Reunited By Danger. Carol J. Post

the others wasn’t going to stop until he was caught. Or they were all dead.

      “All right.” She heaved a sigh. “If I’m not driving around town, answering touristy questions and keeping people from speeding, I’ll make sure I’m with someone.”

      Hunter’s mouth curved into a relieved smile. “Thank you. I’ll breathe much easier.”

      She closed the door and watched him walk to the SUV. He only got into her business because he loved her. And she loved him, although he annoyed her sometimes.

      She started the car and made her way toward downtown. Her shift would soon be over. She’d go by the station, write up her report then head for home.

      When she pulled into her driveway thirty minutes later, three of her cats were sitting in the front windows, having weaved in behind the vertical blind slats. Tippy occupied a windowsill by herself. Smokey and Ash, the gray sisters, shared the second. Cimba and Shadow were likely sleeping on the couch.

      Of the five, only Tippy was hers. The other four were visitors, cats she was fostering for Sheltering Hands. Over the past several months, a dozen others had passed through her place on their way to forever homes.

      She retrieved her purse from the passenger seat and her gaze slid across the lower right-hand corner of the windshield. Something white was tucked under the tip of the wiper blade.

      As she stepped from the vehicle, dread trickled over her. No one seemed to be watching, but she couldn’t be sure. Woods lined Hodges Avenue and most of the streets running off it—165th Terrace was no exception. Maybe she should have rented something a little more open.

      She moved to the back of the RAV4 to retrieve a pair of latex gloves. What lay jammed beneath the wiper blade wasn’t an advertisement or note from someone she knew. It had been placed too inconspicuously. It was folded in eighths, its size and location almost guaranteeing she’d be the one to discover it. In fact, she’d almost missed it herself.

      After donning the gloves, she pulled the paper from the glass and took it inside the house.

      Block print filled the page. Six lines. As she read what she held, her blood turned to ice.

      She laid the sheet on the table and took her phone from her purse. She could call Caleb directly and leave Hunter out of it. No, Caleb was probably asleep, getting his rest before going in to work all night. She needed to go through the proper channels, which meant reporting it to her own police department.

      When she opened the door several minutes later, Hunter frowned at her. “What’s going on?”

      “Come in and I’ll show you.” She led him to the table and pointed to the sheet of paper. “Someone slipped this under my wiper blade at the station.”

      As he read, she followed along.

      One by one, the days tick by.

      One by one, the moments fly.

      One by one, plans are set.

      One by one, goals are met.

      One by one, mistakes are made.

      And one by one, debts are paid.

      Hunter’s eyes met hers. He was still frowning. “What do you think it means?”

      “Like the other poem, it’s referencing our successes.”

      “And the mistakes?”

      “Ramona’s mistake was opening the door. For Alex, it was venturing up on that balcony.”

      “And with each death, a debt was paid.”

      Her gaze dipped to the page. “I wonder if the others got this.”

      “If not, I’m even more concerned.”

      Her eyes again locked with his. “Why?”

      “It might mean you’re next.”

      * * *

      Caleb dried his plate and put it in the cupboard. Voices drifted to him from the living room, an evening sitcom he had no intention of watching. But conversation, no matter how senseless, made the house feel less lonely.

      He closed the cabinet door and left the kitchen. He’d finished dinner. Or maybe it would be breakfast, since he’d gotten up only two hours ago. When most of the eastern US was getting ready for bed, his day was just starting. Eventually he’d put in for days. But after several weeks, he was pretty used to the backward schedule.

      When he came into the living room, a set of green eyes and a pair of dark brown ones followed him. He walked toward the recliner and excitement rippled along the dog’s back. Rescued a year ago, Kira was a beagle mix who loved cuddling, chasing squirrels and eating, in that order. As soon as his body met the leather surface, the dog landed in his lap with a whoomph.

      He laughed and scratched her neck. “Good thing you’re not a Saint Bernard or I’d be in trouble.”

      Not willing to share a lap with a dog, Tess jumped onto the arm of the recliner and began to purr. Caleb slid his fingers through her silky gray fur before reaching for the remote. As usual, he’d brought work home. One file sat on the kitchen table, still open from where he’d been reading it at dinnertime. The other was on the end table next to him. Sometimes things that eluded him at the station came to him in the comfort of his home. Reviewing work also made a great way to pass the evening.

      He lowered the volume on the TV and laid down the remote. But instead of reaching for the file, he shifted his weight under Kira’s white, tan and black body to pull his cell phone from its pouch. He didn’t have anything new to tell Amber. When he’d gone in last night, he’d relayed what she and her friends had told him about Logan. Someone would make contact with him today.

      Caleb had also printed the investigative reports connected with Landon Cleary’s murder. Nothing had jumped out at him. Amber and her friends had given statements. Each person’s story confirmed the others’. One hundred percent. Either they were all telling the truth or they’d coordinated everything before giving their statements to police. Caleb’s gut told him it was the latter. Something was fishy. Raymond’s actions at the Gathering Table had confirmed it.

      Caleb had phoned him last night. Judging from the man’s slurred speech, the call had caught him well into his evening binge. That should have worked in Caleb’s favor. But Raymond had stuck by the same line he’d given after Vincent’s warning glare. The booze hadn’t loosened his tongue at all. He obviously functioned well while drunk.

      Caleb brought up his contacts and scrolled to where Amber Kingston was listed first. After their meeting yesterday, he’d finally programmed her number into his phone. She was his main contact, the one most likely to tell him what he wanted to know. She was directly involved and had an inside link with the others. And she was fellow law enforcement. It made sense to stay in close touch with her.

      As he pressed the call icon, his pulse picked up a notch. Okay, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit it. He was keeping in touch with her for all the professional reasons, but she intrigued him, too. Former bad girl turned cop. Expressive green eyes that revealed her emotions but shielded her secrets. An air that radiated confidence but a sense of regret that ran beneath the surface.

      She answered with a “Hi, Caleb” instead of a generic hello. Maybe she’d programmed him into her phone, too.

      Kira shifted in his lap. “You still awake?”

      “For about another twenty minutes. What are you up to?”

      “Sitting in my recliner buried under twenty-five pounds of canine sweetness.”

      “Aww. I like dogs, but I’m more of a cat person.”

      “I have one of those, too.”

      “I have...more than one.” She paused. “Do they get along, your dog and cat?”

      “I don’t know if get along is the right way to describe