Jack’s office, a sea of black and white, now sported a new color: red. Evie ducked under the crime scene tape stretched across the door and went directly to the desk where Jack and Brady stood, Brady’s face ash white and Jack’s flushed in anger. An officer stood at their sides, taking statements. “That son of a bitch,” Jack said, his lips barely moving. “He got in here, right under my nose.” Evie assessed. No blood. No abrasions. Not a single thread snagged on his jacket. Likewise, Brady was uninjured. She picked a red tissue paper heart from his ginger hair. “There’s plenty more.” Brady jabbed a hand at Jack’s desk. Hundreds of little red tissue hearts were scattered on the glass-top desk and black marble floor. “Exactly how did it go down?” Evie asked. A vein in Jack’s neck thickened. “I opened the desk drawer, heard a click, and the box burst open.”
