“How do you work in here?”
“I’ve had worse. You can leave—I’ll call you when the files are uncoded.”
Kate was running a program to re-create every email that had passed through Roger Morton’s account. She needed to keep on top of it to prevent hiccups, and she was simultaneously grading tests from the current session of FBI recruits. Running this program had taken nearly three days. Noah would never have survived in cybercrimes.
Noah had decided to work from here rather than his cubicle downtown because he was still uncomfortable about pulling in someone to help who had such a twisted history with the victim. But Kate had been nothing if not professional. A bit hotheaded at times, but sharp.
“Where’s Abigail?” Kate asked.
“She’s been working all day on getting the GPS data from Morton’s car. It’s a federal holiday, not that you were looking at the calendar or anything.”
“I don’t see you taking the day off, Armstrong.”
The phone blinked but didn’t ring. Kate answered it. She listened for a minute, then said, “I didn’t see the logo on the truck. The delivery guy was five foot eleven, wore black pants, navy-blue jacket, red turtleneck underneath. Probably a sweater as well; I couldn’t see because the jacket was bulky. Green cap—white words …” She closed her eyes. “GW Florist. He had a long blond ponytail.… Yes, of course I’m sure it was a guy. Lucy, what’s wrong?”
The edge in Kate’s voice had Noah turning his attention to her phone conversation with Lucy.
Kate said into the receiver, “Don’t leave the house.… Dammit, Lucy!”
Kate stood and paced as far as the phone cord could go. “I want to talk to Sean.… Listen, Sean, I’m coming home as soon as I can. I don’t like this at all.… I can’t believe you let her go to WCF! … You’d damn well better keep an eye on her.” She slammed the receiver down.
“Is everything okay?”
“Just peachy. Lucy has a—”
“One sec,” he said as a new message popped up on his screen. “The ballistics from the Ralston homicide came back. No match to anything in the database.”
“Did they check it against Morton? That was recent—”
“They did. No match.”
Her computer beeped, and Kate turned to the screen. She grinned widely. “I’m a genius.” She pressed a few buttons. “It’s printing now. We have a lot of reading to do tonight. I want to take it home.”
“So is there something wrong?”
“You heard the call.”
“Couldn’t miss it.”
“It’s Lucy. I think she has a stalker. I need to follow up on some roses that were delivered. I’d assumed they were from Sean. They weren’t.”
After Lucy gave Sean a “tour” of WCF offices and he’d planted bugs in the conference room and Fran Buckley’s office, he left her there with the admonition not to leave the building until he returned. Then he drove back to Georgetown to GW Florist.
Sean walked into the small shop on Wisconsin. It was empty, except for a young female clerk behind the counter. He walked up and smiled.
“May I help you?” she asked.
Sean had considered different ways to get the information about who sent the flowers. Often, retail businesses wouldn’t share private customer information with just anyone. And while he could often flirt information out of women, it wasn’t a guarantee and he’d get only one chance.
He pulled his wallet out of his front pocket and opened to his private investigator’s license. “Sean Rogan, private investigator. I was retained by a woman who is being stalked. This morning, she received one dozen red roses delivered by one of your drivers. There was no signature, but the message disturbed her greatly. Do you have records of who ordered such a delivery?”
She looked closely at his identification and frowned. “I’m not supposed to give out any information.”
“I understand. I’ll file a police report on her behalf and they’ll come back with a warrant.” He pocketed his ID.
“I don’t know—well, I only work afternoons. I can call my mother, who owns the store.”
“Do you keep records of deliveries?”
“Of course.”
“I have the name and address the flowers were delivered to.”
She nodded. “I can look it up by delivery address.”
Sean gave her Lucy’s address and waited a minute while she typed. “Yes, we have one dozen long-stemmed red roses going to that address this morning.”
The tension in his stomach increased tenfold. “Do you have a name?” That he kept his voice professional was a testament to his training.
“Mr. Lorenzo was a walk-in customer and paid cash,” she said.
Sean straightened. “Lorenzo?” he snapped.
She fidgeted and stepped back. “Y-yes,” she said. Sean must have sounded furious, because she looked like a doe caught in the headlights.
“Cody Lorenzo?” he said, forcing himself to sound calm.
“Yes.”
What was Lorenzo up to? After accusing Lucy of getting Prenter killed, maybe—maybe—Sean could see him sending flowers to apologize. But there was no I’m sorry on the card. What was he doing watching Lucy at the ice rink? Why send a cryptic message? The cop had to know it would disturb her.
Yet it happened far too often—ex-boyfriends, and sometimes ex-girlfriends, unable to let go, resorting to stalking. And Lorenzo was a cop—they had access to information the average John Q. Public didn’t. When a cop turned stalker, it rarely ended well. They often used their resources to bully their victims.
Sean would not let Lucy be bullied by anyone, particularly Cody Lorenzo.
“Mr. Rogan?” The clerk bit her bottom lip.
Sean attempted to smile but wasn’t sure if he pulled it off. “Thanks. I may need to talk to the person who helped Mr. Lorenzo this morning, in case I have more questions.”
She handed over a card for the shop, with a number on the back. “That’s my mom’s number. She’ll also be here tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you for your time.” Sean handed her his card. He was still fuming about Lorenzo, unable to figure out what he was up to—other than scaring Lucy—but on his way out, some long-stemmed white daisies caught his eye.
Sean turned back to the clerk. “Can I get one of those daisies in a bud vase?”
TWENTY-THREE
Lucy was silent as Sean drove back to her house. She couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that Cody had sent her the flowers.
He must have followed them after church. It would also explain her intense feelings of being watched for the past couple of weeks. But they’d broken up last year! Why now? Because of Sean?
She felt ill. She’d trusted Cody—was her judgment about people that bad? How could she not know the truth when she saw Cody all the time?
She looked at the daisy in her hands and took a deep breath, doing her best to accept that Cody was stalking her.
Sean said, “The good news is that when confronted, most stalkers will sulk but stop their harassment. Lorenzo has a lot to lose; he’ll back off.”
“You’re probably right,” she said quietly.
“You going to be okay?”
“We were friends. I thought so anyway. How could I be so wrong about him?”
“This isn’t about you, Lucy, I don’t have to tell you that. It’s about him.”
In her head she understood that, but her heart told her she was an idiot to have trusted Cody for so many years. To have dated him. Slept with him. He’d been so good to her.
I will not cry.
Sean stopped his car in front of her narrow house. “Come here,” he said, taking her hand, kissing it, then kissing her lips. “We’ll fix this. I promise. I know it hurts, but you’re strong, Luce. I’ll talk to him—”