and crossed to the window. In the pasture, horses grazed. A white picket fence marked the property line. It was as pretty as a picture. Peaceful. Emilia had forgotten how much she loved it here.
She hugged herself and blew out a breath. “I don’t know how to explain it, Bennett. I had nightmares for months after Derrick’s attack and was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. It was hard to separate what was real from what wasn’t. Therapy helped and…I don’t know. I convinced myself that a second person in the cabin was a figment of my imagination.”
“Until you received this poinsettia and message on your doorstep.”
She nodded. “Do you think I’m losing it?”
“No. Emilia, you have some of the best instincts of any cop I’ve ever worked with. And you didn’t make up this message. It’s clearly referencing the killings last Christmas.”
She turned to face him. Bennett’s auburn hair was cut short, but the look suited the sharp planes of his features. A navy jacket encased his broad shoulders. The color brought out the gold flecks in his sharp green eyes. There was no recrimination in his expression. Instead, there was sympathy and understanding.
A pang of regret pierced through the shell Emilia wrapped around her heart. She and Bennett had been close friends at one point. Family dinners on his ranch, attending church on Sunday, hours spent working the murders.
After Derrick’s attack, it changed. Bennett became intrinsically linked to the case that had almost cost Emilia her life. She remembered the feel of Bennett’s arms gently cradling her against his chest as he raced to the ambulance after finding her in the woods near the lake.
You’re going to be okay, Em. You’re a fighter. Just stay awake for me and I’ll do the rest.
She’d survived many things. A no-good father, a drug-addicted mother, and more than a decade in the foster care system. Through it all, she’d persevered. But Derrick’s attack damaged Emilia in a fundamental way. It nearly crippled her. All she wanted was to forget the incident and lead a normal life. Her relationship with Bennett was a causality of that decision.
Still, Emilia had regrets. There was a time she’d envisioned her friendship with Bennett would deepen into something more. A foolish school-girl dream.
“Problem is, there’s no indication Derrick worked with a partner,” Bennett said, jolting Emilia from her runaway thoughts. “You reviewed the case files of the first three victims and believed he was working alone.”
“I did.” She rubbed her forehead. “But profiling isn’t an exact science, Bennett. It’s helpful, but it doesn’t replace hard facts. The task force was dismantled after Derrick died. How much did Sheriff King investigate after that?”
Bennett didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Emilia already knew. The political pressure to solve the murders had been overwhelming. The sheriff hadn’t done anything after Derrick’s death except claim victory.
Emilia returned to the table and sat down. “Have there been any murders in Fulton County? Anything that might resemble the other cases?”
Bennett shook his head. “No.”
The knot in Emilia’s stomach loosened. Any crime like the previous murders—a woman left stabbed in a public park with a poinsettia bloom—Bennett would have knowledge of. As a Texas Ranger, he assisted with serious cases. Fulton County didn’t have the resources to handle a complicated murder.
Bennett leaned back in his chair. “Let’s assume you’re right, Emilia. Why would the real killer wait so long before coming forward?”
She pointed to the poinsettia in the photograph. “These plants are seasonal. They only bloom from October to January. All the murders last year happened at Christmastime. Something about the holidays may trigger the killer.”
The media had dubbed him the Holiday Slasher. The nickname was particularly fitting if her theory was correct.
Bennett’s mouth hardened. “You’re a target, Emilia. The one who got away. This message is designed to bring you back to Fulton County.”
“Except if the plan was merely to kill me, he could’ve accomplished that already. He wants something else.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” She ran a hand through her hair. It was her job to create a profile of the killer, but this case was difficult to see clearly. Or maybe she didn’t want to get inside this particular murderer’s head. “He’s baiting me by leaving the note. I was part of the team hunting him. Maybe he’s compelled to repeat last year since he failed.”
“Do you know when the poinsettia was delivered?”
“Last night, around three in the morning. I have a doorbell camera, but all it caught was a shadowy figure dressed