“Look. Not only did her blood saturate the rug, but it seeped through,” she explained. I looked over the edge of the rug to find that small rivers of blood had dried in the ridges of the hardwood floor.

“So instead of killing her accidentally by draining too much, the vamp came in with the sole purpose of killing her,” I argued, stepping back and folding my arms across my chest.

With a growl, Mira released the rug and let it flop heavily back into place as she stood. “Even if a nightwalker had come in here with only the goal of killing her, he or she would not have passed up an opportunity to take a few pints from her,” she argued, her anger causing her irises to flare slightly. “You never pass up a free lunch, especially if it’s your enemy. This woman lost every ounce on the floor.”

“So you’re sure her attacker wasn’t a vampire,” I sarcastically said, fighting the desire to reach for the hilt of the knife resting along my left side. Anger started to bubble in my veins and roll in my stomach. Mira was sinking back into killer mode, donning the mantle of the ruthless hunter. I wasn’t convinced that a vampire was guiltless of this woman’s death.

“I’m saying fifty people could have been in the room watching her die, and I can guarantee not one of them was a nightwalker,” she bit out through clenched teeth.

“Bold statement,” I sneered.

“Yeah, it’s why you love me.” She laughed, reaching up and tweaking my nose. I blinked, staring at her for a breath. The anger had been washed from her eyes. There was a slight chill to the air from her powers, but it was quickly dissipating along with the scent of lilacs. And then, just as quickly, the fresh laughter in her eyes died and she turned serious. “But that still doesn’t answer our question of who,” she continued. “What are we left with?”

“Besides human and vampire?” James supplied.

“Yes,” she hissed between clenched teeth, looking back down at the tape outline.

“Lycans,” he suggested.

Mira shook her head. “Ryan said her throat was torn out. She wouldn’t have stood here while a lycan changed. She would have run. There would have been evidence of a struggle.”

“Unless she knew this person was a Were,” I stated, drawing Mira’s thoughtful gaze back to my face.

“True,” she slowly drawled. “Anything else?”

“Any shape-shifting naturi.”

“That could be a long list. I imagine something from the animal clan would be able to shift.” Mira shook her head, rubbing one hand over her face. “So we’re still at square one. Do we know anything about this girl?”

James reached into his back pocket and pulled out a tiny notebook. He flipped through several pages before settling on the information that he was searching for. “Abigail Bradford,” he read aloud. “Age twenty-six. Single. Daughter of Alabama senator John Bradford.”

“Great,” Mira muttered, drawing my gaze back to her. “That explains the media hysterics.”

James paused in the middle of his recitation, partially closing the notebook as he looked up at her. “I don’t understand.”

“Bradford is one of those bible-thumping ultra-conservatives that will make the Great Awakening very painful. I have no doubt his family headed up the Inquisition and the Salem witch trials,” she explained, pacing across the room. With a shake of her head, Mira turned back around to face the researcher. “Anything else?”

“Just that she worked as a curator for the Juliette Gordon Low house—”

“Oh, just stake me now!” she exclaimed sarcastically. “It can’t possibly get any worse.”

“Who was Juliette Gordon Low?” I demanded.

“She was the founder of the Girl Scouts,” she grumbled. “Probably was a Girl Scout herself. Miss Abigail Bradford was raised by a squeaky-clean family and worked for a squeaky-clean museum. It’s all too…”

“Clean,” I interjected, crossing my arms over my chest. I stepped away from the sofa and leaned my shoulder against the wall, turning my back to the tape outline and Abigail’s gruesome death so I could think clearly.

“Ha.” She glared at me. “Something feels off.” Mira paced away from me toward the wall of windows, running one hand through her hair.

“You think it was all a setup to draw attention to the outsiders,” I suggested. “Someone plotted her murder in order to shed light on the nightwalkers or lycans.”

“Maybe.” The single word escaped her in a soft, thoughtful whisper. “But that would indicate some long-term planning.” She turned on her heel to look at me, her hands shoved into the pockets of her pants.

“Vampires are known for their patience and long-term schemes. You have all the time in the world,” I reminded her.

“So do the naturi,” she snapped. “We need to know how long she’s lived in Savannah. Specifically, how long she lived in this apartment.”

“I can look into that,” James said. He reached into the interior pocket of his coat and pulled out an ink pen. Flipping to a new page in his notebook, he started to scratch out some notes. “Is there anything else you need to know?”

“Why she came to Savannah,” I interjected.

“And if any family members or friends from her past are outsiders,” Mira stated.

I sent her a questioning look as James continued to make notes. It seemed like an odd request. Yet James took it all in stride, never once betraying any doubts.

“Couldn’t hurt to check.” Mira shrugged before returning her gaze back out the window.

James was usually pretty good about getting random bits of information and would probably have our answers by late afternoon. Since acquiring him as an assistant, I was becoming accustomed to his strange quirks and rampant curiosity. But it was all temporary. I had outlasted more than two dozen assistants during my time at Themis. I outlived them all.

Mira’s soft voice drew me back to our current dilemma. Her voice was so quiet, I think she was mostly speaking to herself. “Why here? Maybe we’re making this too big.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, walking over to the windows.

“What if we’re looking for a conspiracy and there isn’t one? What if it really is all about Abigail?”

“You think she’s not as squeaky clean as her background?”

“She lived a block away from some of the hottest clubs and bars in the whole city. I doubt she moved here to visit the city library.” Sarcasm dripped from her words.

“You have a theory?”

“A hypothesis,” she said, pushing away from the window. “Let’s test it. Go into the bathroom and check for pills. See what she was on.”

I had a dark suspicion of what I was looking for, but I kept my thoughts to myself as I followed her down the hall off the living room. Mira turned left into the master bedroom while I took the first right into the bathroom, with James close on my heels.

It was a small room with tiny white tiles and pale blue walls. The large claw-foot porcelain tub dominated the far wall and matched the white porcelain wash stand. The room was softly lit with a pair of sconces with tulip-shaped frosted globes. It was all neat and tidy, with a scattering of female products that I didn’t want to try to comprehend.

The mirror over the sink was a classic medicine cabinet. Pulling aside the mirror revealed the usual assortment of Band-Aids, ointments, creams, and pain relievers. What caught my attention were the vitamins. Eight bottles, including two that were over-the-counter iron supplements. Iron pills were a common with people who had heart problems or were anemic. At a guess, I had a feeling this was what Mira was looking for.

Grabbing one of the bottles of iron supplements, I closed the mirror and turned off the light before walking across the hall to the bedroom. Mira stood before an open drawer in the bureau, softly cursing in Italian. She was rather fluent and creative.

“Good news?” I inquired.

“Scarves,” she muttered. “A whole drawer full.” To emphasize her point, she reached in and grabbed a handful in her clenched fist. She let the sheer bits of fabric slip through her fingers and spill back into the drawer like a silken rainbow.