Free Head Games by Eileen Dreyer Page B

took one look at the box that rested at the secretary’s station and knew that the question was far more complicated.
    â€œDon’t touch it,” she warned, her hands suddenly sweaty.
    Marianne lifted a penciled-on eyebrow. “Afraid I’m going to contaminate it?”
    Yes, Molly thought, her head whirling. Behind her Sasha and Spizer showed up for the surprise. Molly didn’t even turn to acknowledge them.
    â€œWho brought this in?” she asked Marianne, trying her best to see something identifiable on the box.
    It was just plain. White. Long. Full.
    â€œA florist, I assume. But heck, I could just be jumping to conclusions here.”
    â€œYou want to explain this sudden paralysis over horticulture?” Sasha asked quietly.
    Molly sucked in a breath. “Can you do me a favor?” she asked just as carefully. “Get me a pair of forceps.”
    There was silence all around the desk now. But leave it to Sasha. She just reached into her lab coat pocket and lifted out what, in lay terms, would have been called big tweezers. Then she handed them off to Molly as if assisting in surgery.
    â€œIs this about the notes?” Sasha asked.
    â€œKind of,” Molly responded, sliding one side of the forceps up under the lid to make sure there weren’t any barriers. “I, uh, got a kind of weird thing landed in my yard the other night … in a box like this.”
    â€œWhat?”
    By now, several more people had shown up, all facing the box that lay on the high secretary’s counter like a sacrifice on an altar. Molly was busy trying to get a good grip on the lid without contaminating it.
    â€œOh, something just a little twisted.”
    Considering the fact that anyone who worked in an urban trauma center
was perfectly acquainted with twisted, each person there leaned a little closer. If Molly thought this deserved special merit, it must be memorable.
    Molly barely noticed. Her attention was on the effort it took to lift the lid off the box, which was only happening in fits and starts. She could hear paper rustle inside. She could feel the sudden thunder of her heart. Her stomach was churning, and sweat trickled down her temples. After all, one bone could be a joke. Two was definitely a problem.
    The lid lifted clear, and Molly smelled it. Faint, fresh, familiar enough to send her into a rage.
    â€œAw … shit !”
    It was Marianne, of course, who offered the first comment. “Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one who’d think it’s weird that somebody’d send you flowers.”
    Roses. A dozen of them. Garnet red, exotic and lush, their perfume tickling Molly’s nose and inciting even greater frenzy. Because there, tucked in the folds of the tissue, was the note.

    Thought this time you’d like something more fun than hearts and crosses.
    love
    Frank

    â€œThat son of a bitch,” Molly breathed, shaking with the effort it took to control the urge to take that box and heave it out into the street. To heave something at Frank’s head.
    â€œYou’re right,” Marianne sniped. “I’d think a guy was a total jerk if he sent me flowers.”
    â€œFrank the lawyer sent you those?” Sasha asked.
    Most of the rest of the staff was laughing and walking away. Molly couldn’t quite put the lid back in place. “Yes,” she snapped.
    â€œAnd you think that’s … what?”
    Molly finally turned on her friend. “Pretty goddamn typical. He’s not being sweet, Sasha. He’s being a jerk. Because he was there when I got the last box.”
    â€œThe last box. That being?”
    Molly sucked in a breath. “A human femur decorated in paint.”

    Even Sasha reacted to that. “Really.”
    â€œAddressed to me. In paint. On the bone.”
    Unfortunately, Sasha couldn’t seem to help smiling as she shook her head. “He is something, isn’t he?”
    Molly wasn’t