“Not to me. Your background, culture, education, region, and other factors define your word choices and sentence structures. I also look for consistency in the style of the writing, then determine if it’s distinctive enough to tell different writers apart. There’s a lot more, but that’s the Reader’s Digest version.”

Holly gave a short bark, followed by Maverick, apparently just outside one window. The earthquake barely made the table quiver.

I took a breath, which quickly turned into a yawn.

“Looks like you’re finally tired enough to sleep,” Bram said.

“Mmm.” I held up a note. “This one is different from the others.”

He took it from me and read aloud. “‘You will never find me. You should make your mindset one of defeat. I am like a vapor—without form and impossible to capture.’” He looked up. “This is the arson note from the double homicide.”

“In that case, you might consider looking for two people—an arsonist and a killer.”

“What about the rest? Did you find anything?”

I couldn’t help it. I yawned again. “I’d need to do more research, but there’s a markedness in some of the punctuation, the use of the phrase ‘no way,’ and the length of words.”

*  *  *

Somehow Bram wasn’t surprised to find out the homicide fire was different from the other arsons. The blaze had required more than just a can of gas and a match. When he got back to the department—if he got back to the department—he’d pull that case file and comb through it again.

Darby crossed her arms on the table, rested her head on them, and immediately fell asleep. He wanted Darby to lay her head on him as she drifted off to sleep. He wanted to protect her, keep her from the nightmares that haunted her.

The thought startled him. How could he want order in his life, perfection in a mate, and still want to protect the wounded?

His early life had been chaotic, with an alcoholic mother and absent father. He was in his early teens when his mother died of cirrhosis of the liver. His grandmother took over raising both him and his younger brother, who eventually took his own life. His grandmother had told him he had an older sister with fetal alcohol syndrome who’d been put up for adoption. Maybe this combination of events twisted his thinking so that his desire for Darby was in conflict with his need for perfection. Or was it his grandmother’s need for order and perfection?

Even though his grandmother had been gone for five years, her strident voice was a constant reminder. Don’t be like your worthless mother or brother, Bram. It’s up to you. Choose the right road. Make sure you do something perfectly or don’t bother . . .