He held out the package to her, and Morgan took it with dread boiling in her stomach. She knew that handwriting.
Dear God, how had he found her here? And so quickly?
No!
Hands shaking, breath short, she opened the envelope and extracted the contents. As she did, red rose petals with moist centers and dead edges fluttered downward, skittering across the blond hardwood floor. They looked faintly like fat drops of blood splattered all around her.
Morgan gasped. He knew she was here. How had he found her?
Then her gaze fell to the photos. Pictures of her, one arriving at LAX the day she'd fled to Houston. The next of her in Brandon's backyard wearing thin sweatpants and a tank top with nipples teased hard by a cool morning breeze. The last a photo of her in her sage silk-and-lace shift with matching robe, kissing Brandon's cheek as they stood in the driveway before he left for work. Just this morning.
