The black rose drawing sat on Adam's desk, pinned under a magnet.
He had stared at it for an hour, memorizing every line, every curve. The artist was no amateur. This wasn't a quick sketch. Someone had taken time, care, even pride.
“They want you scared,” Sandra said from the doorway.
“They want me stopped. There's a difference.”
“Same result if you're dead.”
“I'm not going to die.”
“You don't know that.”
She walked over, stood beside him. “What's the plan?”
“I'm going to give them what they want. Me. In the open. Alone.”
“That's not a plan. That's suicide.”
“It's bait. There's a difference.”
---
Miller arrived within the hour.
He stood in the office, looking at the drawing, his face grim.
“This is the same paper, same ink, same handwriting as the notes sent to Rachel. Same p
