will take my mind off everything.” Then I reached up on my tiptoes and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for being patient with me.”

“Thanks for giving me another chance.”

Colt left and I finished my coffee before heading downtown. As I made the drive, it occurred to me that I still had clothes and things in my apartment behind Ava Milton’s house. I needed to fit a visit into my schedule.

I pulled into the parking lot behind the shop and looked around for anything suspicious. When nothing popped out, I got out of my car—my pepper spray in hand—and headed for the back door to the shop, coming to an abrupt halt when I saw Brady get out of his car parked several spots down.

“Magnolia,” he said, walking toward me.

Startled, I put a hand on my chest to slow my racing heart. “Brady. You scared the crap out of me.” I didn’t bother asking him how he knew my schedule—he seemed to make a habit of it.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone, Maggie.”

And we both knew why, but I doubted the killer would go after me at ten o’clock in the morning in a downtown Franklin parking lot. I felt like he would toy with me more. But then again, what if I was wrong?

Brady stopped a few feet in front of me. Wearing dress pants, a button-up shirt, and a dark tie, Brady Bennett looked like a very attractive catch. And maybe he was, but there were too many red flags. Too many things that didn’t add up.

But couldn’t I say the same thing about Colt?

I gave my head an involuntary shake and dropped the pepper spray into my purse, trying to jolt my thoughts back to the serial killer. My mind drifted to the files I’d seen in Brady’s apartment. All of those murdered women . . .

Then I realized that while I’d seen their photographs, I didn’t know anything about them. They were nameless, tortured dead women to me, and that felt very wrong and impersonal. They deserved better. “How were the other women taken?”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“The women he killed. How did they disappear?”

My question seemed to momentarily stump him. “Uh . . .” He glanced at the building before shifting his gaze back to me. “Melanie Seaborn, the woman you . . . saw . . .” He lowered his voice and compassion filled his eyes. We both knew what he wasn’t saying—murdered. “She was a nurse. She never showed up for her seven a.m. shift at the hospital.”

Her face from that night appeared in my head, and I swallowed my rising nausea and panic. Until now, I’d never considered what she’d been like outside of the confines of that basement, let alone the fact that she’d had a life—a job, friends. Maybe even a spouse or boyfriend.

I nodded, trying to control my rising hysteria. I needed to get more information out of Brady—something I could only do if I stayed calm. “When was the last time she was seen?”

“Leaving the hospital the day before. Around four in the afternoon.”

“She lived alone?” I asked.

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking. “Uh . . . yeah.”

“And the others?”

“I’m not getting into this now, Maggie. Not here.”

That was fair, not to mention he didn’t necessarily have to tell me anything. It was all official police business. Sort of. “Then why are you here? Why aren’t you working with Detective Martinez?”

He looked caught off guard by my question. “She was on vacation last week when I got assigned the Emily Johnson case, so my boss gave me a temporary partner and moved her to a new case. Why do you ask?”

“Because she came to Momma’s house last night while we were still entertaining mourners.”

His back stiffened. “What did she want?”

“She wanted to know if I knew anything about the murders in the basement of Savannah House the night of the masquerade ball.”

Some of the color bled from his face. “She didn’t tell me she was going to see you.”

“She wants me and Belinda to come to the police station at one.”

He took a second to ask, “Are you going?”

“Not unless Belinda’s attorney says we should.”

“You have an attorney?”

I narrowed my eyes. “After the last two times I was interrogated at the Franklin police station, I thought it best to have someone with me who is actually concerned about my rights.”

“She thinks there’s a connection to you.” The pained look in Brady’s eyes confirmed that he got my dig. He’d been present during my last interrogation. His partner had treated me like I was garbage, and he hadn’t intervened. I still held a tiny grudge.

“I guess so. Her questions were vague, but she said she was at Momma’s funer—” Oh . . . how could I be so stupid?

I gave him a look of disgust. “But you already knew that. You were there too.”

He had the good sense to remain silent.

I pushed out a sigh, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders.

“What do you know about the murders Saturday night, Magnolia?” Brady asked in a low voice.

