A big knife. There was an unidentified person on my back deck with a big knife. I think of Jax out here just last night, the warning he flung as a parting shot. Watch your back. Jax has a big knife, and he’s known for skinning bunnies on the benches in town, but he does that for food, not as threats or for his own sadistic pleasure.

Or so I’ve always thought.

The footprints have already grown faint, filling in with a fresh coating of flakes.

“I’ll get Sam to send somebody out. Maybe they can lift a print, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. By the time he gets here, everything’ll be covered, including this carcass. He’ll pick up what he can, but you’ll probably have to wait until things thaw out to get the treads really clean.”

Micah’s right. Even with a shovel and an ice pick, that much blood means the stain isn’t going away anytime soon. The deck will need a good hosing down, and with Paul’s industrial-strength pressure washer. Yet another mess for Paul to deal with when he gets back.

“Did you see what he wrote?” I swallow, the image of that awful word slashed through the snow bumping around in my brain. I press a palm to my stomach, greasy and empty.

“I saw.” Micah goes quiet, watching me. “It’s just someone looking to get a rise. Don’t let them.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, it’s kind of working. Is it...? What did they use to write it with?”

“Blood, and from the looks of things, from more than just one opossum. More like a cow, probably.” Micah shakes his head, sighing. “Don’t you pay it any mind, you hear me? Other than to make sure the doors are locked and the alarm is armed at all times.”

“You don’t think it was just a prank?”

No. Micah’s carefully blank look tells me it’s not a prank. “I think it’s safe to assume that whoever comes that close to your door with a knife isn’t going to hesitate to use it. Now’s not the time to be taking any chances, especially when Paul’s away. When’s he back?”

“He said today or tomorrow, but now with this weather...” My stomach trips up with the lie, the knife, the blood. I wave a hand, scooping snowflakes out of the air. “There’s no telling.”

Micah takes this in with another grimace. “And Chet? How long will he be staying?”

One night, that’s it, I’d hollered after him as he raced out to the car for his duffel bag, but we both knew I didn’t mean it.

“I didn’t exactly give him a deadline.”

“Let him stay until Paul gets back at least. Where’d he go again?”