“I appreciate the effort,” I said, sinking onto his couch. “But I hate when you put yourself in danger to protect me.”

Bob climbed up next to me, leaving no room for Morelli. Bob had a piece of dog biscuit stuck to his head.

“How does he always get food stuck to him?” I asked Morelli.

“I don’t know,” Morelli said. “It’s a Bob mystery. I think stuff falls out of his mouth and he rolls in it, but I’m not sure.”

“About Gilman . . . ” I said.

“I can’t talk about Gilman. It’s police business.”

“This isn’t one of those James Bond things where you sleep with Gilman to get information out of her, is it?”

Morelli slouched into a chair and clicked the television on. “No. This is one of those Trenton cop things where we threaten and bribe Gilman to get information out of her.” He found a ball game, adjusted the sound, and turned to me. “So are you sleeping with me tonight?”

“Yes. But I have a headache.” I closed my eyes and tried to relax. “Omigosh!” I said, my eyes popping open. “I forgot to tell you. I have an email from Howie’s killer and it links the killing and the flowers.”

MORELLI WAS LONG gone by the time I dragged myself out of bed. I shuffled into the bathroom, took a shower, dressed in jeans and T-shirt, and found my way to the kitchen. I got coffee brewing and put a couple slices of bread in the toaster while I drank my orange juice and checked my email. I suspected there would be a message from the killer. I wasn’t disappointed. Now the hunter is the hunted, the email read. How does it feel? Does it excite you? Are you prepared to die?

Bob was sitting beside me, waiting for bread crumbs to fall out of my mouth.

“I’m not excited,” I told Bob. “I’m scared.” The words echoed in the kitchen and made my breath catch in my chest. I didn’t like the way the words sounded and decided not to say them out loud again. I decided to give denial another chance. Some thoughts are best kept silent. That’s not to say I was going to ignore being scared. I was going to try very, very hard to be very, very careful.

I signed off and called Morelli and told him about the latest email. Then I called Lula and asked her to pick me up. I wanted to go back to TriBro and my car was still parked in my apartment building lot. I needed a ride. And I needed a partner. I wasn’t going to stay inside, hiding in a closet, but in all honesty I didn’t want to go out alone.

Ten minutes later, Lula rolled to a stop in front of Morelli’s house. Lula drove a big ol’ red Firebird that had a sound system that could shake the fillings loose in your teeth. The front door to Joe’s house was closed and locked and I was in the kitchen in the back of the house . . . and I knew Lula had arrived because Shady’s bass was giving me heart arrhythmia.