The Bridge

She traipsed down the hall to the bathroom at the end, calling over her shoulder. “It’s a good thing I have a small house.”

She tripped to a stop at the bathroom door and gasped. “Oh!”

With his heart thudding, Sean took two giant steps to join her. The room tilted and he slammed a hand against the doorjamb to stop the spinning.

Elise hooked a finger through his belt loop. “Wh-what does it mean?”

Sean’s eyes burned as he read the words on the bathroom mirror in red lipstick: Here we go again, Brody.

“I don’t know what it means.”

Sean ran the back of his hand across his mouth.

Oh, but he did. He knew exactly what it meant.

Chapter Three

Elise’s gaze edged from the lipstick words on her mirror to the cop’s reflection. Brody—that was his name. Why had someone scrawled it on her bathroom mirror along with a cryptic message?

She loosened her hold on his belt loop and crept closer to the vanity. Wedging her hands on the tile, she leaned toward the words on the glass.

“Don’t touch anything.”

“Oops!” She snatched her hands off the vanity. “Do you think he left fingerprints?”

“Maybe.”

The color had returned to Detective Brody’s face, but his expression remained hard and tight, alert. The tension vibrating from his body wrapped her in its coils, creating an ache in her shoulders.

She coughed. “It’s him, isn’t it? The man who abducted me.”

“He has, or at least had, your purse and your driver’s license. He found your house and used your key to get inside.”

His matter-of-fact words socked her in the gut. She sank to the edge of the tub and folded over to pin her forehead onto her knees.

Detective Brody crouched beside her, curling one warm hand around her bare calf. “You need to get your locks changed and get out of here for now.”

Poor small-town girl lost in the big city. Everyone back home had predicted she wouldn’t last six months here. She’d doubled that and would continue to prove them wrong.

Hot anger cascaded through her body, and she curled her hands into fists. She jerked her head up and pushed the hair out of her face. Time to take control of this situation.

She hadn’t been Ty’s victim back in Montana, and she didn’t plan to be anyone’s victim here in San Francisco despite what her family feared. It started with answers. It started with Brody.

She planted a finger on Detective Brody’s granitelike chest. “Why is this guy communicating with you? How does he even know you’re on this case?”

He blinked, his spiky lashes and dark eyes momentarily distracting her from her purpose.

Her finger drilled farther into his starched shirt. “I want some straight answers. Is this guy a serial killer? Has he been communicating with you?”

Brody shifted away from the accusatory finger and rose to his feet, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his gray slacks. “The only serial killer we have at work right now in the city is a guy killing transients. You’re hardly his typical victim.”

She ground her teeth together. “I’m nobody’s victim. I got away, remember?”

“I do.” He raised his eyebrows.

She didn’t expect him to understand the vehemence behind her words, and she didn’t care what he thought about it. “So, why is this guy sending you messages via my bathroom mirror? How did he know you’d be here, in my house?”

“A lot of serial killers follow other cases.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and lifted his shoulders. “I’ve been a homicide detective in the city for several years. My name’s been in the papers a few times. He obviously knows who I am and correctly figured I’d be working this case.”

Her gaze slid to his forearm, where the sleeve of his shirt hid the bird tattoo. Then she looked into his dark eyes, shuttered and secretive. Weren’t the criminals supposed to be the ones with the secrets, not the cops?

“And he knew you’d be here?”

“Maybe not, but he assumed you’d tell the cops about his little message.” He pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “I’m going to call this in, get a tech down here to dust for fingerprints.”

His expression and tone told her she’d get nothing more out of him. She smacked her hand against the doorjamb. “And I’m going to get my locks changed.”

“You’re going to stay here, in this house?”

She wedged her hands on her hips. “Where would I go? I’m a kindergarten teacher, not an heiress like London Breck. I can’t afford to camp out in a hotel until you catch this guy... If you catch this guy.”

“How about staying with a friend?”

“Indefinitely?” She jerked her thumb at the ceiling. “I have Oscar.”

“Oscar?”

“Oscar Chu, my landlord.” She formed a gun with her fingers and pointed at him. “I also have my .22.”

“You have a gun?”

“It’s in my closet and it’s unloaded, but yeah I have a gun and I know how to use it.” A smile pulled at one side of his mouth, and Elise narrowed her eyes. “You find it funny that I have a handgun? I can assure you it’s all legal.”

“I find it...awesome.” He tilted his phone toward her. “Get someone out here to change your locks then, and I’ll get a tech to dust for fingerprints in case this guy got even more careless than writing a message on a mirror.”

She tiptoed down the hallway and ducked into her office to retrieve her laptop to look up locksmiths in the area.

“After you call the locksmith, why don’t you check around to see if anything is missing? I’ll take a look at your doors and windows.”

She tapped her computer and called out, “My laptop’s still here, and I don’t think you’re going to find any signs of a break-in. It’s pretty apparent he used my key to get in.”

“Look around anyway.”

She pulled open a drawer in her dining nook where she kept a camera and her MP3 player. Both were undisturbed. “I don’t think he was interested in stealing anything, just game playing.”

“Obviously, he used your key. I’m not checking your doors and windows to see how he got in.”

She returned to the bathroom door with the laptop tucked under one arm. “What for then?”