“Don’t slow down, you moron!” she ordered. “He’s coming! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Saving your damned skin.”

Blam!

The rifle fired again.

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 27

Brianna was stunned. And shocked. And devastated. And mad that she’d heard the news after it had started to run rampant over the Internet. Donovan Caldwell was dead. How had it happened? Had he been murdered in his sleep? Had some kind of heart attack or stroke . . . Geez, he was way too young for that. Maybe he’d fallen and hit his head. Suicide? Oh, God, please no . . . but what?

With no answers, she headed out the door only to hear her phone ring when she was on the porch.

She stopped dead in her tracks and dug her phone from her purse. Expecting the call to be from Rick Bentz or Jase or anyone associated with the 21 Killer case, she glanced down at caller ID.

Milo Tillman.

She was disappointed; didn’t want to deal with whatever Milo was going through. She had more than enough on her plate already. She considered not answering as she was too emotional, her thoughts wrapped around Donovan, her heart heavy, but she gave herself a quick mental shake. As upset as she was about Donovan Caldwell’s death, she could spare a few minutes for Milo.

“Hello?” She held her bag and keys with one hand and pressed the phone to her ear with the other.

“Hi. Uh, Brianna.” He sounded a little out of breath, as if he’d been running, though it could have been breathless anxiety. She’d always gotten an awkward sense when she was near him; that her presence was unnerving to him, and coping in a group was especially difficult for him. “It’s Milo. Tillman.”

Of course she knew that, but she let him go on as she locked her door, then spied St. Ives stalking a chipmunk through the azaleas. No, you don’t, she thought, and set her bag down to grab the cat before he pounced. Not that he would have much of a chance of catching the chipmunk, which darted into a crack between the rocks on her path.

“What can I do for you, Milo?” she asked as she retraced her steps, unlocked the door again, and deposited the tabby inside. Be good, she mentally ordered the cat, who wandered off in search of a patch of sunlight.

“I, uh, just needed to talk. I was hoping we could meet.”

“Today?” Again she locked her door and headed to her car.

He cleared his throat, still sounded as if he needed to catch his breath. “Yeah, it’s . . . it’s important.”

But so were a million other things.

“I’d hire you,” he said quickly, as if he understood she was going to decline. “You know, so you’d be my counselor. That’s what you offered, right? To everyone in the group? Back when we started up.”