Blood Rite

Blood Rite By

Melanie Atkins

Triskelion Publishing www.triskelionpublishing.com

Triskelion Publishing 15327 W. Becker Lane Surprise, AZ 85379 First e Published by Triskelion Publishing First e publishing March 2007 ISBN 1-60186-093-5

Copyright 2007 Melanie Atkins All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher except, where permitted by law.

Cover design Triskelion Publishing. Publisher’s Note. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to a person or persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental. Play Nice: Piracy is a crime and in stealing books your favorite authors do not receive royalties or any payment.

DEDICATION I’d like to dedicate this book to all my good friends at Flashback’s Espresso Café in Byram, MS, who put up with me lugging my laptop into their place of business and writing for hours on end. The atmosphere is relaxed, the coffee’s fabulous, and I’ve found loads of inspiration there. Thanks so much, Tammy and Larry!

Chapter One “Did you feel loved when you were growing up?” “Sometimes.” “Did you get along with your family?” “I guess you could say that.” “What about your parents?” “They were average. They yelled a lot, fought a lot. Dad liked to cuss.” “Did they ever hit you?” “I don’t want to talk about that.” “Why not?” "Stop trying to pick my brain!" ***** The crime scene was awash in blood. Its warm, coppery scent mixed with the fresh odor of rain that had fallen during the night. New Orleans Police Department Homicide Detective Nick Marconi pulled on a pair of latex gloves and popped a square of mint gum into his mouth. Weary resignation set in as he sidestepped the overturned trash receptacle serving the far corner of the tiny park. Crime scene techs swarmed the scene, taking pictures and eyeing the rain-dimpled sand for any evidence, no matter how small, the murderer may have left behind. Even with the icy tang of gum in his mouth, the stench of death made Nick’s stomach buck. He cursed himself for not getting the jar of menthol salve out of the sedan. “Mornin’, Marconi. Got a grisly one for you.” Orleans Parish Medical Examiner, Pal Stewart, bobbed his thick gray head in greeting. “She’s cut from ear to ear, and exsanguinated.” “Well, hell. That explains all the blood.” Nick looked at Pal, who raised his eyebrows. Then he steeled himself and looked down at the nude corpse. The woman lay on her side facing away from him, her pale hips cocked at an odd angle. Blood had crusted in her spiky blond hair, and a bright silver hoop earring stood out in stark contrast to her purplish right earlobe. The sand beneath her was stained a dull red, made pale by the rain. “It’s a lot, but not enough.” “What do you mean?” Nick frowned. “The ground's saturated with it.” Pal walked around the body. “He drained her blood there—” He turned and acknowledged a row of metal swing sets behind them. “And took it with him.”

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“Son of a bitch.” Revulsion rolled through Nick as he remembered finding his sister, Jasmine, lying murdered in similar fashion five years before. Not all her blood had been drained, but her throat had been cut and her body left in her apartment for him to find. He shook off the picture of her lifeless body sprawled in her kitchen on her brand new linoleum, and forced his mind back to this woman. This case. How had the killer had the time to bleed the woman out and not be detected? This was a busy area. He eyed the dirty sand beneath their feet. No footprints marred it. No cigarette butts, no trash. Pal shook his head. “Damned rain took away most of our evidence. The boys have been pretty careful, but don’t guess it would matter if they’d danced a jig.” “Hooker?” “Don’t think so. This one’s about ten steps up from the usual junkie whore.” Nick digested that. This neighborhood had gone down in the last five years, and contained more than its fair share of crack houses. He eyed the corpse. If this woman wasn’t from around here, she'd gotten in way over her head, maybe with one of the many street gangs now active in New Orleans. “Ready?” Pal asked, his dark eyes hooded as he bent toward the body. “I need to roll her.” “Go ahead.” Nick wanted to look away while the man flipped the body, but he made himself watch as her arm flopped awkwardly against the stained sand and her legs splayed out like broken scissors. She reminded Nick of a ragged paper doll, the kind Jasmine used to help his baby sister, Bonnie, cut out. The memory surprised him. He hadn't thought of Bonnie in a very long time. Pal leaned close and examined the deep gash to the woman’s neck, which gaped like a sickening second smile. “I’ll know more after the autopsy, but she was cut with an extremely sharp knife.” “A hunting knife, maybe?” Pal adjusted one of his latex gloves. “I’d say filet.” Nick pulled out his notebook and jotted down that information. He still hadn’t gotten a good look at her face. Didn’t want to. It would only lead to more horrifying flashbacks of Jasmine lying dead. He rocked back on his heels. “How long has she been here?” “Six to eight hours, I’d say, because rigor’s set in to her head and neck.” Pal fingered the woman’s purple jaw. “And the lividity doesn’t blanch. Of course, there’s not much of it due to the loss of blood.” Nick dropped to his haunches beside the woman’s slim feet. Her toenails were painted a soft pink, an unusual color for a hooker. Angry red rope burns circled her ankles. “She was hung upside down.” “Yep. From the second swing set,” Pal said. “There’s a faint ring in the sand where I’m guessing the perp put his bucket.” “For the blood.” Pal nodded.

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“What a sick prick.” Nick made a fist. Little kids played on those swings, their joylaced cries filling the air with hope. Now, their playground had been tainted. He rose and stepped around the woman so he could see her face. It was distorted and purple, a result of her grisly death. She had long blond eyelashes, a small nose, and a heartshaped mole on her right cheek. “Holy shit.” Nick went still. “It can’t be.” “You know her?” Pal asked. “Maybe.” Nick dropped to his knees and examined her face more closely. He looked up. “It’s Maria Talley.” He stabbed a hand through his short hair. “I met her at the University of New Orleans, my junior year.” “Did she live around here?” “No,” Nick said. “Kenner. She graduated in education, and teaches—taught—at a fancy private school there. It’s a long damned way from here.” “Rich folks aren’t immune to drugs.” Pal rubbed his chin. His jowls were red from the cold. “Are you sure it’s your friend?” “Yeah. It’s Maria.” Nick shook his head and stared down at her distorted face. “We dated about two months.” Pal made a sound between a snort and a laugh. “Well. She won’t be seeing anyone else now, will she?” “Guess not.” A sliver of guilt pierced Nick as he pushed himself up and looked around. Cop humor aside, the woman had just died. They ought to show her some respect. A big white news van from one of the local affiliates pulled up to the curb just outside the fence. He cursed. “Damned vultures.” Pal shook his head. “They pounce on every dead body like it's fresh meat. Doesn’t matter if it’s in the Quarter or out on Bullard Avenue. Even in this crappy part of town.” “I don’t know what Maria would be doing down here.” “The killer was probably trying to make a statement.” “Was she raped?” “No external trauma, no fluids that I can tell. I'll run a kit, though.” “Any needle marks?” “Not so far. I’ll know more after the autopsy.” Nick nodded. He hoped to hell his college friend hadn’t fallen that far. He watched a pair of uniforms square off with the reporter and cameraman spilling from the van, then turned and examined the area more closely. The park was no more than a quarter-mile across, with run-down brick buildings on three sides. Its fourth side was fronted by a row of dilapidated houses with listing porch railings and ratty postage-stamp yards. The early March air was cold, and on the corner next to Nick, two homeless men hovered over a rusty barrel filled with burning wood. Their probing gazes bounced over him before landing on the photographer taking digital close ups of the hard-packed ground beneath the swing sets. Crime scene tape fluttered in the chilly breeze.

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“Time to load her up,” Pal said. His voice carried a high-pitched wheeze. He massaged his barrel chest. “I’ll probably cut on her late this afternoon, after I finish with the Bradley kid and his dad.” Nick nodded and stripped off his gloves. Bobby Bradley, 10, was the victim of a murder-suicide. His father had shot him in the head before blasting himself to hell with a shotgun. Anger tightened Nick’s chest. He hadn’t worked that case, and he was glad. Dead kids killed his appetite. He interviewed the frightened teenager who had found Maria’s body, put two uniforms to work canvassing the neighborhood, and then drove back to the District One station to file his report. District Investigative Unit Captain Rod Parker headed him off before he could reach his desk. “Marconi,” Parker called from across the room, his ring of white hair bright beneath the brilliant fluorescent lights. “In my office. Now.” Nick muttered a nasty oath. Ever since his partner, Danny Robson, had been gunned down in a bad bust, Parker had been watching him like a hawk. Like he expected him to eat a fucking bullet for lunch. He jerked his tie straight and skirted a desk. Yeah, depression weighed on him like a lead vest. And the good Lord knew he’d considered suicide—but so far he had awoken everyday with a reason not to pull the trigger. His defenses flew up the second he entered Parker’s office. “Shut the door,” his boss said, settling into the creaky leather chair behind his desk. His stomach turning flips, Nick did as he was asked. “Sit down.” “I’ll stand. Thanks.” If he was about to be reamed out, he wanted to be able to make a quick exit. It was safer that way. Parker’s long face was dour. He put both thick hands on the desk blotter and studied Nick. “Suit yourself.” “Captain, if this is because I passed off on the Bradley case—” “That’s part of it,” Parker said, his brow crinkling into a tight frown. “You’ve never done that before. Hell, I’m worried about you.” “I’m fine, sir.” “No, you’re not. You’re wound tighter than a watchmaker’s ass.” “Captain—” “Hear me out, son.” Parker held up his hand to shut him up. “After Danny died, you didn’t take even one day off.” “He was my partner, not my wife.” “Don't give me that. You and Danny were partners for four years. I know how much you cared for him.” “I’m dealing. End of story.” “Have you ever talked about what happened that night to anybody besides the Public Integrity Division?” “No. Being questioned by PID was enough.” Nick clenched his hands. Since Jasmine and Danny died, he’d had no one in whom to confide. No friends, no family. He and his

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sister had been close, and Danny had been his best friend. Still, he had coped. “There wasn’t any need.” “I’ve arranged for you to talk with a psychiatrist—” “I don’t need to talk to some shrink,” Nick broke in, his voice rising in anger. “Come on, Captain. I'm fine. Just fine. I just need to be on the job.” Parker leaned back in his chair, his hawk eyes raking Nick’s face. “You don’t have a choice this time.” A knot of dread lodged itself in the center of Nick’s chest. He eyed his boss with suspicion. “What are you saying?” Parker drew in a deep breath, as if fortifying himself for battle. Then he said slowly and succinctly, “This order came down from above. Remember that.” “What is it?” “You either see the doctor we’ve lined up for you, or you turn in your badge and weapon. Today. For keeps.” The Captain’s words hit Nick like a blow to the solar plexus. He reeled back a step. “You can’t mean that.” “I’m afraid I do, son.” Parker came to his feet. “The higher ups believe you’re a danger to yourself, not to mention the general public. You need help.” “I do not.” Parker rounded the desk and folded his arms. “It’s time to stop running, Nick. The deaths of your parents and sisters took their toll on you—and Danny’s murder was the last straw.” “I’m dealing with it.” “By not dealing with it.” “Captain—” Despair flooded Nick. He had no family, and damned few friends except those in the department. Without his job, he had nothing. No more reason not to pull that trigger. He raked a hand through his close-cropped hair. “I just can’t—” “Agree to talk to the doctor, and you can stay on the force. Hell, we need you around here. You know that, what with your huge caseload. But this has got to be your decision. I can’t make it for you.” Nick pivoted on his heel and came face to face with the chipped oval mirror Parker had hung on the wall behind the door. A gasp caught in his throat. He hadn’t taken a good long look at himself since his partner had been gunned down, and seeing his haggard face now was a shock. His dark hair stood up in disarray, his ice-blue eyes were bloodshot, and deep purple circles underscored them, making his face look sunken. Add the blue-black stubble covering his chin, and he looked like he’d been on a month-long bender. “Like what you see?” Parker stepped up behind him. Nick scrubbed both hands down his face. Hell no. But he didn’t want to tell Parker that. “You’re working too damned hard. Not resting, volunteering for overtime every time I turn around.” Parker’s voice was grave. “It's like you're on a mission to fill up every second.” Nick shot him a wry look. “You may be right.” He paused, for effect. Then he said, “But you sure as hell can’t call me dull.”

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Parker laughed sharply. “You’ve got me there. Dull, you’re not. I never know what you’re gonna do next. Your arrests are up in spite of everything, and you’ve had solid evidence on your last ten or twelve cases—enough to put those perps away for a long, long time.” “And yet you’re ordering me to see Dr. Myers.” “No. He’s about to be deployed overseas to Iraq with his National Guard unit. You'll be talking to a civilian this time.” “I don’t want to talk to some pointy-head geek in a three-piece suit with no fucking idea what we do here. Hell, Captain. I can’t—” “This doctor might wear a suit, but I don’t know that for a fact. As for the geek part—” He shrugged. “I have it on good authority that her head isn’t pointed.” “Her head?” The higher ups expected him to talk to a woman about being a cop? About finding his sister dead and watching blood spew from his best friend’s neck after he was shot by a fifteen-year-old at point blank range? About dealing with shit and death 24/7? “I hear she’s damned good.” “No fucking way.” Nick shook his head. It would never work. No woman, unless she was a cop herself, would ever understand his world. Parker twisted his lips. “Her name is Gracie Simmons. Her office is downtown, on Canal. Give her a chance. If it doesn’t work out after a couple of sessions, we’ll find you someone else.” “Why don’t we just do that now?” “Because this one’s damned good. Pretty, too.” Nick stuck his hands in his pockets. If Captain Parker thought the woman was attractive, she was probably in her mid-fifties, some do-gooder former hippie with graying helmet hair who thought she knew how to read a man. He blew out a disgusted breath. Damn his luck. Parker picked up an index card from his desk and held it out. “Here’s her address. Your appointment is today at four o’clock. Don’t be late.” “Today?” Nick ignored the card and gaped at his boss. He had witnesses in three cases to interview, and he’d planned on sitting in on Maria’s autopsy this afternoon. “I can’t.” “You will, or you’re out of here.” Parker extended his hand. “Take the damned card.” Nick stared at it a second, then reluctantly accepted it. The ticket to his own demise. ***** Gracie Simmons stepped around her desk and rechecked her appointment book for the fifth time that day. Since lunch, she’d dealt with a woman with bi-polar disorder, an obsessive-compulsive fireman, and a shy teenager trying to find herself. Next up was a burned out cop. Not the best way to wind up the day. She rubbed her tense neck. Her nerves had been on edge ever since this morning, when she’d met with him. She closed her eyes and pictured her nurse's neat handwriting on the crisp new folder. Thirty-nine year old white male. Presenting with non-specific complaints of depression and anxiety. The description didn't even come close.

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She was afraid he was deeply disturbed. His cool, calculated answers to her questions had scared the hell out of her. “Dr. Simmons?” Ashley, her part-time twenty-something receptionist, stuck her head in the door. Her long brown hair gleamed in the muted light. “Would you like some coffee before your four o’clock arrives?” “Yes, thank you.” Although it would take a hell of a lot more than a brimming mug of high-octane java to get her through her next appointment. She never should have volunteered to handle cases for the police department while their regular psychiatrist was on military leave. Her dad had been a cop—a bad cop—and her childhood had been hell because of it. She certainly had no love for law enforcement professionals, especially those with problems on the job. If Dr. Myers wasn’t a good friend, she’d call him back and tell him she’d changed her mind. Her head pounded. She reached into her drawer for an oversized bottle of ibuprofen. Ashley came in and set a brimming cup of cream and sugar laced coffee on her desk. “Your patient is in the waiting room.” “Already?” Gracie eyed the sunburst clock on the wall in surprise. She’d expected this guy to balk. “He’s ten minutes early.” Ashley shrugged. “At least you’ll get out of here on time today.” “True.” “Shall I send him in?” “Give me five minutes, okay?” Gracie picked up her coffee cup and took a small sip. “I need to do some deep breathing exercises.” “Sure.” Ashley smiled. “Yoga’s great when you’re feeling tense.” Gracie had to agree. She downed another mouthful of steaming coffee, set down her cup, and leaned back in her chair. If only she had time to get out her mat and do some simple stretches. Her body was tight as a bow string. She rested her hands in her lap, palms up, and closed her eyes. After a few seconds she drew in a long breath, careful to fill her lungs and expand her ribcage. It felt good. She held the breath for a moment, and then slowly released it. She immediately felt calmer. She repeated the action three more times, growing more relaxed with each extended breath. Her neck grew less taut. Breath in, she told herself. Breathe out. Her cell phone rang. She muttered an ugly word. After two more rings, she yanked it from her purse and stared down at the display. Jerry Howard. The annoying guy she had dated for a while, and was now trying to blow off. There was no chemistry between them. No attachment, at least on her part. Why wouldn’t he take no for an answer? A brisk knock rattled the door. Gracie blinked, and struggled to orient herself. The knock rang out again. “Come in,” she said, quickly putting the phone on silent and dumping it back into her purse. She sat up straight in her chair. The door opened and Ashley appeared, followed by the most handsome man Gracie had ever seen. At least, he would be handsome if he got some sleep and maybe shaved once in a while. He was tall and rugged, with short jet-black hair and glacial blue eyes. Inky

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stubble rimmed his taut jaw. His gray suit fit him, but his coat looked like it had been worn for a week. “This is your four o’clock,” Ashley said, her eyes glued to the strapping man beside her despite his dishevelment. “Detective Nick Marconi.” She stood there as if rooted to the floor. “Thank you, Ashley.” Gracie said, rising. Her mouth was dry as sand. Ashley didn’t move. Nick’s full lips curved in a weary, knowing smile that conveyed a world of information to Gracie. Namely, that he was arrogant, smug, and didn’t want to be in her office. She stared at her leering receptionist. “Ashley?” “Oh. My. I’m so sorry, Dr. Simmons,” Ashley said, her pale cheeks flushing a bright crimson. She quickly exited the office and pulled the door shut behind her. Its solid click made Gracie imagine a coffin nail being driven home. Wonderful. She dragged her perturbed gaze to Detective Marconi, who stood right where Ashley had left him. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the room. “Welcome, Detective.” “You need to know I don’t want to be here,” he said, his angry glare challenging her to refute him. She forced a smile and rounded the desk. “Why is that?” “Because I don’t need a shrink.” “Your file says otherwise.” His eyebrows shot up. “You have my jacket?” She folded her arms. “Only what’s necessary for me to know in order to help you.” “Then you should know I don’t need your help.” “Why would I think that?” “Because I’m a damned good cop.” Gracie felt like she’d been slapped. Her father had said the very same thing just before he’d been arrested. I’m a damned good cop. Don’t worry. They’ve got nothing on me. Marconi’s eyes darkened. “Something wrong, doctor?” “No,” Gracie said much too quickly. Heat suffused her face. Two minutes, and he was already getting to her. She had to get a grip. Breathe. She jerked her gaze away from him and indicated the two leather chairs across from her desk. “Please have a seat.” “I’d rather stand.” She pinned him with her most daunting gaze. “I’d rather you didn’t.” She hesitated an extra beat, just for emphasis. “Please sit. Detective.” His brooding stare sent a jolt of sexual awareness over her nerves. Without another word, he sauntered over and dropped into one of the chairs. His nearness made her lose her breath. She retreated to the other side of her desk. “I know how this works.” A muscle jumped in his square jaw. “Everything I say goes back to the department.” “Not everything.” “What do you mean?” “I give them my conclusions, not specifics from our conversations.”