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re not going to read me my rights first?”

He groaned, sounding pissed. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Like you helped me when you told your partner about our talk in the coffee shop? Because frankly, Detective Bennett, I could do without that kind of help.”

He looked embarrassed. “You know I didn’t have a choice.”

I heaved another sigh and rubbed my forehead with my fingertips. “I believe you. But who’s to say you won’t find yourself in the same position in a few days? Whatever I tell you could get me hauled into the police station for questioning or, worse, arrested.”

His face hardened. “Have you committed a crime?”

“Does it matter if I haven’t?” I asked in a short tone. “Seems to me plenty of the members of the Franklin Police Department rearrange the facts to fit their theory, truth be damned.”

“That’s not true,” he protested vehemently.

“Isn’t it? You told me yourself there’s at least one dirty cop on the force. Isn’t that why we’re keeping it secret that the same man who killed Amy and Emily left that scar on my leg?”

His eyes flew open, and he glanced around to see if anyone was close enough to have heard my proclamation. Thankfully, the lot was empty of other people.

How could I have been so careless? I wasn’t thinking straight. My nightmares had left me exhausted.

“Maggie,” he said in a low tone. “I promised you that I would protect you, and my promise still holds, whether we’re together or not.”

“Has the FBI shown up yet?” I asked. “You said they were coming last week.”

A grimace tightened his lips. “The agent got called to a more pressing case.”

“They can do that?”

“They only have so many agents.” He paused. “Are you really with Colt Austin?” His obvious disgust tainted his words.

“That’s none of your business, Brady.”

“Is that why you’re not wearing my necklace anymore?”

I opened my mouth to tell him about the necklace—how the killer had found and returned it and I could barely stand to look at it now—but I didn’t want to get into any of that. Instead, I said, “Don’t make me hurt you any more than I already have.”

He looked taken aback, but he let the subject drop. “Does he know about the serial killer?” He sounded worried. “Does he know the danger you’re in?”

I hesitated, then decided to tell him the truth. “Yes.”

“And you’re here alone? He’s not with you now?”

I lifted my eyebrows. “You think I need a bodyguard? If I were with you, would you be taking me back and forth to work?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” he said, looking adamant. “You’re in danger, Maggie. You’re not taking this seriously enough.”

Part of me wondered if he was right. Maybe I should tell him about the killer’s latest messages—his “escalation,” as Colt had called it—but something held me back. I took a breath, then asked, “You obviously didn’t know about your former partner wanting to question me and Belinda, so why are you here, Brady?”

His face softened. “I wanted to check on you. I’m worried about you. You’ve been through so much this past month. How are you handling your mother’s death?”

Call me a fool, but I believed he was being genuine. My shoulders relaxed. “As well as can be expected, I guess. I knew she was dying, but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon.”

“I’m sorry. I know it has to be hard for you.” He shifted his weight. “Honestly, it’s hard for me to believe, and I barely knew her. I just saw her last week at the restaurant, and then she was in the hospital. Dying.”

“Her immune system was weak. It didn’t take long.” But then, he already knew that. I’d told him in the hospital, the morning before she died.

“I’m fortunate to still have my parents, so I have no idea what you’re going through, but if there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”

“Thanks,” I said, surprised at how earnest he sounded.

“In fact . . .” His voice trailed off, but he held my gaze. “I think you should move back into my apartment.” When I started to protest, he held up both hands in a defensive move. “Maggie, hear me out.”

I closed my mouth and wrapped my arms across my chest.

“This isn’t some pathetic attempt to get you back. You can stay in the guest room. In fact, you should take a temporary leave of absence from all your jobs and hole up there until I can find this guy.”

“So your answer is for me to hide?”

He looked confused as to why I so obviously thought this was a bad idea. “It’s not permanent.”

“No.”

“Maggie, if you’ll just—”

“No. I’m not hiding. I did that ten years ago, and because I hid, more women have died. I’m done hiding.”

“You said you blocked it out ten years ago, so how could you have come forward?”

