Sacrificial Muse (A Sabrina Vaughn Novel) by Maegan Beaumont Page A

painfully obvious there never would be. She was the home he could never go back to.
    Michael shrugged. “I’ll probably hop a flight to Miami—”
    “Unless that sentence ends with and bang a bunch of hot chicks, I don’t want to hear it.” Ben polished off his beer and stood. “Last chance—I’ve got my Lear gassed up and waiting on the tarmac.”
    My Lear. Michael shook his head and laughed. “Not interested,” he said.
    “Alright … I’ll wait as long as it takes me to shower and pack my toothbrush,” Ben said, heading toward his room. “But after that, you’re on your own.”

FIFTEEN
    Sabrina cleaned off her desk while Strickland examined the card. He didn’t look it, but her partner was as sharp as they came. If there was something to see that she missed, he’d find it.
    “This was in the bag Mathews gave you yesterday?” he said, turning the envelope over in his hands to pull out the card.
    “Yeah.” She picked up a styrofoam box that smelled like barbeque and tossed it in the trash. “I don’t have any proof, but I’m almost positive it’s from the same guy who called me yesterday.”
    “No postmark … whoever it was must’ve dropped it off,” Strickland said.
    She nodded. “I get bags a few times a week, so it must’ve been within the last couple of days. I’m hoping the kid at the info desk will remember something.” If he ever shows up for work.
    “You dust it for prints?” He flipped the card open and studied the word inside. She’d already told him what it was and what it meant, but he kept looking at it.
    “No. It’s been handled by a half a dozen people … besides, I’m sure he wore gloves,” she said, tossing a coffee cup in after the box.
    “Yeah, they all wear gloves these days—thank you CSI: Miami ,” Strickland said, slipping the card back into its sleeve. “And Croft just happened to be there—ready to offer up a translation, huh?”
    She stopped cleaning and looked up. “You think he sent it?”
    Strickland shrugged. “Possible. Could be trying to yank your chain. Shake a story loose. He’s been after you for the past eight months with nothing to show for it. Maybe he’s tired of waiting.”
    She laughed. “Nothing to show for it? Is that what you call the couple dozen stories he’s ran on me? The trips to Jessup? Poking around in my old life?”
    “Not that it did him any good.” Strickland shrugged. “It’s not like anyone who knew anything would talk to him.”
    He was right. Tommy, her high-school boyfriend, had assaulted Croft when he showed up in the small, east Texas town she once lived in, looking for an interview. When the cops showed up, it’d been Croft who’d been arrested for creating a public disturbance. He’d spent the night in a holding cell. Jed Carson, Jessup’s chief of police, had given him a ride to the airport with a polite yet firm warning to stay out of Jessup.
    “So, the note, the flowers … you think it’s all Croft, trying to get a story?” she said, hoping that the more she said it, the easier it would be to believe. It wasn’t working.
    “Makes sense, right?” Strickland flicked the card onto his desk, where it landed on top of a half-eaten bag of Fritos. “He’s a permanent fixture around here. He could’ve easily slipped the card behind the desk.”
    “I don’t know, Strick. I talked to this guy—he didn’t sound like Croft. He sounded—”
    “Crazy? I’m sure that was the point.” Strickland chuckled.
    A scowl settled onto her face. “No, not crazy. Serious. He sounded serious.”
    “When it comes to you, Croft is all kinds of serious,” he said. “Besides, didn’t you say he disguised his voice? The only reason someone would do that is if they were afraid you’d recognize it.”
    “Yeah … maybe,” she said, shuffling papers into a pile. The one on top had Strickland’s shoeprint on it. She took a closer look at it, and felt her gut drop to her boots. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit .”