But it hadn’t been. He knew that for sure.

And there was only one person who could confirm that for him.

“What’s wrong?”

He looked up. Liz stood in the doorway. She had changed into a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. She looked scared.

“Change of plans,” he murmured. “I need to make a call.”

Ten minutes later, Rick thanked his old friend and hung up the phone. The medical examiner had not been happy about Rick waking him in the middle of the night. He’d made it clear it had better not happen again.

But he had told Rick what he wanted to know.

“What did he say?” Liz asked, tone almost painfully anxious. “Did Tara have a flower tattooed on her thigh?”

“Yup. Inner left. Daniel couldn’t recall exactly what it looked like.”

She clasped her hands together. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Only inconvenient.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Inconvenient because my old buddy made a sketch of it, but the only way I’m going to get a look at it is to drive to Marathon. I’ll go first thing in the morning.”

“And if Tara ’s tattoo matches the drawing from my sister’s journal, what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

CHAPTER 29

Sunday, November 18

1:00 p.m.

Liz paced. The night before, she had agreed that Rick would drive to Marathon and she would stay behind, just in case Mark called. She had agreed they would wait until after he had seen the medical examiner’s sketch of Tara ’s tattoo to decide what their next step would be. They had agreed what they both needed was some sleep.

Now Liz wondered what she had been thinking. She hated this uncertainty. She hated waiting here-with nothing to do but worry-while Rick took action. She had never been one to sit back and wait for others to solve her problems.

As for sleep, that had been a joke. After Rick left, she had crawled into bed-and proceeded to stare at the ceiling for the next three hours, mind racing. She’d agonized about Mark’s whereabouts, about her sister and Tara ’s fate, about the factual or real existence of the Horned Flower.

When she had exhausted topics, she had focused on Rick. What was his story? He was a smart guy, that was clear. He had a passion for police work, that too was clear. She wondered why he had left it. The pay? Had he been hurt in the line of duty or become disillusioned by the legal system? She wondered, too, about the photographs she had seen in his office, the one of the pretty blonde and the cute little boy.

Finally, as the sun tipped over the horizon, totally disgusted with herself, she had climbed out of bed and headed to the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee. That had been a half-dozen cups ago. Her stomach burned and her head ached. She felt each of the sleepless hours of the night before. Thirty-three was too old to pull an all-nighter, she decided.

Liz stopped pacing. Anxious, she crossed to the front windows and looked out at the clear, bright day. What was happening? she wondered. Rick had promised to call the minute he had seen the ME’s sketch of Tara ’s tattoo. She glanced at her watch and made a sound of disgust. He might not even have arrived yet. Marathon was a good two-hour drive from Key West and she was uncertain what time he’d left.

The scream of a horn dragged her back to the moment. She looked at the street. Heather was darting across, a foil-covered plate in her hands. Liz threw up her window. “Hey, you! You have a death wish or something?”

“Hey to you, too!” She held up the plate. “I come bearing gifts. Key lime cookies.”

“Be right down.”

A moment later Liz swung open the door. Heather held out the plate. “I made them myself.”

“You’re beautiful, successful and you bake?” Liz said, taking the plate. “Excuse me while I turn pea green.”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I hit the kitchen. Baking is one of those things I resort to when I’m upset about something.”

Liz drew her eyebrows together. “What’s wrong?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure. I’ll make coffee.”

Liz led her friend upstairs and to the kitchen. “Have a seat,” she said, motioning to the table and chairs. “This will only take a minute.” She quickly measured coffee into a filter and water into the carafe, then switched on the pot. That done, she turned to her friend. “What’s going on?”

“Someone’s been following me.”

Liz’s heart stopped. “What?”

Heather clasped her hands together. “Last night and…before. It’s probably nothing, but after Tara, I guess I’m just…well, I’m a little spooked.”

An understatement, Liz realized. She looked terrified. Coffee forgotten, Liz took the chair across from the other woman. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

She nodded. “For the last few days I had this feeling that I was being followed. You know how that is? It’s like you’re aware that someone is there, behind you. Or you catch a movement from the corner of your eyes but when you look there’s nothing suspicious.”

“Yes,” Liz agreed. “I know what you mean. Do you sense it’s a man or a woman?”

“Man. I’ve no doubt.” She drew in a deep breath, then continued. “Last night…I awakened suddenly. I didn’t know why, because I had been deeply asleep and dreaming.

“I was confused and sat up. My window was open. About two inches.”

“It wasn’t open when you went to bed.”

“No.”

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely. The night air can give me a sinus headache, so I’ve learned not to sleep with the windows open.”

“Did you call the police?”

She shook her head. “I was afraid…I mean, all this could just be my imagination.”

“But the window-”

“What if I was mistaken? I’d look like an idiot.”

“Better an idiot than-”

Liz bit back the word but it hung in the air between them.

Dead. Better than being dead.

Heather made a sound of distress. “I’m sorry,” Liz murmured quickly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, really, I…did Tara ever say anything about being followed?”

“No. But I only met with her twice and she never really opened up.”

Silence fell between them. Liz fidgeted, uncomfortable, uncertain what to do. Should she ask the other woman about the Horned Flower? Perhaps she had heard of the group. After all, because of Bikinis & Things, she saw a lot of teenagers. She would overhear conversations. Rumors.

And if she shared her suspicions about that, should she come clean about it all, most importantly her relationship to Rachel?

The phone rang and Liz jumped to her feet, nearly toppling her chair in the process. “Excuse me a minute, Heather. I’ve been waiting for a call.”

She crossed to the phone and picked it up, turning her back to the other woman. “Hello.”

“Liz? It’s Rick.” By their crackling connection it was obvious he was calling from his cell phone. “The images are the same.”

“My God, Rick. That means he was telling the truth.”

“Not necessarily. Everything we have right now is circumstantial. Or worse, speculative.”

Liz lowered her voice. “So, what do we do next?”

“Val needs to be brought up to speed. I’ve got to relieve Margo at the Hideaway. I’ll come by your place as soon as I can get away.”

“Wait! Are you sure that’s a good idea? Mark said-”

“It’s Mark I’m thinking of. We need to locate him fast. To do that, we need the police department’s manpower.”

“All right. You know your way around this kind of situation better than I do.”

“Liz? You’re breaking up. Look…to yourself…after we-”

His cell phone dropped the call, and she hung up, frustrated. She was pretty sure he had been asking her not to tell anyone what was going on until they had talked to Val. Which answered her question about whether she should involve Heather.