“I could have gone to the police and showed them my cut. They could have helped me remember. They might have found him.”

Conflict waged in his eyes before he finally said, “Do you think they would have believed you?” When I didn’t respond, he continued, “After you insisted that your father was dead, do you think they would have believed you?”

My mouth dropped open as if on a hinge, but I quickly shut it.

Regret washed over his face. “You might have gotten someone who was sympathetic, but you also might have gotten someone who wrote you off as a hysterical teenager. It would have been a crapshoot.” He gave me a sad smile. “You were right to run. You saved yourself, and there’s no harm in protecting yourself now.”

“By hiding like a coward?”

He took a step closer and a fierce look filled his eyes. “You’re not a coward. Don’t even entertain the thought.”

I closed my eyes. It was tempting to hide in Brady’s fortress of an apartment with its security and alarms. I’d be safe there—or at least I’d feel safe—but I’d also be running from my problems. Again. I was tired of running. “I have to go into the shop before I’m late.”

“So you won’t stay with me?” he asked, sounding disappointed.

“Did you really think I would?”

I decided to make my break for the shop, but the second I started to sidestep him, he moved to block my path.

“Wait,” he said.

I stared at his chest, then lifted my gaze to meet his.

“If you insist on traipsing around like nothing’s wrong, then I want to give you something. It’s in my car.” Without waiting for me to respond, he put his arm around my lower back and steered me in that direction.

“What is it?” I asked, but I didn’t resist. There was no denying that I felt safe when I was close to Brady, like no one would dare mess with both the police detective and the man. Too bad I’d screwed it all up by sleeping with him last week.

What was wrong with me?

“I need to show you.” He opened the passenger door and waited.

I looked up at him and gave him a wry grin. “Is this when you take me to your apartment against my will and lock me up for my own good?”

He grinned back, but it looked sad. “If I thought I could get away with it, I’d probably give it a shot.”

“I can’t go anywhere, Brady. I have to go inside to work.”

“We’re not going anywhere. I need to give you something, but I don’t want to do it out in the open.”

“Okay . . .” I’d only been half teasing about the kidnapping thing, but I got into the car anyway.

Once I was inside, he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s seat, climbing in next to me. I started to get nervous when I saw his car keys in his hand, but he inserted the key into the glove compartment and opened it up, revealing a small handgun. He grabbed it and held it over the console, resting it on his palm.

“I take it you know how to use one of these?”

Shocked, I lifted my eyes to his expressionless face. “Yeah.”

“I want you to carry this. Just in case.”

Here was the solution to my gun problem. Brady was the last person I’d expected to provide it. He still held it on his palm, waiting for me to take it, but I hesitated.

“When was the last time you fired a gun?” he asked.

“Uh . . . when my dad showed me how to use his gun.”

“So a good fourteen years ago?”

I nodded, finally picking up the weapon. My hand had a slight tremor.

“When do you get off work?”

“At three, but if Belinda’s attorney says it’s okay for us to meet with Detective Martinez, we’re supposed to be there at one.”

“I’ll take care of Maria. Will you let me take you to the range for target practice this afternoon?”

“Uh . . . yeah.” Anyone who walked around with a gun should know how to use one—that was just common sense.

“Thank you. You have no idea how relieved I am.” He put the gun back in the still-open glove compartment, then closed and locked it.

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” I said, clasping my hands together in my lap.

He searched my face with a look of frustration. “I’ve never made any secret of the fact that I care about you, Maggie. Just because you got scared because we were moving too fast doesn’t mean I stopped caring.”

“Brady . . .” I needed to nip that idea in the bud. “It wasn’t that.”

He grabbed my hand and tenderly held on to it. “You are in no position to make any decisions about anything. Just accept that I care about you and want to make sure you’re safe. Nothing devious about that, right?”

“No.” But something still felt off. Brady was an exceptionally good-looking man who probably had a dozen women dying to go out with him. Why was he so persistent about dating me? But maybe he was just the hero type, and it would be a blow to his ego if something happened to me now that he’d appointed me his damsel in distress. I refused to believe he wanted to date me because of my YouTube ignominy.

