He snugged the wig over his bald head and applied a mustache and bushy eyebrows with spirit gum, then checked his appearance in the mirror over his dresser and gave himself a nod. He wasn’t gorgeously handsome, but he wasn’t a troll, either. He was ordinary, in that in-between where women sometimes noticed but never remembered him.
Just like his old man. If his father hadn’t had money, Sydney never would have given him a second look. She’d been a classic trophy wife.
With a predilection for young boys.
He scowled at the mirror. He wasn’t going to think about Sydney. He was going to get another guest, hammer out the worst of his rage, and then figure out everything else.
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 11:35 P.M.
Daisy turned off her phone, willing her hand not to tremble. “I didn’t remember there being so many,” she murmured when the last voice mail was played.
Or so awful. Because many of them had been awful, degrading and humiliating. Some downright terrifying. Different phone number, different voices. All male.
“I bet you have great knockers.”
“You got a boyfriend? I’m better than he is. I guarantee it.”
“Your voice alone makes me come.” That one, or variations on the same theme, had been left by multiple callers over the last few months, at least three a week.
“Can’t wait to feel you squirming under me while I show you who’s the boss.”
“Gonna hold you down and make you scream my name in that sexy voice while I pound that pussy of yours.”
The final two were the only ones left by the same caller. “Loved how you filled out that T-shirt at the ribbon-cutting today.” That had been two weeks before, when she’d attended the opening of a new grocery store.
“Where’d you go after the grocery store thing? I wanted to take you out to dinner. Stick around next time,” the caller said with a hearty laugh, then added with forced levity, “Don’t make me follow you home.”
Daisy swallowed hard. “That last one . . .” They all scared her, but the last one had been so much . . . creepier. More personal. “I hadn’t heard it yet,” she confessed. “I listen to the messages from people I know right away, but I sometimes let the others pile up.”
She glanced up to find Rafe glaring at the notes he’d taken as they’d listened. From the corner of her eye she could see that Gideon’s face had grown dark with anger, his hands clenched into fists. On the other side of her, Erin Rhee looked grim.
“Did you actually play these messages for your cohost?” Erin asked quietly.
“The first few.” Daisy stroked Brutus a little too desperately, but the poor dog simply snuggled closer. “They were . . . worse than I remembered. I may have downplayed them in my own mind. The ones about the caller . . .” She felt her cheeks heat. “You know,” she said awkwardly.
“Coming?” Erin supplied gently.
Daisy nodded. “Yes. To the sound of my voice.” She swallowed again, bile burning her throat. It was overwhelming, hearing the calls all at once. One at a time she could dismiss. Three dozen calls in total she could not dismiss. And the threat to follow her home from the next event? That one she would have definitely reported, no matter what Tad had said. “I played one of those for Tad and he shrugged and said he still gets a few of those a week. He thought I should be . . . grateful.”
“Grateful,” Gideon murmured, his voice harsh. “Right.”
“I’ll report them from now on,” Daisy said, lifting her chin. “I’ll also get a new phone number first thing in the morning.”
“And a new phone,” Gideon ground out. “Or at least a loaner until the lab is sure that yours is a hundred percent clean.”
She winced. “God, that’s gonna be a pain in the ass.” But it was necessary for her safety, and after tonight, she would take appropriate precautions. “And a loaner phone,” she promised.
Rafe wrote her a receipt for the phone. “I’ll take your phone to the lab. Not sure how long it’ll take to get it back to you.”
“I know,” Daisy grumbled. She started to ask who’d be handling her phone and her personal information when Rafe’s phone buzzed with a text.
He typed something, then handed the phone to Erin, who nodded once she’d read it. “Forensics opened the locket,” Rafe said. “There’s a photo inside. I’d like you to take a look at it, Daisy, to see if you know the person in the picture.”
“In case the guy picking me tonight was something other than random,” Daisy said, steeling herself for whoever the pictures were of. Because he’d implied there were others. Please don’t let me know them. Please.
