“A date. Just a chance to catch up.”
“No reason. I’m working here. Where I was when you left.”
“But you graduated from college in the meantime. Came back to Savannah and seem to be making a name for yourself.”
She didn’t respond.
“I thought you might have married.”
“You thought wrong.”
“You’re not even going to ask about me, are you?” He tossed the paperweight into the air. Caught it deftly.
“I don’t think there’s any reason.”
/> “Are you involved with someone?”
“Not now.”
“Have you been?”
“Look, Sean, this is really none of your business and I’ve got work to do.”
“So, let’s meet for a drink when you get off.”
“Don’t you have somewhere you’re supposed to be?”
His grin slid from one side of his jaw to the other. “Not today.”
“This just isn’t a good idea.”
“One drink won’t kill you.” His smile was almost boyishly charming and there was the hint of the devil in his eyes, just as there had been way back when.
Her cell phone jangled and she said, “I really do have to go.”
As she reached for the phone, he grabbed her wrist. “I’ll call, Nikki.” Then he released her and from the other side of the partition she heard Trina whisper, “Oh, my.”
“You want him? You can have him,” Nikki said, watching as Sean sauntered out of the building, his faded jeans tight over his buttocks, his boot heels unworn, his jacket without a scratch. He was almost too perfect. And he’d broken her heart…The phone rang again and she answered. The call was from one of the women with the historical society making sure that Nikki had all the facts straight on a tour of homes that would be open during the Christmas season. Nikki double-checked the information, then hung up.
Finally, she was free to log on to her computer again. She’d been halfway through her E-mail earlier and now finished reading the new messages that were waiting. She was nearly done when she clicked on one with a subject line of GRAVE ROBBER STRIKES AGAIN. Though she didn’t recognize the return E-mail address, she clicked on the mail.
Her heart stopped. The newsroom faded into the background as she stared at the horrible images on her screen, pictures of four people—the victims of the Grave Robber, she felt certain—that disintegrated to bones before her eyes. The message was simple:
WILL THERE BE MORE?
UNTIL THE TWELFTH,
NO ONE CAN BE SURE.
She was suddenly as cold as if she’d been dropped into the North Atlantic.
What the hell did the message mean?
Was the Grave Robber talking to her?
Or…or was it a prank?
Her mind raced. Hadn’t Cliff said just last night that the Grave Robber had sent Reed notes?…What about E-mail? Oh, God. What was the return path…? She tried to respond. The message could be a hoax, of course. Lots of people these days got their jollies by sending spam, but she had a sense, an intuition that the killer was reaching out to her. Because of her stories. Because she’d named him. Paid attention. Somehow puffed up his sick ego.