"Soul crushing" was the perfect way to describe the weight of dread pressing upon Joselyn as she sat in a folding chair facing a large, file-covered desk. The office was on the small side with gray walls and cracked linoleum popular about forty years ago. Overhead, the ceiling sported a large mustard-colored stain directly above the desk that most likely came from years of cigarette smoke. She stared at the spot and fought to bring her raging emotions under control as the man occupying the desk sealed her fate.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am but there's nothing we can do."

She was tired, cranky and scared; emotions which triggered her inner snark and it came out with a vengeance. "What do you mean there's nothing you can do? You are the police, are you not? Your whole 'serve and protect' motto is even written on your cars, isn't it, Detective Jameson?"

The middle-aged police detective dropped his face into his hand and scrubbed the salt and pepper scruff there. He seemed to be in his early fifties but still in great shape. If she were to be honest with herself, she didn't know many men her own age who were as defined as this man. He must either work out like crazy or have perfect genes and metabolism to be this buff.

Taking a deep breath, he tried again. "You don't seem to understand the problem here."

Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. "No, I don't think you understand the problem here." She placed the black box on top of a stack of reports and pointed at it. "My life is in danger."

Detective Jameson glanced into the box and shook his head. "Just because someone gives you a gift doesn't mean they are trying to kill you. Most girls would be thrilled to have a secret admirer. You have to admit being who you are, it's to be expected."

She ignored the patronizing tone when he said 'girls' and stuck her hand into the box. Pulling out a clear container she dropped it on the desktop.

He looked at the package containing seven of the plumpest strawberries ever seen wrapped in milk chocolate and decorated with white dots. "I..."

She huffed and leaned over the desk. "Wait, let me explain this to you again, Detective Jameson. As I told you, I'm deathly allergic to both strawberries and chocolate. This 'gift' contains both. It's a time bomb waiting for me!"

Confusion washed over his face and he gaped at her. "Lots of people have food allergies and you can't expect everyone to know what yours are. It's a bad choice of gift, I agree but it doesn't mean the sender is out to kill you. You have to see reason here." Standing slowly, he picked up the carton and placed it back into the box. Pushing it into her hands he said tiredly. "Throw it away. You have to understand this is part of being a bestselling author. Not only are you an attractive young lady, you also have a lot of fans. This also means you are going to get attention."

She ignored his attempt to placate her. "Attention? You call this attention. Maybe I have written a few books people like and buy. I didn't even... You don't... This is..." She growled in frustration. "I make my living using words and I can't even get you to understand." The helplessness of her situation dampened her fury until it evaporated. She felt the tears pooling in her eyes but refused to let them fall. Placing the box on the floor at her feet she sunk into the chair once again. Taking a haggard breath, she tried one more time.

"Yes, I get gifts all the time. Things from my readers are the norm. I receive key chains, pictures...the occasional coffee mug. You see, my heroine, Deidre Cole, collects coffee mugs. Consequently, my readers send me quirky ones they find. I love that they connect to her on such a level." The brief smile left her face as she steered her thoughts back to the subject at hand. "However, that's not the point."

She stopped and chewed her lip a moment before continuing. "Let me put it into perspective. Say this had been one of those fruit arrangement things or cookies or even something else. Anything other than chocolate covered strawberries. I would have assumed it came from my mother and eaten half of it without thinking. Anything else in this world and I wouldn't have thought twice about it. However, my mom and anyone else who knows me would also know about my allergy so getting this particular gift set off red flags. No, Detective Jameson, this came from someone else and I know who it was. I'm alive and sitting here right now because Douglas Beecher McClane doesn't know I am allergic."

A confused frown wrinkled his brow. Sitting back he tucked his hands behind his neck, dropped his chin and glanced at her over the rim of his reading glasses. "I still can't understand why you would think this was anything other than a mistake. Wait...Douglas Beecher McClane?" His eyebrows raised as understanding dawned. "You mean the serial rapist and murderer? The one they called 'The Gardener?"

Clutching her fingers tightly, she twisted them as she cleared her throat. "The same," she choked out. "You see, Detective Jameson, Chambers is a pen name. My real name is Joselyn Kendrik. I was the foreman for his trial."

The shock almost knocked him off his seat. "You are Joselyn Kendrik, 'the' Joselyn Kendrik? The one he called 'Little Rose'... the woman he fixated on following his trial and escape? I remember the manhunt for him. I got a lot of overtime every time someone swore they saw him in New Orleans." Detective Jameson threw up his hands. "Okay, I can see now why you might freak out a little. I mean, getting a half dozen blood covered roses on Valentine's day from an escaped murderer-rapist would make anyone a little paranoid. The only problem is he can't have sent you anything. He's dead."

She ignored his last comment. "To borrow from a common saying, I'm not paranoid if I know he is coming to get me." She raised her gaze and bit her lip. "I know you've seen the footage. You must have. Everyone has!"

The news bite from Douglas McClane's verdict reading made a big splash on both local and national news. There were not supposed to be any cameras in the courtroom but someone had taken a grainy four-minute video using a cell phone. Though the quality was poor, the look of sheer terror on her face was quite clear when Douglas McClane lunged at her, spouting his impromptu poetry. They had even managed to record his screamed promise as he was dragged from the courtroom. The video went viral within minutes of being uploaded to YouTube. She shuddered every time she saw it.

