She’d been thinking about a certain song the whole drive here—a remix of Rossini and Rihanna, her favorite composer and her favorite guilty pleasure music—and she wanted to watch the YouTube clip again. But when she finally found the email that contained the link, she realized why she might have been thinking about that particular song: Blake had sent it a few weeks before, when they were sort of seeing each other. Thought you’d like this, he’d written, punctuating the email with an XO. “Stop!” she said to herself aloud, slamming her hands onto the steering wheel for good measure. She had made up her mind that she wouldn’t give Blake another chance, and she had to stick to that. Why was it so freaking hard? But maybe there were other reasons she was feeling a little shaky this morning. She’d met with Dr. Rose, the psychological profiler, late yesterday afternoon. Twice Mackenzie had to sit on her hands to keep them from shaking, and three times she’d caught herself humming a Dvořák piece, something she did when she was nervous.