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“So that means I can tell you I beat up a suspect—?” “Yes, and I can recommend you not return to duty.” “Shit.” “Exactly.” She sat down and opened his file. Volatile. Closed off emotionally. Sometimes hostile to authority. The notations had been highlighted with a fluorescent yellow marker. He put his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands in front of him. One leg bounced up and down like he had a spring in his foot. She jerked her gaze away from his taut, muscled thighs and reread the most recent entry in his file about the night Detective Danny Robson had been killed on duty. According to the Captain’s slanted scrawl, Marconi had lost control and punched a fellow officer in the face. She took a deep breath, and plunged ahead. “Your partner was recently killed.” “Yeah.” “Want to tell me about it?” “No.” He stared down at his hands. She picked up her pen. The urge to throw it at him was strong. “Your file says Detective Robson went into a convenience store alone and happened upon an armed robbery.” Detective Marconi’s ice-filled eyes flicked to hers. “That story was in the TimesPicayune.” “I read it.” She raised her chin. “The information is also in your file.” “Waste of paper.” “Do you hate the medical profession in general, Detective, or psychiatrists in particular?” “I hate shrinks.” He practically spat the word. Then he sat up very straight. “Nobody needs to know what goes on in my head.” “Why not?” “My thoughts are private.” He gripped his knees so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I see.” “No, you don’t.” He leapt up and began to pace across the room. “People have always tried to pick my brain.” Taken aback, Gracie stared at him as his words echoed in her head. He had said almost the same thing just this morning. She pressed her hands against her desk. “Are you—are you referring to the months after your sisters died?” He wheeled and slapped both hands on the desk, looming over her like her father used to do when he was trying to intimidate her. It had worked then, and it was working now. Nick’s sheer masculinity sent her reeling. She pressed back in her chair. “You leave my sisters out of this.” He ground his teeth. “I can’t,” she said, desperate to appear calm when she wanted to leap up and run away. “Their murders had a profound effect on you.” “I’ve dealt with it.” “Really? Then why are you so upset?” She asked. Up close, his keen eyes were two mesmerizing azure pools. She put her hand on the edge of the desk to keep from tumbling into them headfirst.

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He pushed himself upright. His nostrils flared. “I’m sorry. I can’t—” He shook his head. “Never mind.” “You lost your younger sister Bonnie when you were practically a child yourself. That must have been tough.” “You have no idea.” He prowled the room like a caged tiger. She rubbed her forehead. It should be easier to think with him ten steps away, but just being in the same room with him muddled her brain. She hadn’t had a real boyfriend in over a year. Maybe that was why she was reacting to him this way. She stared down at his file. “You lost your parents in 1999. Then five years ago, you lost your other sister.” “Yeah, I did.” He halted and stared at the closed door. His broad shoulders sagged. “Jasmine. She was two years younger than me.” “Were you close?” “What do you think?” He turned and pinned her with that intense, feline gaze. “Our parents died. We had no one else.” “So for the past five years you’ve been alone.” Yeah. Except for Danny, who was dead now, too. Nick rolled his shoulders as the pain of his partner’s death slammed him in the gut for the thousandth time. His hollow heart felt like it was made of glass. He’d never felt so damned empty. But he was making it. He always did. So why was he even bothering to answer this smart, sexy doctor’s carefully worded questions? He’d vowed to mumble his way through the session and get the hell out of here. Was it because she had the most beautiful jade green eyes he’d ever seen? Because she seemed to really listen to him? Or was he so starved for affection that he'd react this way to attention from any living, breathing woman? “Detective, your file says you’ve never married.” Her lilting voice broke into his thoughts. “Do you date?” He turned. “Only women who don’t know me.” “Why is that?” “Because I’m not a nice guy.” She blinked. Her doctor’s mask slipped, if only for a moment. Nick caught a quick glimpse of the real Dr. Gracie Simmons—edgy and vulnerable, yet strong—before it slid back into place. His admiration of her went up a notch. She swallowed. “Do you hurt women?” “Not physically,” he said, beginning to regret baiting her. She made him feel good, which hadn’t happened in so long he didn’t know how to react. He clenched his hands. Her mouth curved, and she rested her elbows on the desk. “So you’re the love ‘em and leave ‘em type?” “Love never enters into it.” He never let himself get that close to anyone. Why should he? The people he loved always died. His sisters, his mom and dad. Danny. Fresh pain arrowed through him as he recalled the solid thunk of that perp’s bullet plowing into his partner’s throat just above his brand new Kevlar vest. “You must feel something for the women you date.” “I feel lust.” He leveled a hot gaze her way. “Sex is a great way to unwind after viewing a murder scene.”

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She squirmed in her chair. He was being an ass, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had to fend her off before she touched his fragile heart. “Keeps me fit, too. The more often I get off, the more calories I burn. You know how it is. Don’t you?” Distaste shadowed her face. She tapped her pen against his file and pointedly ignored his question. “Do you ever experience any sexual dysfunction?” “Of course not.” He scoffed at her. “Come on, doc.” “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know.” A tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows. “Most men experience that problem at some time in their lives. In your profession, it’s quite common. Being in homicide—” “I never have any trouble getting it up.” “You shouldn’t be embarrassed.” She put down her pen. “It’s perfectly normal for a man who sees what you see. Moral decay, evil people. Death.” “I don’t have that problem.” Anger flared within him. He knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to make him angry enough to let down his guard. Well, it wasn't going to work. In fact—she thought she was squirming now. He'd see how she reacted if he really punched all her buttons. He quirked his mouth and dropped his hand to his zipper. Unable to stop himself, he stalked toward her. “Want a demonstration?”

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Chapter Two “Did your mother and father tuck you in at night?” “No. They yelled at me. Threatened to smack me.” “Did they? Silence. “So they did. Did they ever do other things to hurt you?” “Yes.” “What did they do?” Silence. “You can tell me.” “No. They told me not to tell.” ***** Gracie let out a deep breath as he left her office. He was obviously severely traumatized, but every time she mentioned physical abuse, he clammed up tighter than a politician being grilled about adultery. It bothered her on many levels, but as his therapist, she could only do so much to make him talk. She'd taken an oath. All she could do was keep chipping away at the inflexible shell in which he’d wrapped himself, and pray he wouldn’t turn on her. He gave her the chills. But then, so did Nick Marconi. Except the shivers that wracked her body when Nick entered the room terrified her in different way. She’d thought she was immune to the brooding cop act. Her father had been a good cop who’d stayed pissed off at the world. Then he’d turned bad. When he was sent to prison two days after her fifteenth birthday, she’d been ecstatic to be away from his scary, melancholic rages. But her mother had never let her forget he was her father. Once again Gracie questioned her own sanity for taking this temporary job. It didn't help that she couldn’t stop thinking about Nick. That ruggedly handsome face, those tortured blue eyes. Those mile-wide shoulders that looked like they could hold up the world. Except right now, he was hurting. He wouldn’t admit it, not in a million years. Certainly not to her. But he needed help. Otherwise, why would he have tossed down his pride and answered her questions? Sort of. She sighed. He had another appointment this afternoon. After the stunt he’d pulled yesterday when she’d questioned him about sexual dysfunction, she was ready to call a hasty end to his quest for mental health. So what if he lost his badge? Why should she care?

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“Dr. Simmons?” Ashley’s shrill voice carried over the intercom. “Jerry Howard called again.” She grew still. Jerry was like a dog with a bone—he just wouldn’t let go. She bit her lip. “What’d you tell him?” “What I always do—that you’re in with an appointment.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “It just made him mad. Again.” “I can’t help that.” She had to find some way to get rid of her old beau. Regular excuses weren’t working. “You need to tell him to quit calling.” “I’ve asked him to stop a dozen times.” It had been over a month, and still Jerry kept turning up like a bad penny. He was beginning to frighten her with his persistence. “Thanks for the info.” “Oh, and Nick Marconi called to cancel today’s session.” “Really?” Gracie struggled to swallow around the startling knot of disappointment that suddenly lodged in her throat. Disappointment mixed with immense relief. “Did he say why?” The intercom crackled. “Something about a case.” “Did he reschedule?” “No.” Ashley said something to someone in the outer office. Then she cleared her throat. “Your three o’clock is here. Shall I send her in?” “Yes.” Gracie switched off the intercom and sat back down. She shouldn’t be relieved Nick wasn’t coming in. But deep down, in an offhand way, she was—once she got past her initial disappointment. He was walking a razor’s edge, and he was exhausted. Not a good combination. Especially not for a man carrying a gun. He needed her help, but not if he was going to do everything he could to irritate her. She had enough chaos in her life already. The door opened, and her three o'clock, an obsessive-compulsive retiree, walked in. Gracie drew in a slow, deep breath and forced herself to focus on the tiny, bird-like woman. She smiled. “Have a seat, Mrs. Applegate. I’ll be right with you.” With a brisk nod, the woman perched on the edge of one of the leather chairs. She kept clasping and unclasping her purse. Gracie punched the intercom button. She might be about to make a huge mistake, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Ashley?” “Yes, doctor?” “Please jot down the phone number of the patient we were just discussing on an index card for me. I need to return his call.” “Oh, sure thing.” Ashley sounded smug. “Right away.” Gracie bit back a sharp retort and instead calmly replied, “Thank you. I’ll get it as soon as Mrs. Applegate and I are done.” Sweat broke out across her brow as she clicked off the intercom. Ashley probably thought she’d lost her mind. Never once in the two years the girl had worked for her had she personally phoned a patient about an appointment.

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But before she could call Nick, she had to finish up her day. She straightened and met the anxious eyes of the woman sitting in front of her, whose lips were moving as she counted the number of times she'd clasped her purse. “Mrs. Applegate, put down your bag so we can get started.” ***** Nick’s cell phone rang, and he turned away from the potential witness he’d been interviewing. “Marconi.” “Nick, this is Pal. You’d better get down here.” Nick frowned. Pal had postponed Maria’s autopsy until later today—forcing him to cancel his appointment with the shrink. That was no great loss, but what could the ME possibly want now? “What’s up, doc?” “I had to go ahead with the autopsy. There was no time to call you.” “Damn it, Pal. You said four o’clock.” Frustration filtered through Nick, and he glanced at his watch. It was only five after three. “What gives?” “My wife made an appointment for us with a marriage counselor,” Pal said sheepishly. “If I don’t go, she’ll file for divorce and take everything I own. I gotta be there.” Nick muttered a curse. Women. They were nothing but trouble. He clenched his teeth. Hell. So why couldn’t he get Dr. Simmons’ gorgeous green eyes out of his head? That curvy body, those long, sexy legs. Those full pink lips— He pressed the phone to his ear and scowled up at the brilliant blue sky. “Why do you need me there now if you’ve already done the deed?” “I found something you need to see.” “What is it?” “Not on the telephone.” Pal made a wheezing sound. “Get down here before I have to leave.” Nick shot a worried glance at the witness who stood at the curb. He was skittish already, and now he had a wild look in his eye. Nick sighed. “All right. I’ll be there in fifteen.” He slapped the phone shut. He’d have to do some fast talking to hold on to this guy. He walked over to him. “Yo, Terrance.” “Yeah?” Terrance’s shaky fingers jerked. He was seriously in need of a fix. “I gotta go, man. You said—” “I know what I said.” Nick reached into his back pocket. “Things change. I want you to be here tomorrow morning at eight sharp. Can you do that?” “I don’t know, man.” Terrance rubbed a hand over his nose. His bloodshot eyes darted down the street and back. “Depends on what I can get ‘fore then. You know?” A beat up white car rolled by. Nick took out his wallet and pulled out a wad of bills. He pressed them into Terrance’s brown palm. “Here. Get going. But I want you here tomorrow, on time. Understand?” “Yeah, yeah.” The junkie’s torn white T-shirt flapped in the chilly breeze as he edged away. “Sure thing, man. I’ll be here.”

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“And I wanna know everything you remember about night before last. You got that?” “Yes sir.” Terrance sniffed. “I saw plenty.” A marked cruiser turned the corner, and Nick bobbed his head at the junkie. “Go on. Get the hell out of here.” Terrance turned and sprinted away to a hole in the fence. He darted through it and was gone. Nick blew out a burst of air and raked both hands through his hair. He hated facilitating the guy’s drug habit, but he needed information. Terrance may have seen who’d killed Maria the night before in the park. She had once been beautiful, with long dark hair and a hot, tanned body. But after what that jerk had done to her, Nick couldn’t shake off the memory of that vacant stare, the thick red welts on her ankles, the way her arms had flopped lifelessly against the sand. “Hey, detective,” one of the uniforms called from the cruiser that pulled alongside him. “You out slumming?” “Just getting a little fresh air,” Nick said, realizing he needed it, thanks to Terrance’s overwhelming stench. He started up the sidewalk toward his car. The cruiser rolled along beside him. “You working the case where the woman was bled out?” “Yep.” Nick eyed the young cop. Probably just out of the academy. The driver was Lieutenant Billy Strahan, the rookie’s training officer, who had gone through the academy with Nick right out of college. Strahan was bitter because Nick had moved to homicide over six years ago, while he still patrolled a beat. Dumb bastard. Nick took a step toward them. “Hi, Lieutenant. You guys got anything for me?” The cruiser halted, and the rookie hooked his arm over the door. “Word on the street says it’s a dump job.” “Yeah? Who says?” “My name’s Baldwin. Guess you know my TO.” He nodded in Strahan’s direction. The Lieutenant shot him an acidic look, and bobbed his dark head. “Hey, Marconi. How’s it hangin’?” “Okay.” Nick acknowledged him. Baldwin frowned. “The junkie you were just talking to—what’s his name?” “Terrance,” Nick said. “I’m sure you know him.” “Hell, yeah.” Strahan’s mouth curved in a bitter smile. “He goes by T-Mac on the street.” “That’s him. He and another guy.” He turned to Strahan. “What did T-Mac call him?” “Darius Williams.” Strahan cocked his head. “Know him?” “No.” Baldwin jumped in. “Works down at The Gas Light, on the corner.” Nick raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, and peered down the street. The Gas Light was a dumpy joint at the corner of Park and Fifth. He turned his gaze back to the cops in the car. “You think he saw something, too?” “Maybe so.” Baldwin rubbed his jaw. “Came out at closing time—” “What time was that?” Nick cut him off.

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“Twelve-thirty,” Strahan said. “He knew, ‘cause wrestling had just gone off. They watch that in the bar every night.” Nick pulled out his pad and pen and jotted down the information. “Said he was throwing a bag of trash in the dumpster when he heard a creepy rattling sound.” “A rattle?” Nick frowned. “You know. Like from a chain.” The swing sets. Nick raised his gaze to the park across the street, and hackles rose along his spine. The son of a bitch had strung her up right there and drained the life out of her, just like Pal had said. Nick felt a surge of nausea low in his gut. The radio in the cruiser crackled. Strahan answered it. “A break in,” Baldwin said, excitement flushing his baby face. No burnout in his life yet. Poor bastard. He grinned. “Sorry, detective. We gotta go.” “Sure. Thanks for your help.” Nick put away his pad and pen and stepped back up on the curb. The eerie stillness of the park called out to him, as if it wanted to give up its secrets. He wanted to cross the street and explore the crime scene one more time, to see if they’d missed anything. But he had to get to the Medical Examiner’s Office before Pal left. Muttering an oath, Nick stabbed a hand through his hair. Then he strode to the sedan. Traffic was sparse on his way downtown. But even though he was making good time, he drummed his fingers on the wheel at every traffic light. Pal had sounded stressed. Nick wasn't sure how long he'd wait. The ME met him at the door. “About time you got here. I gotta leave in like three minutes. Hope you’ve got your big boy pants on.” The older man’s thick jowls shook as he turned and led Nick down the hall toward the door to the lab. “This one freaked me out, and I’ve seen everything.” Nick scowled at Pal’s back. What could be so bad? He steeled himself as they entered the spotless room. The odor of formaldehyde hit him first, and he covered his nose and mouth. He’d forgotten the menthol salve again. Seeing Maria dead yesterday had been hard enough, but now that the ME had made the customary Y incision, the idea of viewing her body made him queasy. “There was a note inside her.” Halting before he reached Maria’s sheet-covered form, Nick dropped his hand. “What do you mean, inside her?” “In her throat.” Nick felt the blood drain from his face. “What did it say?” Pal pulled on a pair of latex gloves and picked up a sealed plastic zipper bag containing a pale yellow three-by-three piece of paper. A sticky note. “The words are printed in Times Roman.” Pal looked at him. “Apparently, the doer stuck the note to a sheet of inkjet paper and ran it through his printer. Gonna be damned hard to trace.” “If not impossible.” Nick made a fist. “Did you get any prints from the adhesive?”