It was purely selfish on her part, she admitted. If she knew them, she’d mourn them. She’d also have to admit that this was personal. Believing that it was a random thing was somehow easier.
Beside her, Gideon Reynolds went rigid. She studied his profile, the tightening of his jaw, the twitch in his cheek. He was glaring at Rafe, who didn’t seem terribly upset by his friend’s ire.
Daisy found herself patting Gideon’s knee before she realized she was going to touch him. He was tense. She could feel it even with her slight touch. They shared a long glance and after a few moments, Gideon seemed to relax, his shoulders lowering.
Gideon’s gaze dropped to her hand and she snatched it away as if she’d touched something hot. And she had. He was so warm under her palm. A shiver rippled over her skin because she was so cold. She wanted to cozy up to his warmth just like Brutus cuddled up to her.
But he didn’t seem annoyed that she’d touched him. He seemed . . . grateful. And tired. He definitely knew something about the locket. Whatever it was, was personal. And unpleasant.
She wondered what it was about the locket that made him so sad. It had been a simple silver locket with an engraving on the front. She wasn’t sure that she even remembered what it was at this point. The back had said Miriam.
“Do you know her?” she asked him softly.
He frowned. “Who?”
“Miriam.”
He flinched, just slightly, but Daisy had been watching him carefully. He met her eyes directly. “Why?”
She wasn’t sure how to answer. “I guess because you seem sad,” she murmured. “I hate to see people sad. I tend to want to fix things. Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Again he seemed grateful. “I don’t know if I know her,” he added, and she got the feeling that he was being honest.
The door opened and a woman entered carrying a small evidence bag and a folder. Both Rafe and Gideon rose. “Sergeant Grimes, this is our witness, Miss Dawson.”
The woman’s expression was sharp and sympathetic at the same time. “I’m sorry to hear that you were attacked tonight, Miss Dawson.” She sat next to Rafe and placed the folder and evidence bag in front of him.
Rafe examined the contents of the folder for a few moments, then placed it on the table and spun it around so that Daisy could see. She could feel Gideon tensing again, but tried to ignore him, focusing instead on the photo.
It was an enlargement and grainy because of it. It was of a young girl, maybe thirteen. She wore a simple white dress, held a bouquet of flowers, and stood beside a much older man in a dark suit who was seated in a straight-backed wooden chair.
Daisy frowned. “The picture looks recent, but the style of the clothing looks old. Like it’s one of those old-timey Gold Rush photos you get taken in Old Sac.”
“Do you know either person?” Rafe asked.
Daisy pulled the photo closer and studied it carefully. The girl had a sweet face, her dark hair pulled back into a neat bun. “I’ve never seen the girl before. She looks way too young to be married.” But young girls were forced to get married. She was aware of this, as repugnant as it was.
“What about the man?” Rafe pressed.
Daisy hesitated, staring at the man’s face, willing herself to look when she really wanted to run away. There was something stern about the man. Something harsh. Something that said his word would be law. “This might be the man who attacked me tonight, but . . . I don’t think so. This guy here in the photo, his eyes are spaced differently. Closer together, maybe. Bridge of his nose is wider. But the man I saw tonight had a nylon stocking over his face. His features were flattened, so I can’t be certain.”
She glanced over at Gideon, who’d grown very still, staring at the photo with a combination of horror and denial.
“You know them, don’t you?” Daisy whispered, but he didn’t tear his gaze away from the photo.
Gideon let out a long breath. “This man can’t be tonight’s attacker.”
“Why not?” Rafe asked, his voice just audible enough to be heard over the blood pounding in Daisy’s head. Because Gideon Reynolds continued to stare at the photo, his expression stricken. Something was very, very wrong.
Gideon finally looked up, his eyes hard. His jaw harder. “Because he’s dead.”
FOUR
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 11:45 P.M.
He’s dead, Gideon thought, looking at the photo on the table. Because I killed him.
The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back. Because murder was a crime. Except when it’s self-defense. Which it had been. Which I can’t prove.