The trip home is made in companionable silence as we soak in the sound of the ocean. The only thing that mars my happiness is the thought of having to say goodbye when he drops me off at home. Not ready for it yet, I take a deep breath and speak up as we stop in front of my building.
“Would you like to come up for a nightcap?” I ask as Jessen assists me from the car.
For a long moment we stand on the sidewalk as he searches my eyes, for what I have no idea. Finally, he says, “Yeah, I’d like that. Let me just put the roof up.”
When he’s done, he takes my elbow and guides me into the building, nodding at the security guard at the desk. We’ve barely cleared the desk when he calls out.
“Oh, Ms. Traeger, I almost forgot. Someone dropped a package off for you, not long after you left.”
Back-tracking, I collect the small gift box from him. “Thanks, Jackson.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. Have a good evening.”
“You too.”
I give him a small wave as we resume our trip to the elevators.
Back in the apartment, I place the box down on the counter so I can use my hands to slip my heels off. I toss them aside and turn my attention back to the box, frowning.
“Is this from you?”
“No, I’d have given it to you with the flowers.”
“I guess it could be from a fan, but my fan mail usually goes to my post box since I don’t give out my home address.” For no particular reason I can think of, a feeling of dread settles in my stomach like a lead balloon.
My hands now shaking, I pick the box up and move over to the sofa. Untying the bow is a little more difficult because of the shaking, and it takes me longer than it should.
A look of concern on his face, Jessen asks, “Everything all right? You weren’t shaking like that a minute ago.”
Lifting my eyes to his, I shrug, trying to make light of the moment without saying a word.
Finally, the ribbon comes undone and falls to my lap. I hesitate before gripping the lid of the box. I pull, and it moves ever so slightly. Tightening my grip, I wiggle it, and it comes off. All I can do is stare at the contents when it does.
“What the fuck?” I hear Jessen say as if from a distance. There’s a weird buzzing in my ears, and my body feels incredibly heavy. The box disappears from view, but I seem incapable of moving my gaze from where it was just seconds ago. “Agatha? Agatha? Agatha.”
As if in slow motion, I lift my head that now feels like there’s a ten-pound weight resting on it. I take in his worried expression and want to reassure him I’m fine. My words echo in my head, yet I can’t open my mouth to utter them. I see him reach into his pocket and remove his cell phone. Still, I simply sit there, my mind racing a million miles an hour trying to process what’s just happened.
I watch him dial, and when the call connects, I hear him say, “Knight, hey. Do you remember the name of the police office from the hospital after Agatha’s accident?” He listens for a moment. “We seem to have a bit of a situation here that needs to be reported.”
More silence, then, “Thanks, I knew you’d remember.” A pause while he listens and finally. “Yeah, that’d be good. I’ll text you the address and let the guard know to expect you. See you shortly.”
Jessen drags my coffee table closer and sits on it, placing his phone on it before taking my hands in his. “I’m going to say that’s either a fan with some fucked-up issues, or not a fan at all. You got any ideas where that might have come from?”
I shake my head, my eyes shifting back to the little cardboard square next to me on the sofa where Jessen placed it when he took it from my clasp. A breath shudders out through my parted lips.
“Agatha, look at me.” The words are gently spoken, but there’s no denying the command in the tone. A shiver works its way up my spine at the very alpha tone, registering despite my shock. Doing as he says, I look up at him.
“Knowing what you did before, I know this is a bit of a crapshoot, but is there anyone you’re aware that might have a score to settle? Anyone who would want you dead?” He indicates the box on the sofa with his chin. “Because that is a very definite message.”
Nausea rolls through me. I don’t want to look at it again, yet I can’t stop myself from doing it. Lying in the cardboard square is a crumpled page from one of my books, stained with blood splotches. Nestled in the folds of the paper is a silver bullet with my name crudely carved into the shiny surface.
Shaking my head, I finally find my voice. “The list is long.” My voice sounds rusty to my own ears as if I haven’t used it in a long while. “Like you said, considering my career as a crime journalist, it could be any one of a host of people.”
“That’s what I was worried you’d say.” In a bizarre change in conversation, he asks, “Do you have any alcohol?”
“Um, over in that cabinet over there.” I point across the room.
“Sit tight. I’ll be back in a flash.”