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“Nope. And believe me, I tried. It’s clean as a whistle. I did find a couple of dyed cotton fibers in her mouth, though. Red ones.” “What does the paper say?” Pal’s eyes flicked to his. “Keep in mind the words don’t say it all.” What the hell did that mean? Nick glared at him. “Just read the damned note.” Pal wet his lips, and read, “Roses are red, violence is blue. You put me in prison, I killed her for you.” “It’s a really bad poem.” Nick shrugged. “I don’t get it.” “Underneath, in what’s probably an eight point font, it says, ‘A woman for every year I spent inside, Marconi. Fuck you.’” Stunned, Nick rocked back on his heels. The note was directed at him. He stared in horror at the evidence cradled in Pal’s beefy hand. A woman for every year. “Who in hell's name would do this? A woman for every year. It must be someone who's just been released.” He’d have to get a list of recent parolees from the Department of Public Safety and Corrections. “Maybe. But that’s not all. This part’s gonna blow your mind.” He jerked his gaze back to Pal’s flushed face. “What do you mean?” Pal set the sack containing the note back on the counter and reached for another zippered bag. Inside was a tiny vial of dark liquid. “Blood?” Nick frowned as he took the bag. “That was in her throat, too?” “Yeah.” Pal’s wary gaze locked on Nick’s face. “And it’s not hers. I’ll run it through the Louisiana state DNA Database and CODIS, see if I get a hit. It could be anybody’s.” Pal eyed the tiny vial. “The doer is definitely trying to tell you something.” “No shit.” Nick turned the bag over in his hands. The blood in the vial rolled back and forth, like liquid inside a level. Death under glass. He rubbed a hand over the rough stubble on his chin. “Why’d he shove it down her throat? Why not just leave it at the scene for us to find?” “Not enough drama that way.” Nick had to agree. “I know it’s too much to ask—but did you get any prints off the vial?” “Nope. And I ran it through the Electro-Static Detection device. Nothing showed up except the printed words. The paper’s clean.” “I don’t believe this,” Nick said softly, his disturbed gaze landing on Maria’s sheetcovered body. The knot in his gut twisted painfully. This was no longer just a case. She had died because of him. But why? Pal took the bag from his suddenly damp hands and put it back on the counter. Nick swallowed. “Did you find anything else unusual during the autopsy?” “No, and she wasn’t raped. I did wonder—” Nick’s cell phone chirped, cutting Pal off in mid-sentence. Nick muttered an oath and yanked out the shrilling device. “Just a second,” he said to Pal. He brought the phone to his ear. “Marconi.” “Hello, detective.” A woman. Nick struggled to place her voice. “Yes?”

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“This is Dr. Simmons. Gracie Simmons.” The psychiatrist with the gorgeous green eyes. Mild surprise rippled through Nick. “You missed your appointment this afternoon.” “Yeah, I did.” Nick suddenly felt like a high school kid after a teacher caught him cutting class. Embarrassed and antsy. Shit. He tensed. “Sorry. I had an autopsy.” That sounded lame. “An autopsy?” “Yeah.” He tangled his fingers in his hair. “To watch, you know. For a case.” Pal cleared his throat. Startled, Nick looked at him. He’d forgotten the ME was in the room. “I mean, I was supposed to watch it. You see, I’m working this brutal murder case—” Of course he was. He worked homicide. Nick pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. He was rambling on like some dumb punk kid. “Would you like to reschedule?” “Reschedule?” His mind was a total blur. Maria was stretched out on the table under that white sheet, Pal had fished a vial of strange blood from her throat, and Nick’s name was on that damned sticky note. He was so focused on the case he couldn’t think of anything else. Gracie chuckled, her laughter like a pleasant set of wind chimes. “Your appointment. I have an opening early in the morning if you can make that.” “I have court.” And he had to meet T-Mac. No way was he letting the junkie off the hook. He needed his information. Pal shook his head and turned away. Nick felt his face heat. “Maybe we should talk about this some other time.” “No. It’s important. Tell me when you can come in.” “I don’t—” He started to say he didn’t want to see a shrink. That he didn’t need one. But she already knew how he felt. He had no choice but to see her, really. Not if he wanted to keep his pistol and his shield. Without it, he’d be nothing. “I’ll make it as painless as possible,” Gracie said. “I promise.” Nothing about seeing her again would be painless. Not the relentless questions, the psychotherapy, or the fact that she was beautiful, sexy—and so far out of bounds, she should come with a bright red X on her forehead. He eyed Maria’s sheet-draped body. Despite his reservations, there was something enticing about spending an hour a day with Dr. Simmons that appealed to him on a visceral level. He believed he could trust her, even if he didn’t want to. He liked looking at her. And hell, she made him feel like he’d come home. In spite of her being a shrink. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “Tomorrow at eleven. I should be done with court by then. Will that work for you?” “I have an appointment . . . but I’ll ask the patient if she’ll switch. It shouldn’t be a problem.” “Fine. Call me back if you need to change the time.” “I will,” she said, and hung up. Trying to regain his focus without showing Pal how shaken he was, Nick gripped the phone. “Nick?” Pals voice was harsh.

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“Yeah?” He pocketed the cell phone. “What were you about to tell me?” “I was just thinking. What if this subject didn't just get out of prison? What if this isn't his first kill?” ***** Night was falling. Nerves on edge, he sat in the car outside the brightly lit supermarket and rubbed his eyes. The woman had been inside for thirty minutes, probably buying fresh fruit, vegetables, and whole grain bread. She looked like the health conscious type. Strong, athletic, bright. She would be quite a challenge for him. He grinned. Not like last time. Blond and slight, that young woman had been wrestling a big basket of laundry from her car into an empty laundromat in Kenner, and he had offered to help her. It had been so easy. They’d struck up a conversation about the weather, football, and the fading New Orleans Saints. She was a fan. He left her there to do her laundry, and had waited in the shadows for her to come out. His blitz attack had taken only seconds. He’d hit her and dragged her to his car without detection, then had driven into the city and left her in the trunk to sleep for a while. She had regained consciousness as he’d hoisted her upside down on that ancient metal swing set. A thrill shot through him when he remembered the stark terror in her eyes. She tried to scream, but the rag he’d stuffed in her mouth muffled her cries. She fought hard. But not hard enough. The grocery store’s wide glass doors slid open and the slim, leggy redhead strode out carrying two brimming plastic bags. Sierra Pinson, who had dated Nick Marconi way back in eighth grade, the year his baby sister had been murdered. His tastes had changed over the years, from redheads to blonds. Yet the women all had two common links—beauty and high intelligence. He laughed. Yes, they were clever, but never quite bright enough to know he had them under surveillance. Either that, or they liked being watched. Sierra dug her keys from her tiny animal print purse and opened her car door. He started the compact’s ignition. Once she pulled out, he waited a beat before joining the steady stream of traffic behind her. Even though the road was busy, following her was a breeze. He stayed several cars back in case she spotted him, but he shouldn’t have worried. She never even once glanced in her rearview mirror. She wheeled into the parking lot of her apartment complex and got out. The wind blew her shoulder-length hair into her face. She brushed it away. He pulled into a spot six spaces down from her and killed the lights. She never looked his way. Her taut skin gleamed like molten gold beneath the pale streetlights, which had just blinked on. It was early yet. Too early for an attack. He would wait, and he would watch. He had a friend on the outside who had gathered information on all of Nick’s women while he was in prison, and Billy had noted even the tiniest details. Including the fact that Sierra went to the gym on the outer edge of the apartment complex every night at seven o’clock sharp. She never missed.

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He glanced down at his watch. Six-thirty. He had plenty of time to savor the moment. He settled back in the compact’s torn bucket seat and pulled a silver bullet-shaped Thermos from beneath the seat. His fingers were sure as he uncapped it. He drew in the enticing aroma of the hot, whiskey-laced coffee inside, and watched with pleasure as wisps of fragrant steam curled upwards toward the roof. He poured some of the brew into the tiny cup and drank it down, enjoying the harsh bite of bourbon as it slid down his throat along with the caffeine. Most of the tools he would use later tonight were in the trunk. A razor-sharp filet knife, a coil of half-inch yellow Nylon cord. The bright green pickle bucket he’d stolen from behind The Steak Hut. In his pocket was another yellow note, printed on a public computer in the library at UNO, and a tiny glass vial of the precious blood he hoarded like gold. He swallowed another mouthful of coffee and stared out the side window at the scytheshaped moon. The sky was clear, and the air was crisp and cold for late March. He hunkered down in the seat and imagined lashing Sierra’s ankles to the ancient jungle gym in the tiny suburban park he had picked out just this morning. Yes, he was familiar with the three D’s of sadism—dread, dependency, and degradation. He had that covered. His free hand slid to his crotch and squeezed. His flesh hardened. Sierra would see his knife, and her eyes would go wide with fear. She would fight, and she would cry. She might even beg. Then he would draw the honed blade across her lily-white throat— Leaving another dead body to puzzle Marconi. ***** Nick heard the phone ringing inside his refurbished French Quarter row house before he even unlocked the door. Four stress-filled days had passed since Maria’s body had been found in the park, and still he had nothing. His nerves were on edge. “All right, damn it,” he muttered, shoving the portal wide. He slammed it shut behind him and strode through the foyer to the cordless phone in the living room, snatching it up mid-ring. “Marconi.” “Nick, this is Pal.” “Hey, didn’t expect to hear from you just yet. Got something for me?” Nick tossed his keys on the end table and shrugged out of his heavy coat. The sooner he had DNA on the park murder, the sooner he’d have the information that would hopefully lead him to the killer. Except it was way too early for DNA. In the last case he’d worked, it had taken Pal three weeks to get it to him. Pal hesitated. “Pal?” Nick threw down his coat and dropped wearily onto the tired leather couch. The cold made his muscles ache. “Spit it out. I don’t wanna stay on the phone all night. I’m hungry.” “Don’t complain. I rushed up the DNA on your case—and you’d sure as hell better not tell anybody.”

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“Wonderful.” Surprise spiked with a pinch of dread funneled through Nick. He shoved his fingers through his hair. “How did I rate special billing?” “I started thinking about the weird vibes I felt at the crime scene.” “Weird vibes?” Nick barked a laugh. “What, are you going psychic on me now? That’s all I need. What the hell are you talking about?” “Well, I got to thinking about the way he killed her, you know? The sheer brutality of it. And about how it was really similar to another murder a few years back. The same signature, the missing blood, the amount of damage to the body.” “Oh yeah?” The hairs on the back of Nick’s neck stood up, and all at once he knew where Pal was going with this. He went cold as ice inside. It couldn’t be. Could it? He fisted his hand on the armrest. Held his breath. “Nick, the blood in the vial is Jasmine’s.” God, no. Nick’s heart slammed his ribs, and the lump that had sat in his chest for five long years suddenly grew so big he could hardly breathe. He felt light-headed, and almost passed out. “I ran the DNA three times and checked it against her case file. Then I ran it through CODIS, just to be sure.” He paused for a beat, which made Nick’s ears ring. “It’s hers.” “Son of a bitch,” Nick snapped, his voice catching on the words. Tears filled his eyes as he remembered the agony of seeing his sister, after she’d been sliced up by a madman. God, how he missed her. He’d had no chance to save her, or to even say goodbye. All he could do was catch the monster responsible, and put him in prison. Butch O’Neill. The rat bastard she’d been dating, who had turned on her in a fit of rage when she had caught him cheating. Pal coughed. “Just thought you’d wanna know.” “Yeah,” Nick choked out. “Thanks for calling.” His mind whirred as he put down the phone. Butch O’Neill had fooled the jury and gotten ten years for manslaughter. Even though he’d taken the time to drain half of Jasmine’s blood and take it with him. It had never been found. Nick had resigned himself to the fact that O’Neill had dumped it somewhere out of rage or spite. But now— He leapt to his feet and began to pace back and forth in front of the couch. If O’Neill was still in prison, someone else had gotten his hands on Jasmine’s blood. Was the perp acting at O’Neill’s direction? Or was the guy simply some crazed copycat who’d learned the details of the man’s grisly crime behind bars? Nick rubbed his brow. He needed to contact Public Safety and Corrections again, to get that damned list once and for all and see if O’Neill was still locked up. He’d called two days ago, but still hadn’t received it. He glanced at the clock on the wall above the oak entertainment center. Nine-fifteen. Too late to call now. He’d have to wait until tomorrow. He squeezed his hands. Then he rounded the sofa and headed for the kitchen. Eating supper was out of the question.

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He called Parker and reported Pal’s findings, then dug a cold bottle of beer from the refrigerator and poured it down his throat, hoping to head off the bitterness welling up inside him like a cancer. It was getting late, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not with the gruesome slide show running in his head. So he downed another beer and walked the floor, his hand wrapped around the handle of his Glock .40, trying his damnedest to keep his finger off the trigger. His head pounded. He shook it briskly to expel the memory of finding Jasmine on the floor of her apartment in a pool of drying blood, her neck carved like a carcass in a butcher shop. But that didn’t help one damned bit. Her eyes had been wide open, focused on the prey he couldn’t find. He hadn’t cried then. Not once. Even though she’d only been twenty-three, with her whole life in front of her. Her career as a fashion designer, marriage to the man of her dreams, a houseful of babies. His throat closed up. She would never have any of those things now. He took another swallow of cold beer, and almost gagged on it when a picture of his partner’s last moments flashed into his head. Danny’s death had no connection with Jasmine’s murder, but in Nick’s mind the two were irreversibly connected because of his closeness to both victims. The bullet had knocked Danny backwards and his blood had spurted over fifteen feet to hit the slick gray wall beside them. Nick had desperately tried to stop its flow, although it had pulsed hard against his hand in time with Danny’s frantic heartbeat. It had all happened so damned fast. He’d felt so helpless. Like a failure. Hell, the boys in blue were a fraternity. Blood brothers. Nick had let his brother down—and cried while his partner’s blood flowed out between his shaking fingers, leaving Danny Robson’s two toddlers without a father. Nick’s eyes stung as pain arced though him, so hot and fierce he staggered from it. He pressed the pistol to his stubbled cheek. The Glock felt heavy. He dropped his hand, and his fingers began to sweat. He leaned against the kitchen wall and stared down at the sleek black pistol cradled loosely in his fist. One bullet, one less cop. Only, he couldn’t do it. Not with a killer on the loose. He'd be cheating justice, and himself. Not to mention the dead.

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Chapter Three “You didn't have many friends when you were growing up, did you?” “No. I liked to be by myself.” “Why was that?” “The other kids always laughed at me.” “I see. And that hurt your feelings?” “What do you think?” “I think it did. Did they ever make you cry?” “No! I never cried. Not once.” “Crying is a normal reaction to being hurt.” “Not for me. Big boys don’t cry.” “Who taught you that?” “Dad.” ***** Nick rolled over in bed, and realized the ringing in his ears was the telephone. The damned thing had woke him. Again. He moaned. At least he’d actually been asleep. “All right, all right,” he finally muttered, eyeing the clock. Seven-oh-one a.m. He scrubbed both hands over his face. He’d gotten maybe three hours sleep after walking the fucking floor half the night. Every time he’d tried lying down, a snapshot of Jasmine’s lifeless face would pop into his head, only to be replaced by a picture of Danny, with blood spurting like a fountain from his neck. Next came Maria’s vacant stare, her brown eyes wide with terror— The march of the dead continued on. The phone’s persistent ringing made his head throb. It had to be either work, or Dr. Simmons. Nick’s heartbeat quickened when he considered the good doctor. What would she think if she knew he was lying in bed covered by nothing more than a sheet wrapped loosely around his legs when he answered the phone? Quirking his mouth, he snatched up the wireless handset and said gruffly, “Marconi.” “Didn’t think you were gonna answer the damned phone.” Captain Parker’s tight voice bit into his ear. “Where the hell were you?” “In the shower,” Nick lied, refusing to acknowledge the vague feeling of disappointment that slid through him upon realizing it was the Captain. Parker cleared his throat. “Hate to tell you this, but we've got another body.” “Shit.” Dread wrapped its slick tendrils around Nick, and he went still. “Where?” “In that nice little park on Elysian Fields. You know the one I mean.”

