After The Dark. Cynthia Eden
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her voice, softened by the lightest of Southern drawls, as she answered the line. “Thanks for calling Connoisseur’s Delight. This is Tammy. How may I help you?”
Tammy. He smiled and backed away from the shop. After all, he didn’t want her to glance up and see him. “Tammy, this is going to be a long shot, but I’m looking for a very special champagne for a friend of mine.”
“Well, we sell both fine wine and champagne,” she said brightly. “And we have a very extensive list.” Pride had slipped into her voice.
“Do you now...” He licked his lips. “Well, I’d like to make an order for a friend of mine. If you’ve got a Dom Pérignon, vintage 1998, then we will be in business.” That bottle was special, he remembered that.
So would Samantha.
There was a faint hum, and he heard the click of keys, as if the helpful Tammy were typing in a search on her keyboard.
“If you don’t have that one,” he said as the moments ticked past, “I can easily order another—”
“No, sir! We have it.”
Perfect.
“By any chance...do you deliver?” But he already knew they did. He’d seen that sign on the shop window, too. “Because I would love to surprise my dear friend Samantha with a delivery of her favorite champagne. I’d like to include a card with the package, and I can tell you exactly what her note should say...”
* * *
“I WANT TO help her,” Samantha said. They were outside now and she’d changed into jeans and a loose blouse. He’d shared more files with her as the morning slipped into late afternoon. Tried to convince her that she was needed in DC.
And, God, she wanted to help that victim. She wanted to stop killers.
But what if I’m wrong again?
The sun was too bright. And the memory of Kristy’s face wouldn’t leave her mind. “But I’m not FBI, Blake.”
“You could be. You know you could fight to get that job back.”
He was grim. Determined.
And she was letting fear hold her back. Damn it. She hated being this way. “Blake, I—”
His phone rang, cutting through her words. Immediately, her lips clamped together.
A furrow appeared between his dark brows as he pulled out his phone. “I’ve got to take this, Samantha. Give me a minute.”
“Take all the time you need.” She shoved her hands behind her back and stared at the swaying Spanish moss as it blew in the breeze. A copycat killer. Why had a copycat started hunting? And why was he deliberately trying to draw her into his crimes? He’d used her name, gotten the victim to say her name for a reason.
He wants me. Goose bumps rose on Samantha’s arms as a profile began to slip through her mind. It had been so long since she’d focused on any killer but Cameron, yet...old habits died hard.
This killer wants me. He used the victim because he wanted the message delivered. Kristy Wales was just collateral damage. She didn’t matter to him at all.
“What?” Blake’s voice was a hard snarl that had her gaze snapping toward him. “When? Shit, hell, yes, I’m near the scene. No, no, don’t worry about the local authorities. I’ll pull them in. I’m taking lead on this damn thing. If it’s Latham, I’ll bring him down.”
Her mouth seemed to dry up. Blake shoved his phone back into his pocket. His eyes were glittering. “We just got a hit.”
She inched closer to him. “A hit?”
“The FBI has been monitoring Latham’s credit cards ever since he vanished.”
But Cameron wouldn’t be dumb enough to use his cards. He would know that the FBI was watching. He’d—
“One of his cards was used ten minutes ago, right here in Fairhope.”
Her heart iced. Samantha caught herself even as she was shaking her head.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Blake growled. “You’re here...and now his card is being used?” He spun away from her and started marching toward his rental vehicle.
“Wait!” Samantha scrambled after him. “I’m coming, too!” She knew he’d be going to the shop where that card was used, that he’d be talking to the clerks, looking for video feeds—trying to find Cameron.
Something I’ve been attempting do to for months.
Blake looked back at her. “Thought you were done with the FBI.”
She’d tried to be, but a killer was out there—and obviously, he wasn’t done with her. “I’m coming with you.” This was her town. Her peace.
But she feared that peace was being shattered.
* * *
THE BELL JINGLED when Blake pushed open the door to Connoisseur’s Delight. A young woman behind the counter glanced up, a wide smile on her face. “Welcome! Please, feel free to browse around and make yourself—”
He flashed his badge. “FBI Agent Blake Gamble, and I need to ask you some questions.”
Her blue eyes widened. “The...FBI?”
Samantha was right at Blake’s side. They both stepped toward the counter. He could feel the tension rolling off Samantha, and that same energy hummed through his body. After months of inactivity on Latham’s cards, suddenly they’d gotten a hit? Hours after Blake had found Samantha at the pier?
No damn way was that pure chance.
He’s here. “What’s your name, miss?”
Her eyes were still huge in her pale face. “Tammy. Tammy White.”
He nodded. “You got an order just a little while ago. The credit card you billed was to Cameron Latham.”
Her gaze darted nervously toward Samantha. “Um, was that a stolen card?”
“Tell me about the order.”
Tammy’s fingers fluttered toward a brightly decorated bag. “The order came in for the Dom Pérignon 1998. He wanted it delivered, and I just finished preparing it.”
Blake’s gaze raked over the store. “No security cameras here?”
“No...but he didn’t come in. The gentleman placed the order over the phone.”
Figured. Latham could have made that call from anyplace. But Blake would still get a track going on the shop’s phone records and he’d—
“Did you say he ordered a Dom Pérignon 1998?” Samantha’s voice was tight. “That’s a very expensive champagne.”
“It costs four hundred dollars.” Tammy licked her lips.
Blake gave a low whistle. “And you didn’t think it was odd to get a phone order that big?”
Tammy shook her head, sending her hair sliding over her cheeks. “We get big orders like that all the time. Especially when the high-profile golfers are staying at the hotel down on the Point.”
Great.
“That’s Cameron’s favorite champagne.” Samantha’s voice was too tight. “Every single time he celebrated, he made sure he had that on hand. I remember the first time he ever got it...it was the night we received our bachelor’s degrees.”
Blake flattened his hands on the counter. “Who was that order being shipped to?”
Tammy swallowed. “Should I call my manager?”
“Who was getting the order?”
Tammy shoved the bag toward him. “Samantha Dark. He gave