Wanting to know more about my mother’s case and determining the best way to gain access to her file were two very different things. Twenty-four hours after Dean had confirmed my impression of our UNSUB, I was still empty-handed.
“Well, well, well …”
I heard Lia’s voice, but refused to turn around and watch her make an entrance. Instead, I focused on the grain of the kitchen table and the sandwich on my plate.
“Somebody got a package in the mail,” Lia singsonged. “I took the liberty of opening it for you, and voilà. A box within a box.” She sat down next to me and placed a rectangular gift box in front of her on the table. “A secret admirer, perhaps?” There was an envelope on top of the box, and Lia picked it up and dangled the card in front of me.
My name was written on the envelope, the letters evenly spaced with just a hint of curl to them, like the person who’d written them was torn between writing in cursive and writing in print.
“You really are incredibly popular, aren’t you?” Lia said. “It defies all logic. I assumed you were just the new shiny. In a program with so few students, it would be weirder if the new girl didn’t draw attention from the opposite sex. But neither Michael nor Dean would have a reason to mail you a package, so I can only infer that your, shall we say, appeal isn’t limited to people who live here.”
I tuned Lia out and looked at the box. It was matte black with a perfectly fitted lid. A black ribbon had been wrapped around the box twice, forming a cross shape on the front. In the center of the cross, the ribbon curled into a bow.
“Did I hear my name?” Michael sauntered over to join us. “Don’t you just hate it when you walk into the room and everyone’s talking about you?” His eyes landed on the gift, and the smile on his face turned plastic and sharp.
“Somebody’s not fond of competition,” Lia said.
“And somebody is a lot more vulnerable than she lets on,” Michael replied without missing a beat. “Your point?”
That shut Lia up—temporarily. I looked back down at the box and ran my finger along the edge of the ribbon.
Silk.
“You didn’t send this?” I asked Michael, my voice catching in my throat.
“No,” Michael replied with a roll of his eyes. “I really didn’t.”
There wasn’t a person in my family who would have sent me a package wrapped up in silk, and I couldn’t think of anyone else who would want to send me a care package.
Michael hadn’t sent it.
Dean wasn’t the gift-giving type.
I turned to Lia. “You sent this.”
“Not true.” She stared at me for a second, then made a grab for the card.
“Don’t—” I started to say. My words fell on deaf ears. She plucked a plain white note card from the envelope and cleared her throat.
“From me, to you.” Lia arched an eyebrow and tossed the card back on the table. “How romantic.”
A chill crawled up my spine. My breath felt hot in my lungs, but my hands were freezing cold. The package, the ribbon, the bow tied just so …
Something isn’t right.
“Cassie?” Michael must have seen it on my face. He leaned toward me. I glanced at Lia, but for once, she had nothing to say. Slowly, I brought my hand up to the ribbon. I pulled, and it fell away into a graceful black heap on the table.
Now that I’d started, I couldn’t stop. I hooked my fingers around the lid of the box. I pulled it off and set it gingerly to the side. White tissue paper, meticulously folded, lay inside.
“What is it?”
I ignored Lia’s question. I reached into the box. I unwrapped the tissue paper.
And then I screamed.
Nestled in the tissue paper was a lock of red hair.