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“That’s in District Three. It’s not our problem.” Although he knew with sick certainly why he’d been contacted, he still had to ask, “Why are you calling me on this one?” “Because the injury to the corpse and evidence at the scene are identical to the one four days ago in Mid-town.” “Maria.” Nick fisted his hand in the sheet as the words from the note Pal had found in her throat ran through his head, A woman for every year I spent inside, Marconi. Fuck you. Jasmine’s blood. He gritted his teeth. “Son of a bitch.” “They want you down there, pronto.” “I’m on my way.” Nick raked a hand through his disheveled hair. He’d have to take a quick shower. “Have you heard from the Department of Public Safety and Corrections about the list I requested after Pal autopsied the girl?” “No. But I just got here.” The Captain’s chair squawked. “It’s only seven o’clock in the morning. They might send it on this morning.” “Can’t wait. I’ll have to call ‘em back to see what the hold up is.” Nick’s sleep-blurred gaze slid back to the alarm clock. Why in hell hadn’t it gone off an hour ago? He had to meet T-Mac at eight. He rubbed his chest. “If you see it cross your desk before I make it to the precinct, call me right away. It’s important.” “Sure thing.” Nick hung up and rose on weary legs. His stomach was queasy, probably because all he’d eaten last night was stale potato chips and beer. He took a quick shower, dressed in a clean suit, and shaved. Eyeing himself in the mirror, he decided he looked a little better than yesterday. He still had dark circles under his eyes, and they were bloodshot. But at least he’d scraped the thick stubble off his chin. His car was parked two blocks away, and he used the walk to fill his lungs with crisp spring air and the lingering odors from last night’s parties. The French Quarter was a great place to live, except for the roaches and the noise, but sometimes the odor of spilled beer, the harsh stench of cigarettes, and the musky hint of sex in the air were overpowering. Party central in the Deep South. Cursing rush hour traffic, he weaved his way to the crime scene and pulled up to the curb. This neat park was a world away from the ratty place where Maria had died. The green space was surrounded on all four sides by homes with tidy half-acre yards, covered porches, and double garages. Bicycles, wagons, and scooters lay on the ground in front of many of them, a testament to the fact that the neighborhood was filled with kids. Nick took the small blue container of menthol salve out of the glove box and stuck it in his pocket before climbing from his dirty Ford Expedition. His stomach rumbled as he ducked beneath the crime scene tape edging the sidewalk and flashed his badge at the uniform guarding the scene. “Hello, detective,” she said, shaking her head. “Hope you haven’t had your breakfast yet.” “Nope.” An ominous pall rolled over him as he strode across the dew covered grass. He opened the salve and rubbed some under his nose. The sharp bite of menthol helped him clear his head. Dropping the jar back into his pocket, he spotted Pal’s bulky form crouched in the sand next to a body about fifty feet away beside an arched jungle gym. The woman lay face up, and

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she was nude. Blood was pooled beneath her head. A dark smear marred the front leg of the climbing apparatus, and hope rose in Nick’s gut. Maybe that would help them. Pal shoved himself to his feet and pulled out a notepad. The photographer circled him and took picture after picture of the bright red jungle gym and the blood-soaked ground beneath it. “What have we got this time?” Nick asked, although he already knew. Another dead woman, a second note. Another tiny vial of blood. Would it be Jasmine’s too? Pal sent him a jaundiced look. “Same modus operandi, same signature, only this time he skipped the swings and used this damned thing. Makes no sense to me, because this thing is so much lower to the ground. Her hair must’ve gotten in the bucket. The ends of it are saturated.” “Did you find another note?” “Yeah, but I won’t extract it from her throat until I get to the lab. There’s too much chance of contamination out here.” “I’m watching the autopsy this time.” Pal nodded, and jerked his hand toward the dead girl. “Know this one?” Nick took a deep breath and made himself focus on the woman’s long, pale limbs, her blood-tipped carrot-colored hair. Her distorted, purple-tinged features. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. “I’m not sure. Maybe.” “I’ll print her when we get to the lab. With any luck, she’ll be in our system.” “Not if she’s a good girl.” Nick eyed the streak of blood on the jungle gym’s leg with expectation. “Any prints there?” “No, but I found a couple of decent fibers stuck to the metal.” Yes. Nick bent and examined the smear. It was definitely blood, coppery smelling and partially dried. “From what?” “Maybe a towel.” Pal shrugged. “I’ll let you know after I examine them. There’s no sign of trauma to the body except for the head and neck. I don’t think she was raped.” “When will you cut her?” “Soon as we can get her downtown. Two bodies mean we have a serial murderer on the loose. We’re making these cases top priority.” “Good,” Nick said grimly. His eyes strayed to the woman’s neck, which like Maria’s and Jasmine’s had been, was sliced clear through to her spine. Her body was pale, with no sign of hypostasis except for patches of blood mottling her face. “I’m guessing she was bled out just like Maria and Jasmine.” “Put money on that, and you’ll be a millionaire.” Pal pointed toward the patch of sand directly beneath the swing set. “You can see the mark the bucket made when he put it under her.” Nick pulled on a pair of latex gloves and climbed into the jungle gym. “Got a tape measure?” “Sure.” Pal tossed it to him. Careful to keep away from the center of the space, Nick squatted and measured the diameter of the circle. Ten and a half inches. He tossed the tape measure back to Pal, climbed out from between the bars, and pulled out his pad and pen. He jotted down the bucket’s diameter. “Approximate time of death?”

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“Six to eight hours ago.” “Just like Maria.” Pal nodded grimly. “I’d say she was killed sometime between eleven p.m. and one a.m.” Nick eyed the neighborhood. “Suburban utopia. I bet this place is tucked in by ten o’clock every week night.” “But you’re gonna canvass the hell out of it anyway.” “Of course I am.” Nick scowled. “We held back Maria’s approximate time of death from the press, along with the fact that she’d been bled out. The note, the vial—” “So this can’t be a copycat.” “Too many similarities. Someone may have been putting out their dog, maybe they saw something.” “There wasn’t any rain last night,” Pal said, peering down at the sandy ground near his feet. “I really thought we might have some footprints.” “You haven’t spotted any?” Nick examined the other end of the jungle gym as two more men from the crime scene unit walked up. Pal scowled at them. “No indentions except for the bucket. This guy’s damned good.” “He has to slip up sooner or later,” Nick said, his stomach burning. He pulled a roll of antacids from his pocket and popped two into his mouth. “But how many women have to die before he does?” “I hope not too many. Makes too much work for us.” His face solemn, Pal tucked his pad back into his pocket. Then he turned to the men who had just arrived. “Where have you people been?” “At the Waffle House,” the older one said, checking his watch. “Mike’s cell phone was off, and I dropped mine in the toilet. Sorry.” “Yeah,” Mike said sheepishly. He was a rookie with SCID, and not used to working days. Pal shot him a hard look. “Go get a body bag.” “Yes, sir.” He turned away just as a dark sedan roared up to the curb. Nick cursed. It was Orleans Parish Assistant District Attorney Paul Lang. A real prick. Lang unfolded his long legs and climbed from the car. He scowled at Nick as he ducked beneath the crime scene tape. “Marconi. Why in hell didn’t you call me?” “Because I have everything under control.” “Two murders in four days. Is that your idea of control?” Nick yanked his disgusted gaze away from Lang and looked down at the woman’s nude form. He longed to cover her up to keep the ADA from ogling her. Lang stalked around her body. “Any suspects?” “Maybe.” Lang jerked his head up and glared hard at Nick. “If you like somebody for this, you’d better be telling me.” “I’ll come to you when I have rock solid evidence. Not before.” “You’d damned well better.” He scanned the park, and then turned back to Nick and lowered his voice. “Your job depends on it.”

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Anger flared in Nick’s chest. Lang was a political animal who was more comfortable kissing ass than actually working. He rarely visited crime scenes and when he did, it was usually to tell the uniforms and detectives what they were doing wrong. Like he had a fucking clue. “Don’t worry, Lang. Nick will do his job,” Pal said, squatting beside the body as his rookie assistant walked up holding a thick black body bag. Lang put a hand over his nose, which muffled his words. “I hope you’re right.” The rookie and Pal’s other assistant knelt beside Pal. Nick watched the three of them place the woman in the big black bag, zip it up, and load her into the back of Pal’s spotless SCID van. Lang walked up to him and poked a finger at his chest. “I expect to be notified the second you have a break in this case. Understand?” “Yes sir,” Nick said, biting back a snide remark. Lang walked away without looking back. Nick put the ADA out of his mind and assigned two uniforms to begin a neighborhood canvass. Then he made a quick run through downtown to meet T-Mac, who didn’t show. Cursing himself for having given the junkie money the day before, Nick headed to the ME’s office. “I’ll extract the note before I do the Y-Incision,” Pal said when he walked in. “Fine.” Nick consulted his watch. “I’m gonna have to skip out on you in a few. I have court at nine o’clock. Can’t get out of it.” “This is what you want to see, anyway.” Pal pulled on a pair of gloves and picked up what looked like a giant set of tweezers. Nick held his breath as Pal drew a rolled sticky note from deep in the woman’s throat. His stomach bucked. “Is this one curled around a vial?” “Looks like it.” Pal put the note on a sterile towel and carefully pulled it off the tiny tube. He held it up to the light. “Yep. It’s blood, all right.” Pal put the vial back on the towel and looked at Nick. “It’ll take a while for me to run the DNA. Can’t promise to do it in four days this time, but I’ll try.” “Make it sooner, if you can. We gotta stop this asshole before he kills again.” Nick rubbed his brow. “Will you call me?” “You betcha. I’ll put a rush on it.” “Thanks. Two bodies in four days.” Nick shook his head. “This guy’s a real whacko.” “You’ve got that right.” Pal picked up the curled sticky note and stretched it out. The same black Times Roman print had been used as in the first note, but this time the author had used the same sized font for all of it. It read: Her blood is red, violence is blue. I cut them to the bone, and they bleed for you. Remember Sierra, Nick? Sierra. His mind flashed back over the years. Long red hair, hazel eyes. Middle school? He reeled backwards. Shit. “You know her?” Pal asked, his cagey eyes searching Nick’s face. Nick reread the note, then stepped over to the woman’s body and examined her face more closely. Time and death had changed her. But now he recognized the gentle lift of her brow, her long amber eyelashes, and her straight white teeth, made that way by braces that had been taken off while they were middle school boyfriend and girlfriend.

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“My God. I dated her too, just like Maria,” he said softly. A hard lump formed in the middle of his chest. “Back when we were kids. She was one of my first girlfriends.” “This guy’s fixated on you.” “He wants revenge.” Nick glanced at the clock on the wall. Eight forty-five. Damn it. He looked at Pal. “I have to be in court in fifteen minutes. Will you do me a favor with that DNA?” “I’ll do the best I can.” “Thanks. I’ll owe you.” Nick pulled out his cell phone and ran for his car. Parker picked up on the second ring. “Captain, this is Marconi. I’m on my way to testify in the Fox case.” “Better hurry.” The Captain coughed. “What did you find at the crime scene?” “Same MO, same signature. Another note aimed at me. Bastard has me in his sights.” “Son of a bitch. Another vial?” “Yeah. Pal’s gonna get back with me on the DNA. I asked him to rush it. A call from you might help.” Nick dodged a woman with a stroller. “Did Corrections send over that list?” “Not yet.” Nick muttered an oath. “Damn it. I forgot to call. I’m supposed to meet with the shrink after court, but I need that info about O’Neill now. I’ll just cancel.” “No, you won’t. You cancelled yesterday.” “So what? The good doctor’s not going anywhere.” “Well, you are. To your appointment.” “I don’t have time.” Heat suffused Nick’s face despite the chilly wind blowing across the sidewalk. He halted beside the Expedition. “A man is killing women I’ve dated, and I have to stop him before he kills someone else.” “The chief called this morning, wanting to know your status. ADA Lang is on his ass.” Nick cursed. “Lang is a prick.” “Maybe so, but we have to jump through his hoops if we hope to make this case. I told the chief you were seeing the shrink.” “Yeah, and I will.” He unlocked the door and slid onto the seat. “Just not today.” “Keep your appointment. I’ll go to Corrections myself for your information.” “Damn it, Captain—” Nick dropped his head back against the seat. He had no business wasting his time on some ridiculous therapy the chief and Lang thought he needed when women were dying just because he’d kissed them. Even if it did mean seeing green-eyed Dr. Simmons again. “Go see the shrink. I don’t want to lose you.” “All right.” Nick blew out a blast of air. “I’ll go. But I need that report yesterday.” “It’ll be on your desk when you get back.” Nick snapped his phone shut and twisted the key in the ignition. Another woman he'd known was dead. Jasmine’s blood was in her throat, and he didn’t know if his sister’s murderer was still in prison. He had to go to court—and then the damned shrink. This was turning out to be one helluva day. *****

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Gracie checked her watch for the tenth time in five minutes. Eleven-twelve. Detective Marconi was late. His folder lay open on her desk, and she quickly rescanned the section about his partner’s murder. Detective Danny Robson had died a ghastly death. Marconi had tried to staunch the blood spurting from his partner's neck, but the bullet had hit the carotid artery. Robson had died in less than a minute. She pictured Nick hunched over his fatally injured friend, his heart breaking as he tried to pray life back into Detective Robson’s wounded body. After losing so many family members to brutal deaths, his pain must have been unbearable. Her heart swelled with a combination of admiration and pity for him. She remembered the haunted light in his eyes, the way he’d paced her office like a caged tiger, and she ached for him. Only two weeks had passed since he’d watched Danny die. It was a wonder Nick could function at all. She picked up her pen and tapped it against her desk as another minute ticked down. He wasn’t coming. Gracie hated having to phone Nick’s Captain to tell him Nick had missed another session. He could lose his job. She rose and began to stalk back and forth across the rug. She’d give him fifteen more minutes. Then she would have no choice. She halted beside the window. Her office was ten stories up, overlooking busy downtown New Orleans. The sky was crystal clear and so blue it hurt her eyes. She watched a flock of birds fly by and suddenly longed to be sitting in the French Quarter nursing a cup of café au lait beside the mighty Mississippi, which glinted in the distance like rolled pewter. “Dr. Simmons?” Ashley’s shrill voice suddenly spilled from the intercom. Gracie pressed a hand to her chest and turned away from the enticing view. “Yes, Ashley?” “Detective Marconi is here.” Relief sailed through Gracie’s chest, and she hurried back to her desk. “Thank you. Send him in.” The door opened, and Nick strode in. He had shaved, but his face looked just as haggard as it had three days before. His suit coat was just as rumpled. She frowned. His careless appearance told her he was at best, depressed. She feared his troubles went much deeper. “Detective. I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it today.” “I shouldn’t be here.” He halted beside the chair he’d sat in on his last visit, but he didn’t sit down. His fists were clenched, and his shoulders were taut. He looked liked he was about to jump out of his skin. She frowned at him. “Why not?” “Because I have cases to work. Important ones. This is a complete waste of time.” “Taking one hour out of your day can’t possibly—” “You have no idea what that one hour may mean,” he said, his voice an angry growl. “People are dying.” “What people?”

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“Never mind.” He jerked his gaze away, as if he thought he’d said too much, and sat down heavily in the chair. His right leg jostled up and down. “Let’s get this over with so I can get back to work. It’s important.” “You work a lot.” “Yeah.” He rubbed his knuckles against his open palm. “I take my job seriously.” “Maybe a little too seriously.” Fury flared in his eyes. “I don’t need this shit.” He sprang to his feet. She put her hands on the desk and pinned him with her fiercest stare. “Sit down, detective. We’re not finished.” “You have no idea what I’m up against.” “I’m sure I don’t. Will you please enlighten me?” “I’m trying to catch a sadistic killer.” She drew her brows together. “Isn't that to be expected in your line of work?” “You make it sound so damned cavalier.” He scoffed at her. “You couldn’t stomach what I deal with every day.” She tightened her lips. “Try me.” “All right.” Nick’s dark gaze landed on her face. “Just remember, doc. You asked for it.” “I will.” His expression tightened. “I was awakened this morning by my boss, who informed me there was a dead body in a park across town. It was my case, because it closely resembled one I had earlier this week.” “Go on.” “The woman’s throat had been slit from ear to ear, clear through to her spine.” Revulsion filled Gracie and she felt light-headed, but she slipped a stoic mask in place to hide it. She’d learned to hide her emotions a long time ago, during her father’s angry tirades. Good girls didn’t show weakness. “All the blood had been drained from her body. We think the perp took it with him.” Nick gave her an intent look, as if daring her to react. She refused to give him the satisfaction. He folded his arms. “I see death every day.” “No wonder you were referred to me.” “You want to listen to me talk, you’ve gotta be able to handle it.” “It won’t be a problem.” She wouldn’t let it be. Even if his description of the grisly murder had sickened her. She kept her stoic mask in place and sat down in her chair. “I’ll do everything I can to help you.” “Yeah, right.” He paced toward the window. “What I need is for someone to find the murdering bastard whose killing these women.” “You have no leads?” “A few. But our evidence is all circumstantial. We can’t put the guy at the scene.” She studied him. “How do you feel about that?” “How do I—” he laughed harshly. “You are a shrink, aren’t you? How do you think I feel?” He turned and dropped his arms. “It bothers me. It’s my job to catch murderers and put them behind bars.”

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“Why do you do it?” “I work homicide.” “No. I mean, why did you choose to become a cop?” She picked up her pencil and rolled it between her sweaty palms. She wanted to hear him say it. That he hadn’t been able to save his sisters, his parents, or Detective Robson. That saving others now meant he was hitting back. She met his intent gaze. “Because your sisters were murdered?” “Maybe. I don’t know.” He stared at her. “It’s just what I do.” “And you like it.” “Sure. Don’t you like your job?” “We’re not here to talk about me.” “Oh, right.” He pressed his palm against his forehead. “I’m the hard case.” “You’re being sarcastic.” “Haven’t you ever heard of cop humor?” he asked, stalking toward her. She got a healthy whiff of his citrus aftershave, and it went to her head. His sudden nearness was unnerving. “If we didn’t make jokes, we couldn’t deal with the garbage. The blood and guts. The death.” “So sarcasm is a displacement activity.” He laughed again. “Call it whatever the fuck you want. We see something gruesome, we make a joke.” He shrugged. “It goes away.” “Does it really?” She doubted that. One look at the deep purple circles underscoring Nick’s bloodshot eyes told her it never did. The thought of all that blood— “You're exhausted, Detective Marconi. It's obvious you work too hard.” Nick massaged the back of his neck and glared at her. “I can’t stop. Not now. Women are dying, and it’s all my fault.” A jolt shot through her, and she met his pain-filled eyes. “Your fault? Why is it your fault?” “Because—hell, it doesn’t matter.” He blew out a harsh breath. “Let’s just say it’s up to me to catch the guy. That’s why I don’t need to be wasting my time talking to you.” “If you’re mentally healthy, it will be easier for you to catch him.” “Like he’s gonna wait for you to fix me.” Nick barked a laugh. “Somehow, I don’t think so.” “You aren’t sleeping.” “There’s no time.” He glared at her. “Don’t you get it? Every second I waste gives him more time to stalk his next victim, to decide when, where, and how he’s gonna do her. It’s gonna happen again, over and over. Unless I can stop him.” “You need to relax, Detective. I’m on your side.” “Haven’t you been listening to me?” Nick’s voice rose, and his eyes took on a dangerous glint. “Women are dying.” “Of course I heard you.” And his words scared her to death. But Gracie forced herself to remain calm and keep the mask in place. She could take a deep breath later. “Sit down, and we’ll talk about it.” “I don’t want to talk.”

