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family becoming much happier. Perhaps that was why it shook him so much to suddenly learn of his wife’s unhappiness.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I’m just not happy. I want you to leave.”

“Leave? Sandra, this is my house, too.”

“Please, just give us some space.”

Mason stood, his expression blank as he tried to figure out where this bombshell had come from. Left field didn’t do it justice. His eyes subconsciously drifted to the dining table, coming to rest on a half-empty bottle of wine. That’s not enough to get her drunk, he thought, dismissing the notion her outburst was driven by inebriation.

“Fine. I’ll take a couple days. We’ll talk in the morning.” He was halfway out the door when she caught up to him, snapping at his heels like an aggressive dog.

“No, Mason. I want you out, gone. I want a divorce. Are you hearing me? D-i-v-o-r—”

“What exactly is wrong with you, huh?” Mason stopped and turned. “Why can’t we just work things out like we usually do? That’s how it works. You tell me what’s wrong and I fix it, then you realize it’s not enough and the cycle starts again. Why can’t we just go back to that?”

For once, Sandra was quiet, assessing him in silence. “No. It wasn’t making me happy. Just go. Wait until I call you. Understood?”

Mason grabbed furiously for his coat, missing it, which enraged him even more. “Fine. Fine!” he barked, though he wasn’t. “I want to say goodbye to Amy.” He pictured the hurt on his daughter’s face if she’d been here to witness this drama. Thankfully, she was in her room, chilling out with music like most thirteen-year-olds.

“No. Not now.” Sandra edged him toward the door, her face impassive. “Just go and wait. Like I said.”

Mason was about to protest when the cell phone in his pocket jingled. A quick glance told him it was Evelyn, his sister and best friend, though every bit his opposite. If it were anybody else he might have ignored it, but Evie was more than his sister—she was his news correspondent.

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” he said to Sandra and headed out the door, unintentionally proving her point. Steeling himself to head into the downpour, he strode to his car and knew she was shaking her head behind him.

“Don’t bother.” The door slammed before the words had even left her lips.

Hustling into the driver’s seat, Mason took the call. “Hey, Evie.”

“Hey. Are you busy?” The urgency in her voice demanded attention.

“What is it?”

“It’s Missy Daniels; they’ve found her body.”

Chapter Three

Mason pulled up to the beachfront parking lot and immediately saw the commotion. An officer recognized his car and waved him through. He parked, squeezed his way through the nosey crowd, and soon arrived at the police cordon.

“Well, you have a face like thunder.” Evie stopped him, a concerned look behind her thick black-rimmed glasses. She looked exactly like the intellectual she was. The fancy camera in her hand suggested she was press, but in reality she was more like an independent blogger, famous for publishing a hasty report revealing the shady shenanigans of a government agency the previous year. Entrepreneurship ran in the family.

“It’s a long story,” Mason told her, keen to focus on the task at hand. “Have you seen Bill?”

“Yep. This way.”

Evie raised the yellow police tape and he ducked under. Approached by a police officer, Mason flashed his PI badge and flicked up the collar of his trench coat before walking on. The chilled rain was heavy enough to soak through, but it was the least of his worries.

“Mason,” said Detective Bill Harvey, who shook his hand with a firm grip. “Thanks for coming.”

It comforted Mason to know his ex-partner was still a close friend. Ever since leaving the force, Bill had remained a solid and reliable part of his life.

“I’ll give you boys a minute,” Evie said before disappearing into the crowd.

“It’s a confirmed match, Mason. Missy Daniels. Apparently you were working the case?”

“I was.” Mason paused and shook his head. “I am.” He looked down at the body and felt immediate sadness. “What happened here?”

“Strangled to death. We believe the body was moved here afterward.” Bill knelt and pointed at the deep lacerations. “These cuts were made prior to death, we think.”

The scene before him was a bloody mess. The girl was naked, her body spread into the shape of a grisly star. The pinky finger of her left hand had been removed, either with expert surgical precision or one swift swipe of a hefty blade. Her tormented eyes were wide with fear, and her skin was already pale. Leaning in, Mason thought she’d begun to smell, but hoped it was his imagination. Most concerning of all, however, was the message.

“None for the dame?” Mason asked, reading the arranged pile of rocks by the girl’s feet.

“That’s why I called you, buddy. We think it’s him.”

Mason felt his heart skip a beat, his face flushing with rage and panic despite the coolness of the rain. “I thought he’d stopped. I hoped—”

“I know, but it matches the pattern,” Bill interjected. “Look, this is ‘Baa, Baa, Black Sheep,’ right? I was thinking it might be because the girl is black?” But as a detective of the San Francisco Police Department, he should have been smart enough to know better.

“No. It’s just a stupid lullaby. His own twisted way of showing off.” Mason turned and stalked away, shielding his eyes against the harsh flashing red/blue of the parked cruiser lights.

“Where are you going?” Bill called after him.

Mason stopped. “I took the case. I want to tell the girl’s mother before she sees it on the news.”

Bill simply nodded as a cruel gust of wind swept across the ocean and blasted rain at them in a furious wave.

Drenched, freezing, and disturbed, Mason headed back to his Mustang, where Evie stood with her back pressed to the door.

“Get off.” Mason waved a hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m coming with you.” She removed her rain-speckled glasses, the usual signal that she was ready for action. “I need a ride home.”

Mason sighed, too drained to argue. “Get in. I need to make a stop on the way.”

“Sure,” Evie said. “Whatever it takes to spend time with my brother.”

If only she’d known what was really happening.

Chapter Four

Look at these morons. They’re nothing but sheep.

The Lullaby Killer stood among the crowd, but he wasn’t one of them. The appalling way they pushed and shoved at each other to get a glimpse of the body only repulsed him.

How sick can a person be, eager to share the news they’d seen a dead girl? Do they want to show off to their peers? Feel as though they’ve been let in on a secret? It’s fucking lunacy.

But he’d seen it first, and nobody could take that away from him.

A small gap in the crowd opened up, enough to view his own masterpiece. He couldn’t deny it; leaving a message in the rocks was a nice touch. It was just sufficient to make it look like a signature, but not enough to lead them to him. There was no real meaning to it, only the first thing that had come to his mind: sheep.

And everyone would pity the poor victim, bright and beautiful young Missy Daniels. Oh, but she wasn’t poor. Truth was, there’d been nothing poor about her. She was smart and pretty, and everyone loved her. Top of her class. A real bitch.

Dislodging him from his moment of pride, the killer saw something he hadn’t seen in years: the black Shelby Mustang parked to the side of the road. The detective climbed out, and his blood thickened as he watched him stroll toward the scene, ready to tackle crime once again.

I thought he’d retired from the police force?

Considering how close Mr. Black had come to catching him all those years ago, the Lullaby Killer knew he’d have to be more careful. Any move he was yet to make would be inspected by the detective, and the Lullaby Killer would not let anything—or anyone—stop him now.

Determined to seek shelter from the rain, the killer edged away from the crowd. What else could he do tonight, other than go on the prowl for his next victim? It would be the perfect distraction for him,

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