Page 63 of Toxic

Hurt the ones they love.

Who do you think is next?

You’re a mystery writer. Figure it out.

All my love,

Trey

CONNOR SHIVERED ASthe first drops of rain pelted him. He sighed and got up. Rare for Seattle, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, jagged and silver. Immediately, a low rumble of thunder sounded. Omens? Connor wondered.

No sleep would come tonight. He walked, beaten, off the one-way street and headed in through the parking garage side-door entrance to his building. Traversing the oil-stained concrete floor, he wished he could erase all the events in his life, starting with last Thanksgiving, and begin anew.

He placed his key in the lock of the metal door that went from the garage into the building proper—and found it didn’t work. He hadn’t used it in ages since he rarely entered the building this way. He pulled it out, staring down at it, as though it were a living thing and could explain why, after so many years, it was suddenly being contrary. The key was the only silver one on his ring, so he knew this wasn’t a mistake. He tried again.

The key didn’t work.

Keys just don’t stop working on their own. What fuckery is this?

Connor shivered, feeling Trey peering over his shoulder, breath on Connor’s neck, even though Connor fully knew he was alone.

The conclusion he drew was that Trey had swapped out keys, just to make things complicated—to be a prick.

Connor sighed and left the garage the same way he’d come in. Outside, he took the long way around, up the hill to the south of his building, and then down Dexter Avenue to the front door.

He let himself in with no trouble.

Inside the condo, it was quiet. The only light came from a floor lamp near his reading chair. Miranda must have left it on for him after she’d told him the tragic and shocking news about Steve.

She understood Connor when he said he needed air, time alone, and he didn’t know when he’d be back.

He was glad the place was still. It meant Miranda had gone to bed.

She needed to know what he’d read in the letter. And, if they were dealing with anyone else other than a psychopathic lunatic stalker, he would have waited until morning. But he didn’t know if they could afford the luxury of waiting, even for only a few hours.

The one thing he knew for sure now was that he had to watch out for her, especially. Protect her, maybe even more than he had when she was a little girl and faced the perils of two-wheelers, bullies, playgrounds, and hard sidewalks. Trey had made it clear—he was coming for her.

Sleep was out of the question for tonight—and maybe for many nights in the future.

And he doubted Miranda was asleep.

He tapped on her bedroom door, softly, so if shehadreceived the blessing of slumber, she wouldn’t awaken.

“Come on in, Daddy.”

He opened the door and found her sitting up in bed, the little mica-shaded lamp on the nightstand giving off a warm glow. For a moment, he saw the little girl she’d been, waiting for her father to bring her a glass of water, tuck her in, and read her another chapter from one ofThe Wizard of Ozseries of books. Her long red hair hadn’t changed much, and the fuzzy pink nightgown she wore reinforced the impression of childlike innocence.

Connor’s heart broke.

“I want to share something with you.” He held up the letter.

“What is it?” She cocked her head and then groped for the glasses on her nightstand. She held her hands out.

He handed her the paper. He was careful; the thing in his hands felt more like a poisonous snake than a missive. He hated placing such threatening filth in his daughter’s hand, but he had no other choice—it was for her own safety.

“Before you start reading, I’m only sharing this with you because you need to know.”

He said no more, hovering nearby to gauge her reaction. He could tell from her eye movement and the timing that she’d read the letter at least twice. She betrayed no emotion, yet when she at last looked up, tears stood in her eyes. The hand holding the note gave off a telltale tremble.

---