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“Fine.” She lifted her chin. “Go turn in your badge and gun. Then you can really help those women.” Nick’s body went rigid. He fisted his hands. And for a brief moment, she though he might hit her. Then his shoulders slumped and he looked at her, defeated. Remorse settled into her heat. She bit her lip. Maybe she shouldn’t be so hard on him. She forced herself to take her own advice and relax. “Sit down, please. Just for a few more minutes. Take some calming breaths. They’ll help you clear your head.” A muscle jumped in his jaw, and for a moment she thought he was going to bolt. One part of her wanted him to, but another part of her longed to take him in her arms and soothe his pain. She imagined his hard body rubbing against hers, and her face grew hot. Her legs trembled. Good heavens. She mentally slapped herself. That would never do. She eased back a step. She’d never considered touching a patient before, and certainly not hugging one. Thoughts like that had no place in her profession. What the hell was she thinking? He hesitated another second. Then his broad shoulders sagged a little more. “All right. Just for a minute.” “Good.” Concern flowed through her as she watched him drop resignedly into a chair. He looked so tired. “What do you want to talk about?” His eyebrows flew up. “You’re asking me?” “Yes.” She wanted to keep the tone light the rest of the hour. He needed to take a breather, not fight with her. She smiled. “What makes Nick tick?” His lips curved in a weary smile, and he laughed in genuine amusement. The smile transformed his ruggedly handsome face to one that was drop-dead gorgeous. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. “Beautiful women,” he said, in a husky voice. “Live ones.” ***** Schools in New Orleans let out at three o’clock. He sat in his car across from Mitchell Elementary School. Watching and waiting. Looking forward to what was to come. He saw lively kids and harried parents. Weary teachers. His eyes flicked from the 4 X 6 picture in his hand to the long line of second graders standing like little garden statues beside the brick wall. Their faithful leader stood with them, watching the traffic and ensuring that each child went home with the right person. Her name was Patti Warren. Curly blond hair, bright eyes, nice curvy shape. He had to admire Marconi's taste. It had definitely improved with time. His lips curled back. He had good taste, too. And as usual, he had done his homework. With Billy’s help, of course. His informant had come through with flying colors, learning that this woman had dated Marconi after he had become a cop. They’d lasted three months, until she’d rebelled against the late hours, the danger, and Nick’s apparent fascination with death. She was now engaged to a short, balding man in retail, and she spent her days with children. She was usually home every night by nine o’clock—and she went to bed alone. In short, her life was dull.

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That was all about to change. Anticipating the grab, he felt a surge of excitement. The cars around the school began to clear out, and soon there was only one little boy left standing with Patti. He began to cry. She squatted down to comfort him, and the wind kicked up, flaring her short skirt around her legs. He leaned forward and enjoyed a quick glimpse of slender knees and pale white thighs. He could already feel her blood on his hands. A green Ford pulled up and picked up the kid, leaving Patti alone in front of the school. She disappeared inside, only to return fifteen minutes later carrying her purse and a black book bag. His pulse began to race. Counting slowly to twenty, he started the car and pulled into the stream of cars behind her. The trip to her house off North Carrollton Avenue took a full twenty-five minutes, thanks to the heavy afternoon traffic. He stayed well back so she wouldn’t notice him. She lived in a lackluster, older neighborhood that hadn’t improved much since the storm. One he wouldn’t be caught dead in on a normal day. He snickered. Dead. What irony. She pulled her Toyota into the driveway of a low-slung bungalow on a tree covered corner lot. She entered the house through the front door. An anticipatory smile crept over his lips. She hadn’t put the car inside the garage, which meant she was definitely going out again, probably to her usual Thursday night reading group at the library. He parked the compact across the street under the long limbs of a spreading oak. The shadows almost immediately began to deepen. He rubbed his eyes. Two kills this week had sapped his strength. Hungry for rest, he settled back and closed his eyes. He would relax for a few minutes. His breathing slowed. He twitched, and sank deeper into sleep. And dreamed of women hung upside down, pleading for their lives around the red cotton bandanna stuffed in their throats. Of blood, trickling like water into his big green bucket. Of death. He was floating, happy. Sated. ***** Nick slammed down the telephone. It was after eight o’clock, and he’d been trying since noon to find Butch O’Neill. Damn his sorry soul. Jasmine’s murderer had been released from the state prison at Angola three weeks ago, had met with his parole officer one time, and then vanished into thin air. He had no family, few friends, and no one on the street Nick had spoken with had ever heard of him. Fury ate at Nick’s gut. His displeasure was made worse because his description of O’Neill reminded him of himself. A loser in so many ways. “This case is eating you up, son,” Parker said gravely, halting beside Nick with his coat slung over his arm. “Would it help for me to call in the Feebs? It might give you a break.” “Hell no!” Suddenly livid, Nick leapt to his feet. “I don’t need a federal agency horning in on this case. You know how they are. They’ll come in and take over—”

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“And you’ll lose control.” “Damned right I will. You know how it is, Captain.” “All right.” Parker’s mouth curved in a hopeful smile. “I’ll leave the ball in your court, for now. Don’t screw this up, or I’m calling the FBI.” “Got it.” “Now, why don’t you go on home and get some rest?” His concerned gaze played over Nick’s face. “We’ve got people on the street, you’ve got men canvassing the neighborhoods, and I’ve put out some feelers. We should know something in the morning.” “I can’t. He’s out there tonight, doing another one.” Nick dropped his head into his hands. “I can feel it.” “Well, unless you can feel where he is, there’s not a damned thing you can do to stop him. Not tonight,” Parker said. “Step back. Take a breather.” Nick knew Parker was right, but he didn't like it. He clenched his fists. “What am I missing?” “Go home. Eat, sleep. Take a shower.” Parker patted his shoulder. “You’ll come back tomorrow with a new perspective. We’ll get him.” Nick jumped up and began to pace. Anxiety dogged him like a bad rash. “There’s nothing but Jasmine’s blood tying O’Neill to those crime scenes.” “So far.” “Yeah. So far.” Nick scrubbed both hands over his face. “We gotta find him, toss his place. Maybe he kept souvenirs. Rings, necklaces. Something.” “Did he do that with your sister?” Nick shook his head. “Walk out with me?” “You just want me to go home.” Nick twisted his mouth. Usually it bothered him when his boss hounded him. But tonight, with death hanging in the air like an eerie fog, it was oddly comforting. Parker pulled on his overcoat. “Damned right.” “I need a beer,” Nick said, wearily coming to his feet. He grabbed his jacket. “All right. Let’s stop at Benedict’s.” ***** An engine revved, and he awakened with a start. How long had he been asleep? Disoriented, he sat up and scanned the street in front of him. Darkness had fallen and grown thick, and it was made even more complete by the broken streetlight across the way. He’d taken care of that after lunch with a carefully aimed shot from the air rifle that was now hidden beneath one of his back floor mats. His skin tingled as he looked at Patti’s house. Her car was gone. That meant she’d already left for her regular Thursday meeting at the library. A car drove by. He checked his watch. Eight-thirty. Past time for her meeting to be over. He mentally berated himself for sleeping so long. He’d almost messed up big time. Almost.

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He reached into the back seat for the gym bag containing the rope and his knife. The bucket was in the trunk. He pulled out the knife and a thin gray whetstone, and began to methodically sharpen the weapon’s curved blade. The rapid “whisk-whisk” of stone on metal calmed the raging beast within his soul. This was his favorite time. The moments just before the grab. A pair of bright headlights suddenly lanced through the darkness, coming his way. He put down the knife and quickly donned a pair of latex gloves. His heartbeat quickened. He ducked down on the seat as Patti swung her gold Toyota into the empty driveway. He slipped silently from his car and stole across the shadowy street, careful to stay in her blind spot. A cat yowled next door, and he dropped to his haunches behind a tall shrub flanking the driveway. Her shoes clicked on the concrete as she exited the car. Despite the cool late March air, he began to sweat. His pulse thudded in his head like a big bass drum. He pulled the worn bandana from his pocket and wadded it up in his palm. She slammed the door and pressed the remote on her key ring. The doors made a sharp clicking sound, but the Toyota’s lights stayed on. Shit. He needed darkness, not light. She said something under her breath, and punched the remote again. The lights blinked off. Leaving him in blessed darkness. He moved like lightning, rushing her from behind as she turned away from the car. He shoved the bandana into her mouth with one gloved hand, and wrapped the other around her middle. Her keys fell to the ground. She struggled and tried to scream, but the bandana cut off her air. “Shut up,” he rasped, his mouth kissing her ear. “Shut up, or I’ll cut you. Understand?” Her eyes wide with fear, she nodded. The swift beat of her pulse fluttered where his wrist met the smooth, silken skin of her neck. He released his hold on her mouth just long enough to pull a pair of white plastic cuffs from his pocket. “Don’t fight me or try to run,” he said roughly. “Or I’ll kill you.” She nodded again, and swallowed, hard. The bandana shifted in her mouth. “Don’t spit it out. Don’t try to escape.” He yanked one of her hands behind her, and she whimpered. “Shut the fuck up!” he snarled. “Want me to get out my knife?” She shook her head vigorously. “All right. Relax. This will all be over soon.” He pulled her other hand around her back and fastened it to the other one with the plastic cuffs. She whimpered again. He punched her in the kidneys to incapacitate her and dragged her across the cold asphalt to his car. His body tingled. He popped the trunk. She tried to shriek, but choked on the bandana. He pressed her against the bumper. She squirmed away from him, and went down on one knee. He lunged for her, but she jumped up and kicked him hard in the thigh.

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He tackled her and lifted her off her feet. She twisted in his arms and screamed into the wadded cloth. Struggled like a bound wildcat. His blood shot through his veins, and he laughed. He loved it when they fought back. Without saying a word, he dumped her unceremoniously into the trunk next to the bucket that would soon hold her blood. Her wide eyes glowed like two bright marbles in the darkness. He brought his hand to his crotch and rubbed himself. Poor Patti was about to die.

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Chapter Four “You look tired this afternoon.” “I’m okay. Really.” “You're not sleeping, are you?” “I’ve been busy.” “Does your work keep you up at night?” Silence. ***** Nick couldn’t sleep. His pulse pounded in his ears. The smell of blood was embedded in his nostrils. In his mind’s eye, he saw Maria Talley and Sierra Pinson, their throats slit and the blood drained from their bodies. The fact that both had been found with vials of Jasmine’s blood in their throats made him quiver with a powerful combination of rage and guilt. The two women were dead because O’Neill wanted revenge. Because he hated Nick for doing his job and putting him behind bars. Nick shook off a sickening wave of despair, turned on the lamp, and climbed slowly from the bed. He adjusted his boxers and grabbed a T-shirt from his dresser. His stomach rumbled. He’d ordered a burger the night before at the district station, but hadn’t finished it. He’d been too busy trying to find O’Neill. The list of recent parolees Parker had gotten from Public Safety and Corrections lay on the nightstand, but Nick had simply skimmed over all the names except the man who’d been locked up for killing Jasmine. He picked up the paper and carried it into the kitchen. His head throbbed as he took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and sat down at the table to reread the list. The name on the first line was O’Neill, who’d served five out of seven years for manslaughter before being paroled. After him, there was: Geoffrey Leonard—10 years for second degree murder Jerry Nelson—served 12 years for rape Samuel Magee—4 1/2 years for grand larceny Wayne Needles—6 years or negligent homicide David Elliot —6 years for manslaughter Marcus Boudreaux—5 years for conspiracy to commit murder Nick frowned. He’d arrested Leonard and Nelson while still in uniform in District Two. Magee had been his second collar after he’d moved to homicide. Boudreaux had paid a man to kill his wife, not knowing the man who accepted the cash was Nick, working undercover. He later pled guilty and received a reduced sentence, as had David Elliot, a perp who was sent up for manslaughter.

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Needles had left his baby girl alone and wandered down the street to the neighborhood watering hole to get a cold one, and in his absence the child aspirated in her own vomit. Nick recalled the sheer agony suffered by the baby’s mother, who had been out of town staying with her sick aunt when the tiny girl died. Needles had deserved to serve a lot more time than he’d gotten. But was he a cold-blooded murderer? Nick didn’t think so. He shook his head. O’Neill was by far the biggest bastard on the list. He’d used the system to his advantage, gotten a slick lawyer, and weaseled his way out of a first-degree murder charge. He’d also threatened Nick in open court. Nick took a long swig of water. The cool liquid soothed his dry throat, but it couldn’t ease the burning pain in his heart. Three women, dead because of him. O’Neill might have killed them, but it was their close connection to Nick that had put them on the dirt bag’s hit list. He put down the water and stared at the clock on the wall. Five o’clock. Still over an hour until dawn on this chilly March morning. He scrubbed both hands down his face and grimaced at the thick stubble on his chin. He needed to clean up, dress, and head to the district station. He pushed himself up and tried to focus on the simple act of shaving, but he couldn’t get his mind off the murders. He made a mental note to ask Pal about the red cotton fibers he’d found on the jungle gym beneath which Sierra had been round. Damn. His head ached. He fisted his hand around his razor and stared into the mirror. His haggard face and bleak eyes reflected the deadness inside his soul. He had no family left, and damned few friends. Hell, he spent more time with dead bodies than live ones. He finished shaving and climbed into the shower, his mind automatically sliding to his loaded Glock .40 in the next room. All he had to do to end the pain was put the barrel of the pistol in his mouth and pull the trigger. If he shot himself in the tub, he wouldn’t leave nearly as much mess as if he did it on the carpet. He put his hands on the slick wall and watched the water funnel down the drain. Had the killer stood like this and watched the blood pour from his victims’ torn bodies? A fresh surge of despair washed over Nick. Little Bonnie and his parents were dead, Jasmine was dead, even Danny had left him. The raw ache in Nick’s heart just wouldn’t go away. But if he ended his life today, all the other dead women, including Jasmine, might never see justice. He clenched his teeth. No matter how bad he felt or how much pain stung his heart, he had to shake off this bout of self-pity and quit wasting time. Butch O’Neill was out there killing women, bringing grief to families as yet untouched. It was Nick’s job to find him before he killed again. ***** Gracie poured a half-cup of low-fat cereal into a bowl, and realized she’d forgotten to get the newspaper off the front porch. She left the open milk carton on the counter, turned, and padded for the door in her tattered gray warm ups and fuzzy white slippers. Cool air buffeted her face when she stepped outside. Sunlight glinted off a trio of blue-and-white police cruisers parked at the house across

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the street, and she brought up her hand to block the glare. Her heart skipped a beat. Yellow crime scene tape circled her best friend’s front yard. Gracie gulped back a surge of fear. No sirens had met her ears, and there was no ambulance in sight. Only the three cruisers and one unmarked silver sedan were pulled up haphazardly beside the curb. Had someone broken into Patti’s house? Or had something worse happened? Her skin tingled. A crime scene van arrived and pulled into the driveway. Her heart racing, Gracie crept over to the steps. The vehicle’s front doors opened, and two technicians spilled out. One lifted a tiny camcorder and began videotaping the area around Patti’s gold Toyota Camry. A knot of apprehension lodged in Gracie’s stomach. She zipped the jacket of her warm ups and hurried down the steps. Several of her neighbors had gathered at the curb to gape at the police. Her nerves on edge, Gracie bypassed them, crossed the street, and approached the fluttering line of yellow tape, where a dark-haired man in faded blue jeans and a wrinkled khaki blazer stood with his back to her, talking to one of the uniformed officers. Gracie decided he must be a reporter, although she didn’t see any news vans prowling the street. That was surprising. Then the man turned, and she got a good look at his face. Nick Marconi. Her pulse tripped. She should have known him by the rumpled jacket. And all at once she remembered. He works homicide. Nick’s searching gaze locked with hers, and surprise registered in his unsmiling blue eyes. He lifted the tape, ducked beneath it, and strode toward her. “Dr. Simmons,” he said, halting so that his broad shoulders blocked her view of Patti’s yard. His citrus-based cologne washed over her. “Are you following me?” “Of course not. I live across the street.” She caught sight of the sleek black pistol riding his hip, and was reminded of her father. He’d used his weapon to intimidate people, including his family. She folded her arms and stared up at Nick. He was a cop with problems, yes. But he seemed to lack the brutal edge that had tainted her father’s character. She hung on to that hope. “Why are you here, detective? Is Patti—” “We don’t know.” His dark brow furrowed, and he looked at her strangely. Fear rose up to choke her. “What do you know?” “That she didn’t show up for work, and one of her co-workers came to check on her.” He pointed out a prim dark-haired woman standing with a uniformed officer at the corner of the yard. “Miss Cox didn’t find Patti, but she did find her keys beside her car. We’re working it as a missing person’s case at this time.” “But you’re a homicide detective,” Gracie said, her eyes searching his. “I don’t understand.” “Her disappearance may be related to a case I’m working,” Nick said, his face not giving anything away. “Do you know her?” “Yes.” Gracie battled a shiver. Was he talking about the gruesome murder case he'd told her about the day before? “She’s my best friend. We talk every day.” “Yesterday?” “Yes. We had lunch.” He gripped her arm. “Come with me.”

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He led her to a set of keys lying in the driveway, and released her arm. The sun glinted off a piece of hard plastic laminate covering the logo of a popular television show on the key ring. “Recognize those?” “Y-yes. They’re Patti's.” Gracie would know that Law and Order key chain anywhere. Patti had ordered it off E-bay. Filled with dread, Gracie covered her mouth. “Oh God! What’s happened? Where is she?” One of the crime scene technicians walked over to Nick. “We got prints off the car.” “Bag the keys,” Nick said, his face sober. “What about the house?” “Nothing unusual. Lots of prints, but they’re probably hers. She lived alone.” Noting the stream of technicians going in and out of Patti’s neat frame house, Gracie put her trembling fingers on Nick’s taut forearm. “M-mine will be in there.” Nick looked down at her hand, but he didn’t shrug it off. “Then we’ll need yours for elimination purposes.” “Fine.” She let go of his arm. “She’s engaged, you know. To Tom Daniels. He’s an accountant with a CPA firm. He comes to her house every Friday night for supper.” “Yeah?” Nick looked surprised. “She was planning something special for tonight.” The words caught in Gracie’s throat, and she choked back a sob. “Today is their ten month anniversary. They started dating last June.” “I see.” Nick pulled out a pad and pen and scribbled down Tom’s name. “Do you have his address and phone number?” “At home. I’ll get them for you.” He nodded. “What time did you get home last night?” “About seven-thirty.” “Did you see anything unusual? Notice any strangers hanging around? Spot any unfamiliar vehicles? ” She relived that time over in her head and frowned. “No. The street was quiet, like always.” “Nobody ever gets rowdy?” “Not usually. We have a lot of families with young children in the neighborhood. They tend to turn in early.” “Did you go outside after you got home? Maybe to take out the trash?” “Not last night.” “What time did you go to bed?” “Around eleven.” She bit her lip. “No odd noises? Shouting, a loud car—maybe a radio blaring?” She shook her head. “No.” Nick slowly circled the Camry. “We've got a witness who saw Patti arrive home at approximately four-thirty, and then leave again a couple of hours later.” “She goes to a reading group at the library at seven on Thursday nights.” “Which library?” “Shell-Brown. Right around the corner.” Gracie drew in a shaky breath. “Please tell me. What do you think happened to her?” He ignored her question. “Does Patti usually come straight home?”