"Nobody took it too seriously. Not at first, anyway. He was locked away in prison, waiting on death row. I remember watching the news when the story broke of him escaping during a prison transfer. It never occurred to me he would try to follow through on his promise from the courtroom." She shivered. "But those roses came along with its poem and suddenly my life was turned upside down." Closing her eyes, she recited the words burned into her retinas.

Roses are red

Or so goes the rhyme

Pink and white blossoms

On trellises do climb.

But my Rose has hair

The color of silk

Eyes of sweet caramel

And skin like milk.

So beautiful to pluck

As she blooms on a vine

Essence deep red

Like the finest of wine.

My Rose, sweet Joselyn

Her time draws near

To be taken, consumed

As I feast on her fear.

She opened her eyes, her face frozen in a pained expression before continuing. "The police were able to positively identify the blood as coming from Douglas McClane so I was whisked away into witness protection where I stayed for three long years. You have no idea how relieved I was when Jonathan, my handler, got a call informing us McClane was dead. I wanted to go see the body in person to try and regain some of my equilibrium back but my therapist talked me out of it. She said he had already taken too much from me and I would be giving him more control in death. I needed to move on, get back into my life." She snorted. "Easier said than done. They did let me see the pictures of the crime scene so I was able to get some closure. Finally, I could reclaim my life but the time I spent in hiding changed me. I didn't want to go into law any longer; my experiences soured me on becoming an attorney. Instead, I took all the anger, fear and worry and turned it into words, pages, and stories. Three books in nine months, Detective Jameson. It is the legacy Douglas McClane left me. He was dead and gone but I have The Deidre Files and a bright new future awaiting me. So imagine my surprise when I came home from a writer's conference yesterday to find this box on my doorstep. He had been there... at my house. A man who tortured, raped and murdered six women had stood on my front step, in a protected, gated community long enough to leave me a box."

He sighed. "Ms. Chambers, ah, I mean Ms. Kendrik." He hesitated a moment, "Which do you prefer?"

"Kendrik is fine."

"Ms. Kendrik, I can understand your concern and if I were you, I'd take up the issue of unwanted deliveries with your homeowner association. However, the fact remains McClane is dead. If you feel this incident is related, why didn't you call your handlers in Witness Protection?"

"You think I didn't? I called Jonathan first thing and he told me I was being paranoid. He said a dead man can't be sending me gifts and told me it was probably from a fan."

He didn't say anything just nodded in agreement.

Frustration made her want to scream. Throwing her head back, she closed her eyes and silently counted to ten. Finally finding a bit of calm, she lowered her head, opened her eyes, unfurled her fists and winced to see half moon imprints in her palm from her fingernails.

He continued as if he didn't notice her. "If I remember correctly, he was killed by the police in a cemetery in Florida?"

She nodded. "The same one that contains my father's grave. He was putting a slashed stuffed bear wearing a purple dress on his tombstone when they caught him. A groundskeeper saw him and reported it."

The frustration was clear on his face. "Okay, but he was killed. I remember it clearly when the news came down the line. First time in two years I got to take a full week's vacation. Unless I'm missing something here, he's gone, Ms. Kendrik, dead. Ghosts can't hurt you and that's what Douglas McClane would have to be. It's impossible for him to have sent you a box of strawberries yesterday."

"I thought so too but he's not. He's out there somewhere." She pulled out a piece of folded paper and slid it across the cluttered desktop. "This was hidden in the box, under the tissue paper. I didn't see it until later."

He unfolded the paper and read the words.

Roses are bloody

Beware the thorns.

Veratrum is poison

In all of its forms.

Cacti have blooms

But also have stings.

Death will come knocking

Carrying beautiful things.

"It's almost verbatim to the poem I found on my father's grave last year. I never told anyone about it because, frankly, Detective Jameson, I saw was no reason to as he was dead. The only difference is the line 'Roses are bloody'. The original said 'Roses bear beauty'. The bloody part is a direct reference to the first gift he gave me. Before you say anything, yes, the words may not be the exact same but yet they are. I promise you, if a murdering rapist leaves you a love poem, you don't forget even a single word of it. EVER! I don't know how, why or where but I assure you, Detective Jameson, he still wants to keep his promised date with me and I don't have much time before he comes to collect me in person."

He pulled out a rubber glove and took the paper from her. "I'll have this checked for fingerprints but I can almost guarantee you there's nothing there." He placed the letter into a small bag and wrote on the front. Tapping his pen on his desk, he collected his thoughts. "Look, I'll open a case file containing this evidence in a possible stalker situation but there's nothing else I can do. It's not like I can put out an APB for a dead man. I'll tag it as a potential copycat."

"It's not a copycat, it's him. I can't explain to you exactly how I know but it is. This is Douglas McClane. I know it deep inside." She stood, retrieved the box and dropped it into the garbage can next to his desk. Turning she went to the door of his office and looked back. "Go ahead and open the stalker file but I don't believe it will make any difference. After I'm murdered, maybe you can get him before he kills again. At least my death would have a purpose." Without a backward glance, she exited his office and disappeared.