Detective Kylie Cantrall needed the coroner's report, and she couldn't have it. Caroline Winters lay on a steel table at Harborview Hospital's morgue. Until the medical examiner finished, Kylie was guessing at how the woman died. She hated guessing. A guess could point at the wrong person. And the wrong person, this time, might be someone she loved. Kylie stood at the morgue counter and pressed her badge to the glass. The clerk shook her head. "Report's sealed until the autopsy's done. Could be days." "I don't have days," Kylie said. She tucked a strand of red-tipped hair behind her ear. "A woman's dead. Someone's going to get blamed. I'd like it to be the right someone." The clerk shrugged and turned back to her screen. Kylie didn't leave. She studied the sign-in log on the counter. One name made her stop. David Winters had visited the morgue an hour ago. Caroline's husband. A man the killer had also threatened. She found him in the waiting room. He looked young, too young to be a widower. He sat with his hands jammed in his jacket pockets, staring at the floor. "Mr. Winters," Kylie said. "Why come here? You can't see her yet." David flinched. "I wasn't visiting her." His voice cracked. "The examiner called me. He wanted me to look at something." "Look at what?" David pulled his right hand from his pocket. He held a folded paper, brittle and brown at the edges. "They found this on Caroline. The examiner thought I'd recognize the handwriting." He swallowed. "I don't." Kylie snapped on a glove and took the paper. She unfolded it. The writing was jagged and dark, pressed deep into the page. I saw you, Kylie. You think it's over. It isn't. I'm still here. I know what— The note ended mid-sentence, torn. Her own name stared back at her. Her stomach dropped. "It has your name," David whispered. "The examiner wanted to know why." Kylie didn't answer. The note changed everything. She no longer needed the cause of death to know this was personal. The killer knew her. The killer was writing to her. The clerk appeared at the doorway, holding a thin folder. "Detective. The examiner moved fast once he saw that note. Preliminary findings." She held it out. "He said you'd want this now." Kylie took the folder with her gloved hand. She flipped it open and read one line near the top. Trace fibers recovered from the victim's clothing. Match pending. Source: Valentine nightclub coat check. The folder nearly slipped from her fingers. Ariana owned that club. Ariana, who she was going to marry. The evidence pointed straight at her. Kylie closed the folder. Her guessing was over. Now she had something worse: a fact, and it aimed at the one person she needed to be innocent.