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“Yes.” Tears filled Gracie’s eyes, and she dashed them away. “Safety was a big issue with her.” “Apparently not big enough,” he said, stuffing the pad and pen back into his pocket. Gracie wrapped her arms around herself. “Come on, detective. You must have some idea—” His troubled eyes locked with hers and he shook his head. “I can’t talk about the case, even to you. You know that. Let’s just say I’m worried.” By the haunted look in his eyes, she knew. Patti was dead. Despair roiled up inside her like a living, breathing being. The two of them had met in college, and had remained friends ever since. Sharing dreams, victories, and heartaches. Tears began to flow down her cheeks, and this time she didn’t try to wipe them away. Nick touched her arm lightly. “We don’t know for sure she’s dead.” “Of course you do. Who could have done this?” she asked in a raw whisper. “I need answers. Now. Please.” “You should go home and get some rest.” He raked agitated fingers through his hair. “When I have something concrete, I’ll get back to you.” “I can’t rest. I’ll go to my office and stay busy, unless—unless I need to be with her family.” Her eyes played over his tight face. His remoteness plucked a chord within her. He was distancing himself on purpose. Because he wanted to be close? Or because it hurt too much to talk about another senseless death? She blinked. “You can contact me there.” “I understand the part about staying busy.” Sure he did. He was a workaholic, spending every day working murder cases to help him escape his demons. Probably every night, too. And those very same cases brought the brutal deaths of his family and friends back to life, ripping his heart open again and again. The ache never went away. Never lessened. It was a wonder he hadn’t taken his own life. Her empathy for him filled a vacant place in her soul. Unable to stop herself, she reached for him. “Nick—” His cell phone rang. She snapped her mouth shut and dropped her hand. He gave her a puzzled look, and then pulled out the phone and turned away. What in the world had she been thinking? Nick noted the number on the display, and braced himself for bad news. “Marconi.” “Nick, we found another one. It’s probably your missing woman. What was her name?” “Patti Warren.” “Yeah.” Parker’s voice was grave. “She was left in City Park, near the soccer fields.” Damn it. Somehow, he’d known. He gritted his teeth. “Was she—?” “Just like the other two,” the Captain said gravely. “He used another swing set.” Nick could feel Gracie’s eyes on him, so he did his best not to react. But inside he was cursing O’Neill. The fact that Patti Warren lived across the street from Gracie wasn’t lost on him, either. He hadn't kept up with Patti after they’d dated, hadn't known she was engaged. Grief sucker-punched him. The bastard had slit her throat.

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“Thanks, Captain,” he said, his voice catching. He turned to see Gracie watching him with worried green eyes. His face burned. “I’ll call you from the scene.” “There’s one more thing, Nick,” Parker said gravely. “I know you’re gonna be pissed, but Billy Strahan just got his gold shield. I want you to partner with him for the next couple of months. Show him the ropes.” “You can’t be serious.” Nick couldn’t believe it. He and Strahan had gone to the academy together, and had once been friends. But no longer. Strahan was lazy. And damn it, Nick didn’t need a rookie detective tagging along during the most important case of his career. “Not now.” “Yes, now. Do your best not to scare the hell out of him the first day.” “Captain—” “Save it,” Parker snapped. “You’re one of my best detectives. Teach him everything you know.” Nick opened his mouth to argue, but realized it was pointless. He lowered the phone and snapped it shut. “They found her.” Gracie’s softly spoken words jolted Nick from his exasperated state. He turned around. “She really is dead.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact. Her eyes searched his face. Nick nodded, and realized he’d lost his focus. He should be thinking about Patti and the other dead women instead of himself and his beef with Strahan. He would endure. “I was hoping it wasn’t true.” A fat tear rolled down Gracie’s cheek. She scraped it away with her sleeve. He longed to reach out to her and tell her everything would be all right, but he couldn’t. Patti Warren, the proverbial girl next door, lay on the ground in City Park, her throat sliced open and her life’s blood drained away. Gracie grabbed his wrist. “Tell me how she died.” “You don’t need those details in your head,” he said gruffly, steeling himself against the empathy swirling inside him. “Remember her like she was the last time you saw her. It’s better that way.” He pulled his arm free and started for his car. “Nick, please—” She’d used his first name, again. He whipped around. She sniffed. “I won’t be going in to the office today after all. I have to notify Patti’s family—” “We’ll take care of that.” “Oh. Well, okay.” She wiped her eyes again. “Her mom lives in Lake Charles. She has a sister and brother-in-law in Biloxi. I have their numbers if you need them.” “Good.” He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. “Call the district station and give them to Captain Parker. He’s my boss. Give him her fiancée’s address and phone number, too.” She took the card with trembling fingers. Despite her strength, she suddenly seemed incredibly fragile, like she might shatter into a million pieces. Yet she squared her shoulders and looked up at him with a determined gaze. “Of course. I’ll be glad to.”

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“Thanks.” He lifted his hand to touch her cheek, but thought better of it and let his fingers drop to the butt of his pistol instead. She tucked the card into her pocket. “Just remember—” He nodded at the house. “It’s a crime scene. No one but police can go inside. Not even family.” “I understand.” She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes. “I’ll arrange for motel rooms for them.” “You’re a good friend,” he said. Moisture brimmed in her eyes. Her pained expression hurt him, but he had no choice but to leave her. “I have to go now.” She nodded. “Take good care of Patti. She was a wonderful person.” “I know.” Gracie looked surprised. “You knew her?” “Yeah.” Nick shifted his weight. “She and I went out for a while, not long after I transferred to homicide. It didn’t last.” “Oh my.” Her eyes widened. “You’re the cop she talked about. No wonder she—” Gracie snapped her mouth shut. “She talked about me?” Nick scrambled to recall his time with Patti. Gracie nodded. “She really liked you.” “She said that?” Nick raised his eyebrows. He and Patti had enjoyed some chemistry, but she’d hated his job from day one. Especially, his growing cynicism. “She didn’t like the guns,” Gracie said. “The danger, or the late hours.” “She hated my attitude.” He remembered that much. “I can be a real hard ass when I’m in the middle of a case, like this one. She wouldn’t have liked being married to me. Or any cop, for that matter.” “You never popped the question.” He shook his head. “She would’ve said no.” “Did you want to?” He cocked his head. She had slipped back into shrink mode, an almost imperceptible change. But one that unnerved him. “I thought about it. But I knew it wouldn’t work. She didn’t like hearing me bitch about the bastards who kill for sport.” “She was afraid she’d lose you.” A tiny smile ghosted across Gracie’s lips. “Hearing about what you see everyday frightened the hell out of her. The murder and mayhem. The dead bodies—” “I don’t talk about it much, except when I get cynical.” “You should.” She lifted her chin. He noticed her smooth, creamy skin, the gentle lift of her brow, and the intense way she looked at him, like she really wanted to get to know him. As a woman, not a psychiatrist. His libido fired up. “Maybe I should talk more,” he said. Shit! Where the hell had that come from? She bit her lip. “If you’d like to meet with me today, I can make an exception.” He swallowed. He was digging his hole deeper and deeper. “I’ll call you.” “You don’t have my home number.”

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“Are you in the book?” “No.” She folded her arms. “I like my privacy.” “I get it.” He pulled out his pad and pen. “Too many crazies out there.” “It’s not that. I just don’t need my patients having access to my home. It’s my sanctuary.” She wrinkled her brow. “If one of them has an emergency, they can call my service. They’ll get in touch with me, day or night.” “I see.” Nick watched her intently. Her green eyes were bright with emotion. “So, you gonna give me the number for your service?” “No.” “I’m one of your patients.” “You’re also the police.” Her cheeks turned crimson. He crooked his mouth. “So I am. And I knew Patti.” “Yes,” she said softly. “You did. My best friend.” Without looking at him, she rattled off her home and cell phone numbers. Nick wrote them down. Then he touched her arm. “I’ll take good care of her. I promise.” He turned and left her standing there with tears in her eyes.

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Chapter Five Nick did his best to keep his thoughts off Gracie as he moved through traffic. To offset the sting of loneliness eating away at his heart, he forced his mind to scroll back through the years to who might be next on O’Neill’s macabre list. He’d dated a lot of women. Some seriously, some not. The perp had already killed Maria, whom Nick had dated in college, and Sierra, from middle school. Now he’d moved to the present. Would he stay there, or go back to the past? What about Angie Gardner, the pretty blonde flute player Nick had taken to his senior prom? Or Sheri Peterson, the waitress he’d slept with for a while just before last Christmas? Or maybe Donna Jeffers, the cheerleader he’d been caught with on the bus after the state football championship his junior year? He needed to talk to Parker about contacting all of them, plus the rest of the women he’d dated, and putting protection on them. His gut constricted. It would be a long list, but none of them had stuck. Either they didn’t like his attitude or his job, or there wasn’t a lick of chemistry between them. He’d just about given up on looking for that special someone who would add balance to his crazy life. And now— Gracie’s striking face flashed unbidden into his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. She touched a place deep inside him that had ached for too long, soothing the raw blister covering his soul. But he knew he had to keep his distance. She was his shrink, for God’s sake. They could never hook up the way he’d like, to have her waiting for him when he came home late from working a case. To have her hold him whenever the demons tormenting his thoughts reared their ugly heads. To have her in his bed, soothing him with her silken depths. His body turned to stone. Shit. He gritted his teeth and focused on the world outside the car. Anything, to get his mind and body off Dr. Gracie Simmons. The bright sun burned his eyes as he pulled into the parking lot next to the soccer fields and playground off Harrison Avenue. By the looks of it, the weather should be warm. But it wasn’t. A chilly blast rolled over him when he stepped out of the car, and he welcomed it. Nothing like icy air to help quell his erection. He spotted Pal Stewart chatting it up next to one of the swing sets with Billy Strahan, who looked uncomfortable in his brand new suit. Nick twisted his lips. He could read the guy’s mind. His collar was chafing his neck, his tie was too tight, and he was worried as hell about the crease in his damned pants. Typical rookie detective. He was also doing his best to keep his eyes off the body beside him. Nick stared at it long and hard as he strode toward them through the grass. Patti’s hair was short and her skin was pale as frosted glass. But he recognized her. His gaze hardened as he took in the blood caked like paint on her bare breasts.

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He pulled the menthol salve from his pocket and took a big whiff to help keep his focus. “About time you got here, Marconi,” Pal said. “Strahan’s gettin’ hives just looking at the scene.” “Sorry.” Nick looked at the new detective. “First corpse?” “Hell no,” Strahan said with a scowl. He tugged on his tie and glanced sideways at Patti lying on the wilted brown grass. “You know better than that. I’ve seen a lotta stiffs. I just ain’t used to hanging around ‘em for so long. That’s all.” “Well, get over it.” Nick crouched beside the body. It resembled the other ones they’d found. He looked up at Pal. “Same MO?” “Yeah. Except—” He paused and shook his head. Nick’s gut clenched. “Except what?” “This one was raped.” “Mother of God,” he murmured. He'd missed that. He'd been looking at her face. Now he noticed her legs were splayed wide, and there was a smear of blood on her thighs. Its coppery odor seeped past the menthol to fill his throat. Pal stepped closer. “No fluids that I can tell. Perp must’ve used a condom. I’ll know more once I do the autopsy.” “How?” Strahan asked. “By whether or not I find the presence of a lubricant.” Pal wiped his nose. “Most condoms leave a trace of it.” Nick felt queasy. “Why rape Patti and not the others? It doesn’t make sense.” “I don’t have a clue.” Pal eyed the body. “Maybe he had more time with this one.” Nick considered that, and nodded. “The other two were left in neighborhood parks, with houses close by.” “More foot traffic.” Pal rubbed his sagging jowls and gave Nick a sage look. “Either that, or he’s getting careless. One of the first uniforms on the scene found the woman’s skirt hanging on that teeter-totter over there.” He bobbed his head toward the ancient playground equipment. Nick rose. “Did you send it to trace?” “Yep.” “What about the note?” “Wrapped around a blood-filled vial, just like the other two.” Pal dropped to his haunches beside the body and used his gloved fingers to pry open Patti’s mouth. “See it?” Nick bent and peered inside. Sure enough, a curled yellow note sat on the back of her tongue. He fought the urge to gag. “Wanna bet it’s for you?” Pal asked, resting one hand on his knee. Nick made a face. “I don’t have to gamble. I know.” With a grunt of agreement, Pal rose. “What do we do now?” Strahan asked. “SCID’s taken pictures and scoured the scene, we’ve seen the body. It’s time for Pal and his friends to load her up.” “Take it easy. I wanna look around,” Nick said, walking over to the swing set, where the perp’s bucket had left a faint ring in the sand. He fisted his hands and squatted beside the jungle gym. A large container, a rope, and a very sharp knife. That was all the perp needed to torture and kill these women.

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Patti Warren certainly hadn’t deserved this fate. She was kind and gentle, and she loved children. His heart ached for her. He pushed himself up. All this pain and death—and all because of him. He swayed on his feet. Maybe he should take Gracie up on that appointment after all, after he found Butch O’Neill. Might keep him from throttling the guy. His cell phone rang. He jerked it from his pocket and brought it to his ear. “Marconi.” “Got an address for your perp.” Parker’s excited voice jolted Nick. “O’Neill’s shacking up with a broad eight blocks over from you in the Quarter. I’ve got a warrant on the way.” Son of a bitch. Nick squeezed the phone. “What’s the address?” Parker reeled off a number on Feliciana Street. Nick yanked out his pad and pen and jotted it down. “Those prison visitation records you ordered a couple of days ago were faxed to us this afternoon. A woman named Delia Bates visited O’Neill at least a couple of times a month for the past year. It’s her place.” Nick smiled coldly as he reread the address. “I know where it is.” “Are you and Strahan heading there now?” “Yeah. We’re done here.” “I’ll send backup,” Parker said. “You’re in charge. Put the uniforms where you need ‘em.” “Will do.” Nick ended the call. He looked at Strahan and jerked his thumb toward the car. “Let’s go.” “Where?” The rookie detective asked. Nick sent him a grim look. “To pick up Butch O’Neill.” He didn’t explain who O’Neill was or go into details about Jasmine. He couldn’t. Nick told Pal he would see him in a couple of hours, and started for the Expedition with Strahan dogging him like a new puppy. “I’m in my own car,” Strahan said, stepping over a clump of tall grass. “Yeah?” Nick pulled the menthol salve from his pocket so he could stash it in the glove box. He kept a jar in each car, home and work, just in case. “Well, you can go with me. We’ll pick up your ride later.” Strahan scowled, but he didn’t say anything as Nick reached the Expedition and popped the doors. In only seconds, they were on their way to the French Quarter. “I busted O’Neill five years ago.” Nausea rose in Nick’s throat as he pictured Jasmine lying dead on that cold, hard floor. Feigning calmness, he draped his wrist over the steering wheel and fixed his gaze on the street. Strahan eyed him with curiosity. “What’d he do?” “Slaughtered his girlfriend. Jury sent him up for manslaughter, even though he took the time to drain half her blood—and take it with him.” “Holy smokes. Just like this case.” “Yeah, and two others this week.” Nick squeezed the wheel so hard his hand ached. But that was nothing compared to the bitter pain piercing his heart. Guilt swept over him in a chilling wave. Strahan shifted like he was uncomfortable.

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Nick hoped to hell he was. He wanted his new partner to understand just how important it was that they catch this bastard today. He didn’t want any more dead women on his conscience. He cut a sharp glance at Strahan. “O’Neill threatened me in open court. Now one by one, he’s butchering the women I’ve dated. One as far back as middle school.” Strahan raised his dark brows. “I’ll be damned. Are you sure?” “Of course I’m sure. I know who I’ve gone out with and who I haven’t.” He spotted the sign for O’Neill’s street, and made the turn off Dauphine. “Here we are.” He drew the Expedition to a halt next to the curb in front of a weathered two-story brick building with a black wrought iron balcony reaching all the way across it. A door off the balcony was propped open by a couple of leafy plants. He frowned. Wouldn’t take much for a burglar to scale the brick fence beside the place and swing onto the gallery above. Two steps, dodging the plants, and he’d be inside. Some folks had no sense of safety. He looked at Strahan. “Stay behind me.” “Shouldn’t we wait for backup?” “We don’t have to,” Nick said, catching sight of an approaching cruiser in the rearview mirror. He jumped out and motioned for them to halt down the block. They complied. Strahan muttered a sharp curse and got out. Nick shut his door. The chilly air penetrated down to his bones despite his long overcoat. He rarely had a chance to wear it here in New Orleans, but today he was damned glad he had it on. This was one of the coldest days ever recorded in March. The two uniformed officers from the cruiser walked up. “What’s up, detective?” “Murder suspect. My Captain is walking the warrant through as we speak.” He unsnapped his pistol. “Each of you, take an entrance. Stay out of sight.” “You’ve got it.” The younger of the two nodded, and after a short discussion with his partner, took up a position beside a wooden door beneath the balcony. The older one hurried around the corner to head off O’Neill if he tried to slip out the back way. Nick paused to give the officer time to take up his position. Cold air wafted over them, and he shook off a bout of nerves. After the uniform radioed he was ready, Nick motioned to Strahan. “Let’s move.” He put his hand on the doorknob. Most of the apartments in the French Quarter opened into tiny picturesque courtyards, so the heavy door was probably just for show. He hoped so. Sure enough, the knob turned easily. He and Strahan slipped down a narrow brick corridor to a small garden area, complete with a concrete fountain in the shape of an angel. The area was flanked by apartments with doors opening onto it, and another entrance like the one they’d just come through going out to the opposite street. Brightly colored flowers and other plants filled neat beds and some freestanding terracotta pots. Several big plants towered over them. He suddenly felt claustrophobic. “Damn,” Strahan said, drawing in a sharp breath. “It’s a fucking nature preserve.”

