Unforgivable by Laura Griffin Page A

terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad day.
    “You know that profile you lifted earlier this week?”
    “Could you be more specific?”
    “Electrical cord. Ligature strangulation case. I ran it through the database and bing. ”
    In Darrell-speak, bing was good.
    “And?”
    “An offender hit.” He grinned at her.
    “You’re kidding.”
    The saliva off that cord had come from someone whose profile was already stored in the database. Offender hits were rare, but Mia lived for them anyway. They were the reason she got up in the morning. They made everything worth it—the drudgery, the painstaking hours, even the Russ Pickertons of the world.
    “I notified the department that submitted the sample,” Darrell said, “and the detective there wants to talk to you. Kopchek, I think it was.”
    “Kubcek,” she corrected. She was grinning now, too. “I know him.” Or at least, she felt like she did. He’d been hounding her for weeks.
    “He’s got some follow-up questions, stuff a little out of my league. I told him I’m just the lowly data jockey— you’re the DNA guru around here.”
    “I’ll call him.” She stopped in front of her office and gave Darrell a spontaneous hug, which might have been a bad idea, because when she looked up, a blush was creeping up his neck. “Thanks for letting me know.”
    Mia slipped into her office and shrugged out of her woolen layers. She hung everything on a hook beside the door and pulled on the crisp white lab coat that had been recently laundered and had her name embroidered on the pocket. The familiar bleach scent was comforting.
    An offender hit. Yes.
    Mia pressed her palms against the counter and closed her eyes as a feeling of relief washed over her. Some family in Houston would get answers to their questions now. And maybe someday, after the soul-rending grief subsidedthey might even feel comforted by the knowledge that the person who’d taken their child from this world hadn’t gotten away with it.
    Mia took a deep breath. It was turning out to be a good day, despite the morning. Her work had led to a break-through, and Russ Pickerton—with all his smoke and mirrors and courtroom antics—could go screw himself.
    A ring emanated from her overcoat pocket. She fished her cell phone out but didn’t recognize the number on the screen.
    “Hello?”
    “Check your e-mail.”
    “I beg your pardon?” Something about the voice made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
    “Check your e-mail. And make sure you’re alone.”
    “Who is this? Hello?”
    She glanced at the phone, but the call had disconnected. Mia’s pulse quickened. This seemed like maybe an obscene call, and she wasn’t sure she should power up her laptop. Instead, she tapped the in-box on her cell-phone screen and waited for her messages to pop up. Eleven new ones, one flagged urgent. No subject line. She clicked open the message, and a picture of Sam filled the screen.
    Mia’s stomach dropped. Sam was smiling up at the camera and standing in front of a sign: CEDAR HOLLOW ELEMENTARY SCHOOL .
    The phone in her hand rang, making her jump. The device clattered to the countertop, and she grabbed it up. Same number.
    “Who is this?” she demanded.
    “Aunt Mia!”
    “Sam!” Her heart spasmed. “Where are you?”
    “Listen carefully.” It was the man’s voice again. Icy fear shot through her veins. “You’re going to follow instructions without talking to anyone except me, you got that?”
    She gripped the phone in her hand and sagged against the counter.
    “Are you listening?”
    “Yes.” Her voice was a whisper, barely audible above the ringing in her ears. He had Sam.
    “No cops. No lab rats. No one hears about this call, ever, or Sam gets hurt. You got me?”
    “Yes.” He’d said lab rats. Did he know she was at the Delphi Center? He must. Maybe he was watching. Maybe he was in a car with Sam right this instant, and they were sitting out in the parking lot. But how would he have gotten