Page 26 of Unbalanced

EMILY

Rob is quiet the whole three-hour drive out of the city to his family’s estate.

“Is everything okay?”

He looks a lot like his brother, but their personalities are so different.

“Yeah…fine.”

I sigh. “Rob, if you didn’t want me to come to Alden’s party with you, then you should’ve just said so.”

He looks at me, his eyes fierce and fingers tapping like little drums on the top of the steering wheel.

“Did I say I didn’t want you to come?” He snaps.

“No, but you’re making it very obvious. I’m honestly not sure you even want to be together,” I say, crossing my arms.

“How the hell did you jump to that conclusion?”

“You came over the other day, drunk.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” he cuts me off with a snarl.

“Well, you weren’t sober either.”

His hand tightens on the steering wheel.

“You tried to get me to have a quickie with you, and because I refused, you have been sulking ever since. You broke off our date night, have barely returned my text messages, and today I had to guess if you were still picking me up. Rob, we haven’t been together that long, and you’re already acting like you’re angry with me all the time.”

He lets out a loud sigh, and I brace myself for the argument that I’m sure is to come, but instead he holds out his hand. Tentatively, I place mine in his, and he shocks me more when he kisses the back of my knuckles.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been under a lot of pressure from work. I’ve been assigned as the lead investigator on a string of murders that looks like it could be a serial killer. So far, three women are dead, and other than the way they’re killed, I can’t find any connection between them. On top of that, I’m supposed to be helping out with the missing-person cases. The brass isn’t happy that I haven’t found anything linking the murders. It’s just a lot of stress. But I shouldn’t take it out on you. You’re right, what I did the other day was totally uncalled for. I want you to be here tonight.”

I nod, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Have I seen anything about these murders in the news?”

“Actually, now that you mention it, maybe you can help me,” he says, and my eyes go wide.

“Me? How can I help?”

“You know flowers, and this killer puts a dahlia in his victim’s mouth. What is the significance?”

“What color?”

“Black.”

“Hmm. I can’t say for certain, but traditionally it means betrayal, mourning, or a warning of dishonesty. Maybe the victims somehow betrayed your killer. The more modern meaning is inner strength, power, standing out from the crowd. In which case they could be trying to make a statement of some kind.”

“That is potentially helpful. Anything else you can tell me?”

“Well…the only thing that I can think of is flowers have different genetic strains. Plant breeders register a patent so that other commercial growers are legally banned from cloning their specific strain without paying a royalty to the creator. If you can trace the genes, then you might find who bought the flowers or at least where they are being sold.”

Rob smiles at me, and it’s the first I’ve seen on his face in weeks.

“You’re a bloody genius,” he says, making me blush.

“I don’t know about that, but I’m happy to help.”