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Nick pointed out a fat gray cat watching them warily from one of the flower beds. “Look out for him.” “Shit.” Strahan shook his head. “Where’s O’Neill’s supposed to be?” “Lemme see—” Nick paused in the shadows and looked around, quickly locating apartment B behind the flowers where the cat slept. He jabbed his thumb toward it. “That way.” “Damned cat,” Strahan grumbled as they passed by. “Probably casing the place for birds.” “His own private Garden of Eden.” Strahan snorted. Nick rapped on Delia Bates’ faded green door. A series of muffled thuds sounded inside, and after a few moments the portal was thrown open. A dumpy, unkempt blond woman with scraggly hair glared out at Nick. “Who the fuck are you?” He pulled his coat aside to reveal the gold shield on his belt. “Detective Nick Marconi, New Orleans Police.” “The fuckin’ cops.” She wiped her arm across her mouth. “Ain’t that just great.” “Ma’am—” “Who’s that?” the woman slurred, pointing at Strahan, who hung back beside the cat. The animal yowled and took off toward the other side of the courtyard. Nick turned sideways so she could see out. “My partner, Detective Billy Strahan.” With a brisk nod, Strahan rested his hand on the butt of his Glock. His stern face looked like it was made of plastic. Nick met the woman’s liquid gaze. “We’re looking for Butch O’Neill. Do you know where we can find him?” She jerked back and slammed the door. Nick blocked it with his foot and ripped out his pistol. The door crashed backwards. She squealed and bolted for the back of the apartment. With a harsh curse, he charged inside after her. Strahan followed. “Run, Butch!” she shrieked, throwing her arms up as she entered the dilapidated kitchen. “Run!” The apartment smelled like booze, sex, and sweat. Nick tripped over a bunched rag rug and almost went down. A yipping white dog bounced toward him like a deranged furry ball. “Stupid bitch,” Strahan muttered, leveling his weapon at the beast. Nick spat an oath. “Leave it alone.” A loud thud echoed from the kitchen. He left Strahan with the dog and, leading with his Glock, edged around the doorframe. A pan of over-baked lasagna sat on the counter next to a half-empty bottle of whiskey, and a pot steamed on the stove. The room was empty. A narrow door on the other side of the shabby Formica table banged shut. Strahan entered the kitchen. “Go outside. Watch the balcony,” Nick snapped, heading around the table. “Now.” Strahan disappeared.

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Nick knocked a chair aside and yanked open the door. A set of stairs led to the second story. He crept upwards, listening for movement from above. An odd shuffling sound met his ears. He halted. His breath sawed out. The old building shuddered in the rising wind. Then, silence. His heart pounded. He put his foot on the next step. “That’s far enough,” a gruff male voice said. “Get the hell out of here.” Nick went still. O’Neill. The bastard who’d killed Jasmine. He pressed his back to the wall, and moisture trickled down his spine. He’d waited for this moment for a long damned time. His hand tightened on the Glock. “Come on out, Butch.” So I can send you straight to hell. “No. I won’t go back. You can’t make me.” Nick aimed his pistol in the direction of the voice. “Put down your weapon. I just wanna talk to you.” Yeah, right. “Bullshit. You’re here to take me in.” “Only for an interview.” “Prison nearly killed me. I ain’t going back.” “Don’t make me call SWAT,” Nick snapped, wishing like hell he’d put on a Kevlar vest before coming inside this dump. He hoped O’Neill hadn’t gotten a gun. “They’ll come in shooting.” “I didn’t do it.” “Didn’t do what?” Nick asked. The ex-con didn’t answer. Instead, Nick heard a chair being dragged across the floor. A woman’s loud whisper filtered down the stairs. He edged up another step. “What’s it gonna be?” “All right.” O’Neill’s voice wavered. “I’m comin’ out. Don’t shoot.” “I won’t.” Unless the bastard made a wrong move. Nick would like nothing better than to send O’Neill to the devil, but he needed a good reason. He wasn’t going to prison for killing the likes of this bastard. He gripped the Glock and kept his eyes trained on the door above him. Boots thudded across the creaking wooden floor. “Don’t go, Butch,” the woman said loudly, slurring the three words into one. “I need you.” “Get off me, you heifer,” he growled. A slap and a loud screech echoed off the grubby walls, and O’Neill released a string of vile oaths. Nick leapt up the last two steps and burst into the room. O’Neill stood over the blond woman, who sat on the floor with her skirt hiked up to reveal her thick legs and a pair of shiny blue panties. Her left cheek was red. She cradled her face and howled. Fury filled Nick. He leveled the Glock at O’Neill. “Get away from her and lie down on the floor. Now!” His eyes wild, O’Neill obeyed. His body jerked in a crazy rhythm. “I can’t go back to jail, man. Don’t make me.” “You hit her,” Nick snapped, drawing out a pair of white plastic cuffs. The man reeked of ammonia. He was on crystal meth. “Hands behind your back.”

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O’Neill’s skinny ribcage trembled, and he complied. He had to be coming down off a major high. Nick clenched his jaw to keep from punching him. “Have a little crank today, O’Neill? Maybe with a coke chaser?” “I didn’t have no meth, man. I swear.” “We ain’t been smokin’ nothin’ in here,” Delia slurred. “We’re clean.” Nick shot her a hard look. “Yeah, right. And I’m the King of England.” He holstered the Glock and reached for O’Neill’s hands, but the perp flipped over and kicked Nick in the kneecap with the heel of his boot. Pain shot up his leg. He went down. "Son of a bitch!” The plastic cuffs bounced across the floor. O’Neill scrambled up, and Delia ripped the shade off the lamp on the nightstand. She threw him the iron base. He held it like a club and slowly circled Nick. “I remember you,” O’Neill growled, spittle hanging from the corner of his mouth. “You’re the asshole who put me in jail.” “You pig!” Delia shrieked, jumping up. “He didn’t kill that girl. Didn’t cut her, never touched her. I know. I was with him that night. He made love to me.” “That girl was my sister,” Nick said sharply, edging his hand toward his pistol. “O’Neill snapped that night, and slaughtered her. A jury found him guilty.” “Of manslaughter. It wasn’t murder. And hell, I never even slept with that frigid bitch,” O’Neill said, his face growing ugly. “She wouldn’t let me.” “Good for her,” Nick said, pride for Jasmine rushing through him. At least she’d had that much good sense. “Fuck you,” O’Neill said, lunging forward and swinging the lamp at Nick’s head. He ducked. O’Neill swung again. Grunting hard, Nick caught the lamp base and jerked it toward him, throwing O’Neill off balance. “Watch out, Butch!” Delia screamed. Nick leapt to his feet and knocked O’Neill’s legs out from under him. With a loud curse, the ex-con hit the floor. Nick pulled out the Glock and steadied it in both hands. “Move again, either one of you, and you’re dead.” His trigger finger itched. O’Neill put up his hands. “Shit. Don’t shoot us.” With a guttural bellow, Delia dove at Nick. One of the uniforms rushed into the room and tackled her. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Delia’s high-pitched shrieks crawled across Nick’s taut nerves. To his relief, the officer quickly subdued her. Nick leaned down and grabbed the front of O’Neill’s shirt. “Roll over, asshole.” O’Neill glared at him, and dropped his gaze to the Glock. “All right. Just promise you won’t shoot me.” “Do it, damn it.” “Don’t listen to him, Butch!” Delia yelled. “It’s a trick.” Nick turned to the uniformed officer. “Shut her up. Please.” “Yes, sir.”

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After a determined nudge from Nick, O’Neill flipped onto his stomach. Delia squealed again, but not as loudly as before. “Hands behind your back,” Nick said, fishing the plastic cuffs off the floor. “And this time, stay put.” O’Neill’s didn’t move. “Damn it.” Nick put his foot on O’Neill’s left shoulder blade and pressed the barrel of the pistol to his head. “I’m past playing with you. Move your hands or I’ll pull the trigger. I’m just itching to send you to hell.” Muttering something foul, O’Neill put his hands behind his back. “I’ve got him,” the uniform said, squatting beside him. “Give me your cuffs.” He held out his hand. “Where’s the woman?” Nick asked, handing him the two strips of white plastic. She’d gotten awfully quiet. But he didn’t want to take his eyes off O’Neill long enough to look. “Cuffed her to the bed. Gagged her. She’s royally pissed.” He deftly fastened O’Neill’s wrists together and rattled off Miranda. Finally at ease, Nick lifted the pistol away from the prisoner and turned to see Delia squirming like a rat in a trap. He wanted to smile, but the grim reality of the situation prevented it. The uniform jerked O’Neill to his feet. “Let’s go, asshole.” O’Neill spat on Nick’s shoes. Nick backhanded him. Blood spurted from O’Neill’s nose. With a deep surge of satisfaction, Nick met the officer’s approving eyes. “Take him to the district station. I wanna get down and dirty with Mr. O’Neill.” ***** Gracie stepped onto her front porch and looked around. The police cars were finally gone from in front of Patti’s house. The yellow crime scene tape remained, however, and was a grim reminder that her best friend had been brutally murdered. She shivered. Having the police swarming her neighborhood should have made her feel safe, but instead it unnerved her. She kept seeing her father the day he’d gone to prison. He’d never said he was sorry for running drugs or gunning down his supplier. He’d ruined the lives of so many, including Gracie and her mother, who’d worked two jobs to put Gracie through college. She turned to go back inside. It was late morning, but being out in the open made her anxious. What if Patti’s killer was out there somewhere, watching her? Gracie reached for the doorknob, and spotted a long, narrow cardboard box sitting in one of the white rocking chairs beside the door. Her pulse sped up. She’d been so focused Patti, she hadn’t noticed the package when she’d first come out. There was a cream-colored envelope attached to the box. With trembling hands, she pulled it off and opened it. The single card inside read: Hello Gracie, Why are you avoiding me? You know how I feel about you. We make the perfect couple. Please—call me. I won’t take no for an answer.

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Love, Jerry Suddenly nauseous, Gracie tossed the note on the chair and eyed the box with trepidation. Jerry wasn’t dangerous. At least, she didn’t think so. Yet she was scared to open it. Should she? Finally, her curiosity got the better of her. She took a deep breath and picked up the box. It wasn’t heavy. Her hands shook as she lifted the lid and parted the thin layer of tissue paper. A single blood red rose lay inside, nestled among a half-dozen stark white ones. The effect was dramatic—and terrifying, like blood on snow. Just what kind of point was he trying to make? She broke out in a cold sweat. Dizzy with fear, she scooped up the note, ran her gaze over the neighborhood one last time, and rushed back into the house. Damn Jerry for leaving her such a bizarre message at a time like this. She locked the deadbolt, stalked into the kitchen, and tossed the flowers on the counter. She wouldn’t keep them. Just looking at them sent an icy finger of fear down her spine. The telephone rang. She jumped a foot off the floor. Bringing a hand to her throat, she picked up the cordless handset. She didn’t recognize the number on the display. She’d phoned Patti’s mother earlier, however, and wondered if it might be her calling back on her cell. She punched TALK. “Hello?” “Gracie! Thank God. It’s about time you answered your phone. I’ve been trying to reach you all week.” Jerry’s accusing baritone stung her ear. “Why haven’t you been answering me?” “I’ve been busy,” she lied, kicking herself for answering this time. “What do you want?” “Did you get my flowers?” “Yes, just now.” Oh God. Had he been watching her? Terror arrowed through her as she eyed the long white box on the counter. “You shouldn’t have sent them.” “Why not?” “We’re not seeing each other any more.” “Of course we are. I’m coming over tonight, to discuss our future.” “No.” A distinct chill crawled over her nerves. “That’s not possible.” “Why not?” he asked, his tone belligerent. “You said you liked me.” “As a friend.” She closed her eyes. “I’m not in love with you.” “Give it some time. You will be.” “No, I won’t. You’ve got to leave me alone. Okay?” Papers rustled. “I’m coming over there right now. We’ll talk.” “Jerry, no. Please don’t,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. The last thing she needed was to deal with him today. “One of my good friends just died. I can’t deal with you right now.” “Who passed away?” “You don’t know her.” “I might,” he said. “Who was it? Patti?”

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Gracie suppressed a gasp. Jerry had never met her best friend. At least, she didn’t think so. He’d wanted to, but she kept putting off the introduction, partly because she was embarrassed by his pushiness. She covered her suddenly pounding heart. “How did you know that?” “She’s your best friend,” he said, his voice strangely soothing. “You’ve forgotten that I know everything about you.” Another wave of fear washed over Gracie, and icy goose bumps rose on her arms. She slammed down the phone and backed away from it. Outside, a car roared down the street. She stood rooted to the floor. Had Jerry killed Patti? Surely not. He’d never been violent, only weird and annoying. But now, she had to wonder. The telephone rang again, its shrilling summons slicing the silence like a knife. She didn’t answer it. Didn’t even read the display, for fear it was Jerry calling back. Finally, after what seemed like forever, its strident tones ceased. She breathed a sigh of relief and sat down on the chair next to it. Unable to stop herself, she picked up the handset and eyed the Caller ID. Jerry. She threw it down like it was electrified. It shrilled again. She leapt up and grabbed her keys and her purse. Reaching into it, she put her cell phone on silent in case Jerry tried to call her on that one, too. Patti’s mother was due to arrive in town soon, but Gracie knew where she and Patti’s sister would be staying, and she could meet them there. She exited the house and locked the door behind her. She would go to her office. A store. Anywhere Jerry couldn’t find her. The phone was still ringing as she walked out the door.

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Chapter Six Frustrated beyond measure, Nick walked into the tiny, airless interrogation room and closed the door. They’d found nothing incriminating in Delia’s apartment. No rope, no knife. No blood. Nothing tying O’Neill to the murders. All Nick could hope for was a confession, and he was determined to get it. His only problem was the sliver of doubt needling his mind. O’Neill sat alone at the table. It and two chairs were the only furniture in the bland cubicle. He looked up and nervously thumped his fingers on the scarred wood. Just studying the guy’s narrow face made fury rise in Nick’s chest. But he knew he had to restrain himself and finesse the guy in order to learn the truth—that O’Neill had killed those three women. If he could hold it together. He was dangerously close to losing control. He drew in a big dose of stale air and strolled over to the table. Nick stared down at O’Neill a long moment, then pulled out the chair across from him, flipped it, and straddled its wooden seat. He locked his gaze with O’Neill’s. “Tell my why you killed them.” “I didn’t kill nobody.” “Revenge?” “For what?” O’Neill’s dark eyes had lost their wild look and now appeared sunken in his thin face. “I didn’t do nothin’, man. Not then, and sure as hell not now. I ain’t no murderer. Never was.” “You killed my sister five years ago. Sliced her throat, drained her blood. Even took it with you. What’d you do with it? Huh? Other than stuff it down your new victims’ throats?” “You think I’m some sort of weird vampire or something?” O’Neill asked, scoffing at him. “I don’t like blood. I don’t give blood, I don’t watch doctor shows. I don’t even cut up fresh meat.” “You’re not that innocent.” “No. I’m addicted to meth.” O’Neill glared at him. “But I didn’t kill nobody. And that’s the truth.” “Why target me?” “I didn’t target nobody,” he growled. “Damn it, detective. If you’ll just listen to me—” “There’s no need for you to raise your voice. You’re the one who sliced up those women. I know it, and you know it.” Nick rose and paced back and forth in front of the table, hoping to make O’Neill nervous. He didn’t know if it was working. But with every one of O’Neill’s answers, the sliver of doubt in Nick’s mind grew bigger. He shoved them aside and tried another tack. “You used a really sharp knife, didn’t you? What was it? A filet knife? A razor?” “I didn’t cut nobody with nothin’. I ain’t got no knife.”

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“You’re a lying sack of shit, O’Neill,” Nick snapped, jerking the suspect out of his chair and slamming him into the cinderblock wall face first. He was desperate to get a confession. If he didn’t, it could mean he’d been wrong all those years ago. “You killed Jasmine.” Nick put his mouth next to O’Neill’s ear. The guy reeked of ammonia-soaked sweat, meaning at least one of his tactics was working. O’Neill was nervous as hell. “And you killed these girls. Cut their throats and took their blood. All because they dated me.” “You need your head examined, Marconi,” O’Neill said, his shaky words muffled by the wall. A bead of sweat rolled down his face. “To think anybody would care about the women you fucked—” With a growl of despair, Nick yanked O’Neill away from the wall and slammed him into it again. It felt good to vent his anger. “Let go of me! Stop it,” O’Neill blubbered, his head bouncing off the rough cinderblocks. “I want a lawyer. I’m gonna tell him everything you just did. Police brutality.” “You sniveling, no good piece of—” The door behind them opened and Parker stalked in. “Let him go, detective. Now.” Fury driving him, Nick squeezed the bunched material of O’Neill’s shirt in both hands and stared into the suspect’s watery eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Then he shoved O’Neill hard against the wall one last time and let him go. The suspect jerkily righted his stained shirt. “I’m pressing charges.” “There’s no point, Mr. O’Neill,” Parker said. “No one here saw a damned thing. You can bank on that.” Nick wiped his damp face on his sleeve. At least Parker was backing him up. The sliver of doubt in his mind was now a two-by-four, but he hadn’t given up on O’Neill. Not by a long shot. He rolled his neck. His shirt was stuck to his back like glue. His head throbbed. “Let’s go, Nick,” Parker said, reaching for the doorknob. His voice was filled with censure. Nick grew wary. Five years had passed since Jasmine’s death and still O’Neill denied doing her. Serial killers usually liked their crimes to be known. They hungered for notoriety. But not O’Neill. He followed Parker into the hall and shut the door. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Parker snapped, getting in his face. “Don’t you know better than to manhandle a suspect like that?” “I didn’t hurt him. I was trying to get him to talk.” “By bashing his head against the wall?” “I need a confession.” “You’re on desk duty until further notice.” “What?” Nick couldn’t believe his ears. He’d collared the bastard who might be responsible for killing all three women, and Parker was benching him? Anger, so fierce it surprised him, surged through Nick. Might be. Those two words echoed in his head, and he realized his anger was directed inward, not at Parker. If O’Neill wasn’t the guy, Nick had put the wrong man in prison for six long years—and his sister’s killer still walked free. That possibility ate at him like a cancer. He fisted his hands. “You can’t take me off this case. Not yet.”

