Page 13 of Beneath the Scars

"And you got flowers? Did that have a note too?" His frown intensifies as he looks across the large room for the offending flowers.

"Yeah. But I'm afraid I sent it away with the flowers. I have terrible allergies to the pollen, so I asked Karl to take them to the doctor's lounge. Someone else should be allowed to enjoy them. And honestly, I feel better not having the flowers with me after that card."

Agent Scott's eyes blaze with an emotion I can't name, and he carefully places the card down on the table, his hands clenching at his sides as he takes a careful breath.

"Would Karl be able to retrieve the note for me?" His controlled, crisp tone sends another shiver down my spine.

"Agent Scott, do I have to be more worried than I already am?"

"Doctor Gale. Lillian. Sorry, my intention is not to scare you. However, the coincidence of you getting these gifts at the same time as The Cat dropping a body in Portland is just something we can't dismiss."

His words do the opposite of whatever the fucking hell it is he intended. My entire body is frozen solid, and my heartbeat accelerates to the point where I force myself to take a seat for fear that I might pass out.

"We don't have any fingerprints or DNA for the killer, but we've been receiving notes from him for a while now. Language experts at the bureau might be able to compare the samples from your notes to those we have." The tall, muscular man leans over my desk, and somehow, instead of scaring me more, his confident presence soothes and makes me feel safer. "But, I can tell you, with none of our previous victims, has anything like this happened before, so the chances are slim that it is connected."

I let out a breath I wasn't even aware I was holding. "Is that a good or a bad thing?"

He smiles at me, and the simple expression—not that Agent Scott's smile can be described as simple in any way—sends my heart rate skyrocketing again. "Definitely a good thing, Lillian. Now, when do you get off work? I'd like to escort you home so we can check for the other note and then take you to a hotel. Just to be safe."

"Do you really think I need to stay in a hotel?" I ask him even though the suggestion is a huge relief, because I felt like a coward for thinking along those same lines.

"I think it's probably better to be safe than sorry. The one I'm staying at isn't too far away from the hospital, and it's affordable." He chuckles and shrugs, a sheepish look on his face. "Affordable is the only thing the bureau does well. Regardless, if you don't need fancy, I'm sure they'll have rooms available, and I'll feel a little better knowing I'm close by in case you need me."

My mouth slips up in a reluctant smile, and I look at him, for the first time noticing the little flecks of green in his eyes.

Dammit. I do not need to be attracted to the fancy, arrogant, full-of-himself FBI agent—the same FBI agent who seems kind, patient, and incredibly helpful.

"I can do affordable, as long as it's comfortable."

His smile widens at my agreement, and he looks at the huge black-and-white clock on the back wall. "So, what time do you knock off?"

At his reminder of my work, I realize I don't know why he's here.

"Uh. In about an hour. And as much as I appreciate you showing up when you did, why did you show up?"

His smile falls slightly as he takes out his phone. "Uh. Yeah. The case. I was wondering if you had some spare time to help me out. I have the files from the autopsies on the previous victims. Would you mind looking them over for me? Maybe you might see some correlations or connections we've missed, especially considering the change in MO."

His request has merit, and I nod to show I'm listening as I wake up my computer. His fingers fly over the screen, and within seconds, my emails ping with a notification from SSA Byron Scott.

Huh. So, the annoying Agent has something to be arrogant about. I've never known a Supervisory Special Agent not to show off their title.

"I can start going through things now," I tell him as I click on the first file. The folder starts downloading as I look up at him. "Karl should be back soon, then I can send him to find the note for you. I'm between cases right now, and there's little point in starting one an hour before home time, anyway. Would you mind if I took this and worked from the hotel?"

Putting his phone back in his pocket, he straightens his suit jacket. "If you're going to be working on it after hours, the least I can do is feed you while you do it." Before I can protest, he shakes his head at me. "No, really. As we're in the same hotel anyway, it will be easier to work on it together."

He has a point, so I agree, and he leaves with the promise to return within the hour to follow me home.

It's stupid. I know it is. It's the twenty-first century, and I'm a card-carrying feminist. But knowing that a big bad FBI agent will be looking after me tonight smoothes out some of the rough edges I wasn't even aware I had.

Chapter Twelve

Lillian

Nervousbutterflieshavetakenresidence in my stomach. I haven't felt like this since my first date in college, and the stupid frat boy made it clear that taking me out on a date was nothing more than a dare from his brothers that he wouldn't take the dog out.

I don't like it.

Byron—as he told me to call him—came back to the morgue within the hour, exactly as promised. He took a quick photo of the note Karl had retrieved and sent it off to some kind of gizmo at his office before walking me to my car.

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