Code Name: Genesis (Jameson Force Security #1)(24)

Sadly, that hadn’t happened.

“…copies of the letters and I’ll get them analyzed, but Kitchner doesn’t put any stock into this being a serial type thing.”

Blinking, I try to focus on Rachel. “I’m sorry… what?”

She rolls her eyes, and she’s the only employee I’d let get away with doing that. “You clearly weren’t listening to me. I was telling you that I met with Detective Kitchner yesterday. He let me go through the evidence they’ve collected, which is pitifully little. Mostly just the gifts he’d left Joslyn, which included one eviscerated cat he’d hung on her gate and they have in freezer storage.”

“And you said he doesn’t think this guy has done it before?” I prompt, proving I was listening… somewhat. “Why not?”

Rachel shrugs. “The detective thinks when the stalker told Joslyn that she was his favorite, it was just taunting.”

“And this detective bases that on what?”

She shrugs again. “I got the distinct impression he had bigger fish to fry. Given the lack of any fingerprints or DNA left behind, I doubt he’s going to put much work into this situation right now.”

“Typical,” I growl, then take a sip of coffee. Just as I’m lowering the mug, I see Joslyn over the rim.

Her hair is wet, face scrubbed of makeup, and there are dark circles under her eyes. She apparently got as little sleep as I had.

Wearing a pair of gray leggings and an off-the-shoulder white t-shirt, she’s easily the most beautiful thing I’ve ever beheld. Barely looks a day older than nineteen.

Her eyes hold mine as she steps into the kitchen, and there’s definitely an awkward tension. I try to break the ice by updating her on what Rachel had found out from Kitchner.

“Without any fingerprints or DNA to go on right now, we’ve got barely anything to help us identify this guy.”

Joslyn doesn’t flinch or give anything away in her expression. She rounds the island and comes toward me. I’m presuming for a cup of coffee.

“But that’s all moot.” I mean for it to be reassuring—a testament to the fact I intend to lure this asshole right into a trap.

Joslyn merely continues until she’s right in front of me, then cocks her hand back and slaps me across the face. It’s hard enough to force my head to snap sideways.

“Oh, damn,” Rachel murmurs. A brief glance at Bebe shows she’s frozen, gaping from behind her laptop.

I settle my astonished attention on Joslyn. Her eyes are flaming with indignation as she mutters, “You’re an asshole, Kynan McGrath. In the future, do your job and keep your hands to yourself. You do that, and we’re good. Got me?”

The flush of anger and embarrassment layer on top of the heated imprint her hand left behind, but I merely nod as I grit out, “I got you.”

“Good,” she says with an icy smile before turning to her cabinet for a coffee mug.

Rachel raises an eyebrow, but I just shrug. Bebe returns to furiously typing on her keyboard.

The doorbell rings, and Joslyn puts her cup down. “That will be Lynn and Harry. I’ll go let them in.”

I grab the coffee pot, lean over, and fill her cup, pointedly ignoring Rachel, whose eyes I can still feel on me. I’m sure wanting to know why in the hell our client just slapped me. Ordinarily, as an employer, I’d worry about it, but Rachel knows my history with Joslyn.

I’m saved from having to meet her gaze by Joslyn returning to the kitchen with Lynn and a smartly dressed man who appears to be in his early thirties.

There are no introductions made. The man is carrying a large vase of fresh flowers—sunflowers to be exact—which are Joslyn’s favorites. It’s strange, the trivial things we remember from years ago.

For a moment, I have a flash of jealousy over her publicist bringing her flowers. She didn’t indicate they were in a relationship, but then I notice how pale Joslyn is.

When Harry sets the vase on the counter, I survey the sunflowers. “These were sitting at the edge of the front yard that borders the neighbor. I thought it was odd they were just sitting there, so I stopped to examine them more closely.”

Lynn’s hand flutters near her throat. “They’re from him.”

Reaching out, I snatch the plain white card that’s stuck in a plastic holder with no envelope. It doesn’t identify a flower shop, and it only has two simple words. Welcome home.

“Maybe they’re not meant for Joslyn,” Harry says hesitantly. It’s evident by his voice he really, really wants to believe that.

But I know they’re meant for Joslyn. We all do.

Turning to Bebe, I order, “Pull up the camera feed for that quadrant.”

“Already on it,” she says from a position hunched over her keyboard. I walk around the island to come up behind her. Rachel, Joslyn, Lynn, and Harry all do the same.

Bebe pulls up the footage, then starts a visual rewind. I watch the clock move backward in fast motion, catching the occasional stray car driving by.

“There,” Rachel exclaims. Bebe stops the rewind, playing the footage. We all lean forward and watch.

Just on the very outside edge of the screen, a hooded figure appears. The motion trips the camera’s spotlight to come on, illuminating the figure.

He’s carrying the vase of sunflowers, then sets them carefully on the grass before turning away and disappearing off the screen.