“But none of that explains what the symbol represents…I think it represents this group Mark told us about. I think my sister was scared of them. I think the Horned Flower is the group she mentioned in her phone message.”

“That’s all well and good, Liz. But what proof do you have?” He didn’t give her a chance to reply. “It may represent some underground group here on the island. But there’s a second victim now, Liz. And I have a hard time believing this group of teenagers is responsible for killing not only Tara, but Naomi Pearson, too.”

Eyes burning, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She didn’t know what or who to believe. Rick made a lot of sense. She had worked out the scenario of why the Horned Flower had killed Tara, but why Naomi Pearson? It didn’t make sense.

But she believed in Mark. She believed in her sister. Rachel had uncovered a conspiracy. She had been afraid for her life.

“What if you’re wrong, Liz?” Rick asked. “What if there’s no Horned Flower and no conspiracy? What if Mark is guilty?”

She squeezed her eyes shut a moment, then turned her face to his. “But what if I’m not?”

CHAPTER 33

Sunday, November 18

8:00 p.m.

Rick entered the Hideaway, his thoughts filled with Liz and what had occurred between them. The sex had been incredible. They fit together in a way new lovers rarely did-there had been no awkward moments or ill-timed moves. No sense of having to try to please the other; pleasing had come naturally.

A swell of denial rose up in him. Rick swallowed hard against it. And against the guilt that followed.

Jill was dead. What had occurred between him and Liz hadn’t been cheating.

Then why did it feel as if it had been?

Visual memories of Jill and Sam, their lives together, filled his head, one after another. The day Sam was born. His first birthday party. The adoring way he’d looked up at Rick when he tucked him into bed each night. Jill, the day they were married, looking like an angel in white lace; the first time they made love. Her laughing at his and Sam’s nightly horseplay.

Beautiful memories. So sweet they hurt.

But not unbearably. Not anymore.

“About time, Rick,” Margo called from behind the bar. “We were about to send out a search posse.”

“That’s right,” Libby chimed in, grinning. “I just hope you were having a good time.”

He supposed mind-blowing sex could be categorized as that.

Damn, he felt like a teenager caught in the act.

He reached the bar and forced what he hoped was a casual grin. “You girls were able to handle this crowd without me?” He shifted his gaze to the nearly empty barroom. “Wow, I’m impressed.”

“Smart-ass.” Margo emptied her tip jar, quickly counted the bills, then dumped the coins into her change purse. “And now you can handle it without me.”

He touched her arm. “I appreciate you staying so long today, Margo. I owe you one.”

“I like that.” She tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder, smile sassy. “I’ll make sure I collect when you least expect it.”

“Anything I should know?” he asked as she hooked her purse strap over her shoulder.

“Val called. He asked when you were coming in. I told him I wasn’t certain, but tonight for sure.”

Rick frowned. “What time was that?”

“Half an hour or so ago.”

“He say what he wanted?”

“Nope, but he asked me about that kid who used to work for you.”

“Mark?” Libby asked from the other end of the bar where she was chatting with a Hideaway regular. “What does he want with Mark?”

Margo shrugged her shoulders. “He wanted to know if I’d seen him. How could I? I don’t even know what he looks like.”

“How about you, Libby?” Val called from behind them. “You know what he looks like. Have you seen him?”

Rick turned. His friend stood a couple feet behind them, Carla at his side.

Val closed the distance between them. “So, Libby? Have you seen Mark?”

She shook her head. “Not since…since we last worked together. Why?”

Val ignored her question and Rick narrowed his eyes. Standard interrogating procedure. The two weren’t here to pay a social call.

“And when was that?” Carla asked.

“I don’t remember exactly.” Libby looked at Rick, alarmed. “Do you?”

“Not offhand. I could check, if it’s important.”

“Maybe later.” Val turned to Margo. “Before you go, take a look at this.” He handed her what appeared to be a printout of Mark’s driver’s-license photo. “Have you seen this man?”

Margo studied the photo a moment, her expression altering subtly. She shook her head and handed it back. “Nope. That’s the kid you’re looking for?”

Was she lying? Rick drew his eyebrows together. If so, why?

“Sure is. Keep that,” he murmured as she made a move to hand the printout back. “Call me if you see him.”

She agreed, wished them all a good evening and headed out. Rick watched her a moment, puzzled, then turned back to Val and Carla. He motioned to the bar stools. “Take a load off. I’ll fix you both a drink.”

“No thanks. We’re here on official business.”

“May I ask what kind?”

“We’re trying to locate Mark Morgan. Is he here?”

Rick bristled. “You know he’s not.”

“Really? And how would I know that, Rick?”

Their gazes met and held, Val’s challenging. Rick didn’t back down. “He’s not here.”

“Have you seen him recently?”

“No.”

“How about Ms. Ames? Has she seen him recently?”

“How would I know?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Carla jumped in, voice tight. “We know you were there tonight.”

Rick froze. From the corner of his eye he saw Libby glance his way. He looked from Val to Carla then back. “Am I being tailed?”

Again Val ignored his question. He glanced down the bar toward Libby and the regular, and back at Rick. “We’ve issued a warrant for Mark Morgan’s arrest.”

Rick stared at his friend, stunned. “You must be joking. Two hours ago-”

“Two hours ago we didn’t know what we do now.”

“And what is that?”

“As you very well know, I can’t tell you that.”

They had found hard evidence, obviously. Whatever it was, it was solid enough to base an arrest warrant on.

Val motioned to a secluded table at the far corner of the bar. “You have a minute to talk?”

Rick nodded and looked at his employee, who seemed oblivious to their conversation. “Libby,” he called. “Bar’s yours.”

The three crossed to the table and sat down. Val began without preamble. “How do serial killers choose their victims?”

“Most often by opportunity. A coed is hitchhiking at the worst possible moment. A young gay man meets the wrong gaze across a crowded bar. A child is unattended in the wrong place at the wrong time. The very randomness of the perpetrator to victim is what makes serial murders so difficult to solve.”

“But not all serial killers operate that way. Gavin Taft didn’t.”

Rick searched his memory. “Taft chose carefully, it was part of the thrill. He hunted for the perfect kill. He established a relationship with the victim first, even if only a superficial one.”

“We found evidence at Mark’s rented room that strongly links him to Tara’s murder. We’ve also learned he had a relationship with Naomi Pearson.”

“What kind of relationship?”

“They went to the same church. They were in a Bible-study group together. They were friendly.”

“This is Key West. Lots of people are.”

“True, but he was friendly with two women who are now dead.” Val paused, pursing his lips, as if weighing his options. “I did a little checking into Mark’s past. He was known to have an explosive temper. To be extremely jealous. He put another teenager in the hospital for looking crosswise at his girlfriend.”

“Mark did that?” Rick leaned back in his chair, stunned.