LITMIR.BIZ

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the messages on his phone.

      “I’ll bet you are.”

      “Thanks so much for letting me stay with you. I’m sorry I led a killer to your doorstep.”

      “How were you supposed to know the creep had bugged your car? Are you going to stay there with Detective Tall, Dark and Handsome until this guy is caught, or what?”

      “I’m thinking of taking my vacation a little early.”

      Without looking up from his phone, Sean flashed her a thumbs-up.

      Courtney concurred. “I think that’s a great idea. Oscar should be home next week and I think that he’ll be around all summer, not that he would be much help in an emergency, but at least you won’t be coming home to an empty house.”

      “Maybe it’ll be safe by then.”

      “Oops. Hold on a minute. The restaurant where I just ordered my dinner is calling me. They forgot to take my address.” The phone beeped on the other end and then Courtney came back on the line. “Four twenty-five, eighth floor.”

      “What?”

      “Oh, sorry. Wrong line.”

      “You sound busy.”

      Courtney huffed out a breath. “It’s that needy new client. I’m seeing him after hours again.”

      “Well, you go figure out his craziness. I’ll talk to you later.”

      She ended the call and pointed her phone at Sean. “Anything new?”

      “I called for the autopsy report on Dr. Patrick.”

      “And?”

      “Preliminary report suggests heart attack.”

      “Then maybe that’s all it was—a heart attack and bad timing.”

      “A heart attack and an incredible coincidence.” He stretched and perched on the edge of a bar stool. “Is Courtney working late tonight?”

      “Yes, her demanding new client.”

      “That’s a whole lotta crazy I couldn’t handle.”

      “And that’s from someone who gets a package with a finger in it.”

      “Come here.” He crooked his finger at her.

      She eased out of the chair and sauntered toward him, his dark eyes drawing her like a magnet.

      He drew her between his open legs and pinned her. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re safe.”

      “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you, Sean.” She rested her hands on his thighs and leaned in to kiss his lips.

      His legs tightened around her thighs. “Let’s go out and get something to eat. It’s getting late, and we both have to work tomorrow.”

      Nodding, she slipped away from his clinch, missing her opportunity to ask him about their future. She didn’t want to push him into anything. Right now they needed each other, but when that need ended, what did they have?

      “You okay?” He chucked her under the chin.

      “Greek.”

      “What?”

      “I want to try that Greek restaurant, if that’s okay with you and if it’s still open this late.”

      “Greek it is. I think they stay open until eleven for dinner.”

      An hour later they were sitting at a corner table in a noisy establishment in North Beach.

      “I can’t believe it’s so crowded at this time of night—and on a Wednesday.” Elise leaned across the table. “Are they going to start breaking plates?”

      “Do you want them to?”

      She scooped more tapenade onto her plate. “That’s okay.”

      Sean checked his phone for about the third time since they sat down to dinner.

      “Are you expecting a call or a message? Something about Dr. Patrick?”

      “I sent my brother—the FBI agent—a text about Dr. Patrick.”

      “So, let me get this straight. You’re a homicide detective, you have one brother who’s a P.I. and another who’s FBI?”

      “That’s right.”

      “What’s the fourth one?”

      “Actually Ryan is the third one, and he’s the police chief of Crestview.”

      “I guess the Brody blood really does run blue. Is there something the FBI agent can do in his position to get more information?”

      “Not sure, but I’m asking.”

      She felt in her purse for her own phone. “Courtney was going to check in with me when she finished with her client.”

      She checked the display, but Courtney hadn’t called or texted.

      “Did she call? She’s more than welcome to join us for dinner. We haven’t gotten to the main course yet, and her office is close by, isn’t it?”

      “I’ll invite her if she ever finishes up with this client. She hasn’t called yet.”

      “She sure goes all out for her patients, doesn’t she?”

      “She comes across as a party girl, but she’s really very serious about her work and very caring. And since she’s a therapist, she calls them clients instead of patients.”

      “She can’t prescribe medication, but I’m sure she has some clients that need it, right?”

      “She refers them to a doctor she works with. She’s had a few certifiably crazy clients, and she ended up transferring them to a psychiatrist she knows.”

      “Must be hard to deal with the really crazy ones.”

      “I don’t think crazy is the term the professionals use.” She bit into her cracker and dabbed her mouth with a napkin.

      “Well, that’s the term cops use.” Sean drew his brows over his nose. “You did say Courtney’s office was nearby, right?”

      “Yeah, the address is forty-two something or four, two, something on Market.”

      Sean balanced his fork on the edge of his plate. “What floor is she on?”

      His voice was so low it barely cut through the din, but the urgency behind the words had her looking up from her plate sharply.

      “Floor? I don’t remember.” She gave up trying to stab the olive with her fork and pinched it between her fingers instead. “Why are you asking? Are you suggesting we bring the food to her?”

      “No, I...”

      She snapped her fingers. “Wait. She was getting food delivered to her office, and she thought I was the delivery guy and she rattled off her address and floor number. It was four, two something and the eighth floor, but I don’t think she needs...” She trailed off, her gut twisting at Sean’s tight face. “What is it?”

      “The message, Elise. The message from the Alphabet Killer. Fifty-one plus fifty equal 187. Forty-two plus fifty-eight equal 187.”

      She blinked and gulped some water to wash down the sour taste of fear. “I don’t get it.”

      “We already guessed that the fifty-one, fifty might mean crazy, as in the type of clients Courtney might see. If her address is four, two, five on the eighth floor—forty-two plus fifty-eight—we have a problem.”

      She’d already shoved back from the table. “You mean Courtney has a problem. She’s in danger.”

      Sean pulled out his wallet and

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