“Good,” he said with a grin. “Now that that’s settled, I need to talk to you about something else.”

I was sure he was about to press me about the murders at Savannah House, but instead he said, “I know this is hard, but I really need you to take me to that house in the woods.”

My skin crawled and I involuntarily sucked in a breath. “What do you hope to find? He murdered that woman . . .” No. She had a name, and she deserved my respect. “Melanie ten years ago.”

“There might not be anything there, but maybe there is. If it helps us find the killer, then it’s worth the effort.”

So this was his real reason for being here. He’d been hounding me to take him to the house for nearly a week—even yesterday at the funeral—and until now I’d managed to avoid it. While I doubted there would be any evidence left after a decade, I knew he still needed to see it. I just didn’t feel comfortable going out there again. “Have you told Owen about the connection yet?” I asked. “That there’s a serial killer on the loose?”

“He’s got enough to deal with right now.”

I straightened. “What’s going on with Owen?”

Brady hesitated. “Once the connection between Walter Frey and Geraldo Lopez came to light, the department decided to look into how he handled the Walter Frey murder. Especially since there was a possible connection to the case his uncle had worked on.”

“The cell phone . . .” When I’d discovered Walter Frey’s body behind the bar where we’d arranged to meet to discuss the night of my father’s disappearance, I’d seen a cell phone and a list of names clutched in his hand. But Owen had never mentioned a cell phone in his report, and the phone hadn’t been listed as evidence.

“Yeah.” He paused, then said, “You’ll likely be interviewed by someone in the department about that too.”

I was going to be interviewed for two separate investigations? “Why?”

“To make sure your story lines up with his.”

“He must be crapping his pants right now.”

“To put it mildly.”

I took a breath, only then realizing I’d been holding my hands so tightly my fingernails were digging into my palms. “Are you here to coerce me to stick to a script?”

“No. You need to tell the truth.”

“But Owen—”

His eyes hardened. “Tell the truth, Maggie.”

“Are you two at odds?” I wasn’t sure why that bothered me so much, especially since as recently as last week I’d believed Owen was trying to kill me. The thing was, Rowena Rogers had admitted that Owen’s uncle had been caught in the middle of my father’s investigation and had been innocent of wrongdoing. For some reason, I felt like I owed it to him to make sure he didn’t suffer because of my father too.

“That’s neither here nor there. You need to tell the truth.”

I pressed my lips together, purposely not committing one way or the other. “When will they contact me?”

“They know your mother just died. Unlike Maria, they might wait until the end of the week.”

“What do they think happened?”

“Just tell your side of the story. That’s all you need to worry about.”

I was more confused than ever. “But you told Owen I just stumbled upon Walter Frey’s body, not that I’d arranged to meet him at the bar. What do you want me to do about that?”

“Keep up that story, but tell them the truth about everything else.”

“But—”

“Just trust me on this, Maggie.”

I really wanted to trust him, but he was making it difficult. It was like he was hanging his best friend out to dry. Why?

He looked out the windshield and grinned slightly. “Alvin’s watching us right now. You’re going to get a buttload of questions about what we’ve been up to.”

Brady was right. Alvin was a notorious gossip. “I need to go inside.”

He opened his door and was out in a flash, intercepting me as I got out of the passenger side of the car. “I’m going to walk you to the door. Don’t leave until I pick you up at three.”

I shook my head. “Brady . . .”

“Maggie. Please. Don’t fight me on this. I’m trying to protect you.”

I found myself saying, “Okay.”

He smiled as we started walking toward the back door. “If you get off sooner, let me know.”

“Okay.”

His smile spread, and for some reason I found it unnerving. He stopped at the back door and turned to face me. “If anyone comes in that worries or frightens you, call me. Even if you think it’s nothing.”

“That seems extreme.”

“A serial killer is sending you personal messages. Anything short of putting you under witness protection doesn’t even broach extreme.” He bent over and kissed my cheek. “Stay safe.” He opened the door, waited until I was inside to shut it, and then walked away.