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“The hell I can’t.” Parker glared at him. “Go see your shrink. You’re riding a desk until she tells me you’re fit for duty.” “That’s not right, Captain.” Nick couldn’t dig for the truth sitting at the station. He had to be on the street, asking questions. Gathering evidence to solve these crimes. “Complain all you want. We don’t need a lawsuit.” “You won’t have one.” Nick scowled. “All I need is a little more time—” “To beat a confession out of O’Neill?” Parker shook his head. “We don’t operate that way, and you damned well know it.” Nick knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue. So he changed the subject. “Gracie isn’t in her office.” “Who?” It was Parker’s turn to frown. Frustrated, Nick raked a hand through his hair. “Dr. Simmons. Patti Warren was her best friend. She’s taking some time off to grieve.” “Gracie?” Nick shrugged and glared at Parker. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Parker shook his head. “Shoulda known better than to line you up with a female therapist.” “Nothing’s going on between us, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Suddenly selfconscious, Nick shuffled his feet. “She’s . . . nice.” “Nice?” “She gave me her numbers, in case I need to call her.” Nick dug in his pocket and pulled out his pad, where he’d jotted down her home and cell phone numbers. “If she gives me the okay to stay on the job, will that keep me off a desk?” “She’s not going to say yes. Not if you tell her the truth.” Parker eyed him a long time. Then he sighed. “Oh, hell. I’ll probably hate myself for doing this. But okay. As long as you make it clear to her that you lost it with O’Neill, go ahead. I want her assent on my desk tomorrow—in writing.” Nick nodded. Gracie would understand. At least, he hoped to hell she would. He waited until his boss walked away before pulling out his cell phone. He punched in Gracie’s home number, and found himself eager to hear her voice. He didn’t want to know why that was, but it was true nonetheless. The phone rang and rang. She didn’t pick up. He mouthed a curse and tried her cell. On the fourth ring, she answered. “Hello?” She sounded nervous. He suddenly felt like a dumb kid. “Gracie. I mean, Dr. Simmons. It’s Nick Marconi.” “Nick—Detective.” A startling combination of surprise and relief had flowed through Gracie when she’d recognized his number on her screen. Now, hearing his voice, she was tongue-tied. She’d never expected him to call her. To get her bearings, she sat down at her desk and took a deep breath. “How are you?” “Fine,” he said sharply. She toyed with her pen. “You sound tense.” “I had an incident with a suspect.”

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“I see.” What in heaven’s name had he done? She nervously rubbed her brow. “Do you want to talk about it?” “Your friend’s family is on their way.” “No! I mean, I just found out they’re arriving tomorrow,” Gracie said. She suddenly wanted to see him very much. Just hearing his voice had quelled the storm of fear roiling inside her. She put down her pen. “Something came up at home, so I’m at my office. You’re welcome to stop by.” “Are you sure?” “I’m positive.” Gracie bit her lip. Positive she was losing her mind. “Ashley’s not here. So just knock.” “Okay. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Her heart fluttered, and she ended the call. She’d never seen a patient in her office after hours before. In the hospital, yes. But never here alone. On edge, she rose and crossed to her private bathroom. She flicked on the light and stared at her reflection in the tiny mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were too bright. Dark shadows marked the tender flesh beneath them. She looked like she hadn’t slept, when in reality she had. But tears for Patti threatened to swamp her. She blinked them back and worked to still her tingling nerves. At least Nick knew she was grieving. She finished her business quickly, exiting the tiny room just as a knock echoed in the outer office. She straightened her blouse, entered the waiting room, and opened the door. Nick stood in the hallway, his hair mussed and his gray suit coat hopelessly wrinkled. His shoulders were slumped with weariness. “Hello,” he said. A sad smile ghosted across his lips. “Hope this isn’t an imposition.” “Of course not.” She held the door open and motioned for him to come in. “I told you I’d be available if you needed me.” “I don’t really need to see you—” His voice fell away, and he met her eyes. “Ah, hell. Who am I kidding? Yes, I do.” “Let’s go into my office.” She shut the door and flipped the lock, then led the way into the other room. It suddenly seemed too small. Nick dropped into one of the chairs across from her desk. “We caught him.” She brought a hand to her throat. “The man who killed Patti?” “Yeah.” Nick leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s him.” “Ninety-nine percent?” Gracie blinked. “Not a hundred?” “No. He hasn’t confessed. But I know he will.” “Do you have any evidence?” Nick hesitated. “We’re working on that.” “Tell me more,” Gracie said, her legs no longer wanting to support her. She sank down in her chair. “Please. I need to know.” “I can’t tell you anything.” “Come on, Nick,” she said, thinking only of Patti and how she must have suffered. Tears stung Gracie’s eyes. “My best friend is dead.” Nick shook his head. “I’m sorry. It could compromise our investigation.”

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Gracie pressed her lips together. She knew he was right, although deep down she didn’t want to accept it. At least she knew they had the monster in custody. She wiped her eyes. “You said you had a problem today.” “Yeah, a bad one.” Nick leapt up and began to prowl the room. “I got too rough with a suspect.” She gripped the edge of the desk. “Which one?” Nick turned and looked at her. “I see.” Well, good. “I couldn’t help it. I just lost control.” He lifted a ceramic tiger off the shelf beside the door and turned it over in his strong hands. Gracie pictured those hands holding a suspect, pounding him. Getting him to confess. A chill slid through her. Still, she couldn’t help but imagine those same strong hands on her. Touching, probing, caressing her naked body— She drew in a sharp breath. Where had that thought come from? “I threw him into a cinderblock wall,” Nick said, his frank words bringing an abrupt end to her errant musings. She jerked. “Did you hurt him?” “Not like I wanted to.” Nick’s low rasp scraped over her raw nerves. “Okay. I’ll bite.” She braced herself. “What’d you want to do?” “I wanted to kill him.” Gracie took in his clenched hands, his taut shoulders. His lethal stance. She could imagine him throttling anyone dumb enough to cross him. Yet he had held back. She smiled. “You didn’t.” “No.” He blew out a harsh breath. “My Captain came in.” She met his intense gaze. “How did that make you feel?” “Mad as hell.” He stalked toward her, a big cat shadowing its prey. “Parker put me on a desk until further notice.” “I see.” “I wouldn’t have done it, but I needed a confession.” Nick raked a hand through his hair. “If O’Neill’s not the guy—” His eyes turned bleak, and he slammed his fist into his palm. “Damn it, he has to be the guy.” Frustration radiated off him in waves. She felt his confusion, his dismay. If O’Neill hadn’t murdered Patti and those other girls, the killer still roamed free. And Nick was to blame. He folded his arms and began to pace again, his body rigid with tension. Gracie longed to take that tension away. Yet she had to stay objective, which was hard. So she followed him with her eyes. He turned. “I feel like I’m in a bad movie. One where evil triumphs.” “Why’d you come to me?” “So you can help me.” She raised her eyebrows. “To get reinstated?” Surprise filtered across his face.

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She kept her expression bland. “That’s what you want, but I can’t do it. Not without further therapy. You know that.” “Come on, doc.” Nick dropped his arms. “Please. I’m not dangerous.” “How do I know that?” “Because you’re a damned good shrink,” he said. His eyes locked with hers. Without looking away, he sank down in the chair he’d vacated and propped his fists on his knees. “You can read people. Even me.” He was right. And that scared her to death. She wasn’t afraid of what he might do to some anonymous suspect. But of what he could do to her heart. She rose and walked over to the window. It was rush hour, and Canal Street was heavy with traffic. The people on the sidewalks below scurried about like ants, trying to get home before the dark clouds overhead broke open. Gracie’s storm had already begun. She rubbed her arms. If only she could just go home and forget her best friend had been murdered—and that the handsome detective on the case had come to her for help. Only, she couldn’t do that. She wanted Nick on the job. Yet how could she, in good conscience, recommend that he be allowed back on the street when he’d just admitted to her that he’d mistreated a suspect? Even though it had been the man suspected of killing Patti, she couldn’t overlook it. “Doctor?” Nick rose. She jerked her gaze back to him. The waning afternoon light turned his azure eyes navy and highlighted the inky stubble on his strong chin. He looked rugged and street smart—just like her father had before he’d given in to evil. “I need your help,” Nick said softly, skirting the small couch between them. His broad shoulders seemed to dwarf her. “I have to make sure O’Neill committed those murders. Then I can guarantee a needle in his arm. I want him dead.” She crossed her arms in self-defense. “Are you convinced he’s guilty?” “No.” A haunted bleakness filled his eyes. “And if he didn’t do it—” Gracie waited for him to finish. “If he didn’t—” Nick’s voice a raw whisper. “I put an innocent man in prison for killing my sister. He did six years for a murder he didn’t commit.” “Jasmine?” Gracie’s stomach twisted. Nick nodded. She turned back to the window. His sister’s brutal murder had been logged in his file, but there were few details. It was obvious his heart had been broken—and if he’d put the wrong man in jail, he’d failed Jasmine again. Heaven help her. She wanted to soothe his aching heart. Yet instinctively she knew he wouldn’t like her interference. So she remained silent. “Jasmine dated O’Neill for a while,” Nick said, his voice cracking. “It wasn’t working. She tried to break it off.” “And he killed her.” “I thought so.” Nick rammed his fingers through his hair. “Her throat was cut. It had to be personal.”

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“Just like Patti,” Gracie whispered, blinking back tears. No wonder Nick was so torn up. He walked up beside her and stared out at the bleak gray sky. “We charged him with murder one, but our evidence was shaky. Mostly circumstantial. The jury didn’t buy it.” “But you said he went to jail.” “He did. They bought that he killed her in a fit of passion.” Nick dragged his forearm over his eyes. Blinked. “Gave him man two—manslaughter. Even though the bastard drained her blood and took it with him.” “Oh my God.” Revulsion rose inside Gracie, and she fought back tears. “Did he—did he do that to Patti?” “I can’t tell you that.” Meaning that—yes, he had. She held herself still, but inside she was shaking like a leaf. She whispered, “It would jeopardize the case.” “Yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re holding back details—hell, I’m in enough hot water without letting anything leak.” “I’ll keep it in confidence. I promise.” Desperate to know more, she let her gaze play over his pained face. “I can’t be compelled to testify against you.” “I know all about doctor-patient privilege.” Nick cocked one dark eyebrow, and shook his head. “Sorry, doc. I still can’t risk it.” She wiped her eyes. It wouldn’t be ethical for her to insist. But oh, how she wanted to. She turned away. “You want me to tell your Captain you should be reinstated.” “I want to work this case. To find the bastard who slaughtered Jasmine and Patti, if it wasn’t O’Neill. Their killer has to pay for his crimes.” She aimed her gaze at the street below. She wanted to help Nick, to see the monster who had murdered her best friend brought to justice. But wouldn’t that happen anyway? “I’m not violent,” he said softly, worry evident on his haggard face. “I just want justice.” “That’s all any of us want, detective.” She turned to face him. “But I can’t return you to duty without first speaking with your Captain.” ***** Nick rolled out of bed the next morning at seven o’clock sharp, and then wondered why in hell he’d bothered. It was Saturday, and he was riding a fucking desk. Frustration made his movements jerky as he showered, shaved, and pulled on his rumpled suit. No weekend break for him. Maybe Parker would have a change of heart after he talked to Gracie, and Nick could stay on the job. Provided she called him like she’d promised she would. He sat down and pulled on his shoes. She’d seemed so sad yesterday, yet she’d taken time to listen to him spout off. She was one special lady, even if the department was paying her to shrink him. Those gorgeous green eyes made it worth his while. He picked up his badge and clipped it to his belt, then holstered the Glock. The wind kicked up and thunder boomed as he stopped for a paper and drove to the district station. He entered the parking garage just ahead of a deluge of rain that smelled fresh

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but washed away all traces of evidence at Patti’s crime scene. He hoped they’d gotten all they needed the day before. Parker met him in the squad room. “What are you doing here?” Nick asked. “It’s the weekend.” “Gotta see this one through.” Nick nodded. If he had the chance, he’d work all weekend. “I had a call from your Dr. Simmons this morning.” “Yeah?” Nick’s tossed the paper on his desk and eyed his boss warily. His stomach knotted. “What’d she say?” “She asked me what happened yesterday.” “I didn’t hurt O’Neill, Captain,” Nick said frankly. “That’s what I told her.” Nick raised his eyebrows. “You’re reinstated, as long as you keep seeing her on a regular basis.” “I can do that.” “Good.” Parker scratched his chin. “I want you and Strahan to attend Maria Talley’s funeral in Kenner this morning. Eye the mourners, see if anyone stands out.” “Sure thing.” Nick rose. He didn’t mind going. Maria had been a friend. And maybe he could talk to a few members of her family, if he was discreet. He needed to know more about what her life had been like. He slipped his keys into his pocket. “Have you talked to O’Neill this morning?” “No. I’m letting him sweat.” Nick nodded. Not a bad idea. The man obviously hated being locked up. “The girl’s funeral is at eleven at Saint Catherine’s,” Parker said. “Don’t be late.” ***** He bought a single serving of orange juice, a honey bun, and a copy of the TimesPicayune at a ratty convenience store. Then he parked the compact in an empty space at Oak Forest Mall and picked up the front page to enjoy a leisurely read with his breakfast. The front page headline immediately caught his eye. O’Neill Arrested for Slicer Murders. He went cold. Someone else had the spotlight for his crimes. Gone was his recognition, his superior position. His tentative hold over Marconi. How could one detective be so fucking wrong? His face grew hot and he fisted his hands around the paper, ripping it apart as a roar of anger rushed up his throat. “No!” he shouted. A spotty red haze filled his vision, and he began to shake. He was doing this to torment Marconi. To make him feel like a failure, because he’d arrested the wrong man for killing his sister. That had left him without notoriety, and he’d had to move on. Now, he was back in New Orleans—and Marconi had done it again. He’d arrested that brainless low-life, Butch O’Neill, for more crimes he didn’t commit. Another roar of fury funneled up from deep inside him. His vision blurred. He couldn’t see.

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The past rushed up to meet him. His mother, shaking her fist and railing at him. You’re no good, David. You’re nothing but trouble. The car shook and darkness descended upon him, quelling his vision and sending him spiraling into a deep, dark pit. In its depths was only pain and misery. Waves of dizziness swept over him. His brain hurt. He pressed his hands to his temples and squeezed. How long he sat like that, fighting the heavy darkness, he didn’t know. But finally, a strange knocking sound, like wood on glass, broke him from his hypnotic state. He shook off the pain and struggled to orient himself. “Sir?” A voice asked. It sounded far away, like maybe it was coming from inside of him. “Sir, are you okay?” No, he wasn’t okay. But he couldn’t get the words to come out. He blinked and shook his head, trying in vain to dispel the mottled red fog blocking his vision. “Sir? Do you need me to call 911?” Another series of loud knocks rang in his ears, making his temples throb. He put his hands back on his temples, closed his eyes, and sucked in a deep, calming breath. The knocking continued, and gradually the funny haze clouding his eyes began to fade. He looked down to see the newspaper shredded on his lap. His body trembled. What had he done? Another knock jarred him. He lifted his gaze, and spotted a strange, whitehaired man staring in at him from the passenger side. “Sir, do you need help?” the man asked through the glass. His lips seemed to move in slow motion. “No,” he said hoarsely, his throat hurting with the effort to speak. Sweat poured down his back. He had to get away. “Are you sure?” the man asked, cupping his hands around his face to peer inside the car. “Yes,” he said, his focus on the key stuck in the ignition. If he could just get his hands to work, he could flee to safety. With quaking fingers, he finally captured the key and twisted it toward the dash. The engine roared to life. The man outside backed away, but continued to stare at him. He threw the compact in gear and stomped the gas. The tiny car lurched forward and the empty green bucket on the back seat tumbled over. His heart pounded, and he resisted the urge to hit the brakes. If the man had seen the bucket and rope— The compact bounced over a speed bump as he zipped toward the crowded mall entrance. He had to hole up somewhere for a few hours, at least. To regain control. Then he would grab another girl. He ran a shaking hand over his face. Someone had to keep Marconi on his toes. *****

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Nick straightened his tie, took a deep breath, and strode into the small church behind Strahan. He hadn’t darkened the door of any religious institution since Jasmine had been murdered, and it seemed a sacrilege for him to enter this sacred place. His heart had turned to stone—with an enormous crack down its center. He and Strahan slipped into a shadowed pew near the back, and Nick pulled out his pad and pen. The old church was beautiful, with smooth granite walls and colorful stained glass windows depicting the crucifixion. But he wasn’t here to comment on the architecture. He was here to catch a killer—if O’Neill wasn’t good for Maria’s murder. Trying to keep a low profile, Nick noted the people he recognized. A couple of women he’d met during his years at UNO, Maria’s prim Aunt Martha, and her best friend from college. Up front, slipping into a small side room, were Maria’s distraught parents, who clung to each other and their crying teenaged son. Guilt rose like bile in Nick’s throat as he watched them disappear behind the door. He was the reason they were experiencing the hell of burying their only daughter. If he hadn’t dated her— Nick clenched his jaw. He’d speak with them, even though it would hurt like hell. But after the burial. He didn’t want to disturb them now. He shook off his pall of guilt and let his gaze roam the half-filled sanctuary. He didn’t recognize anyone else, but a tall man in pressed khaki pants, a brown corduroy jacket, and run-over loafers caught his eye. The man’s blond hair was neatly combed, and a pair of sleek silver sunglasses dangled precariously from his jacket pocket. His eyes darted around the room like he was either on guard or looking for someone. Nick pointed out the man to Strahan. Moments later, the congregation stood to read from the missal, and the two of them slipped across the aisle to sit directly behind Blond Hair. He glanced at them over his shoulder, and his jaw tightened. Nick jotted down his description. He could be a family friend, a long lost relative—or maybe even Maria’s current boyfriend. Nick choked back a laugh. Who was he kidding? If their luck was good, he was her murderer. His nerves on edge, Nick jerked his eyes off their latest suspect and let his gaze scan the church every few seconds. No one else stood out. The mass lasted twenty-two minutes. Not much time to remember someone’s life. Nick rubbed his eyes and tried not to think about Jasmine. Strahan beat a path to the door to watch the mourners stride to their cars for the procession to the cemetery. If the service had taken place in downtown New Orleans, they would walk to the gravesite. But not here, in suburban Kenner. Maria’s family was whisked out a separate entrance. Nick hung back and studied the crowd more closely. No one seemed to notice or care that he was watching them, except Blond Hair. He pulled out a piece of paper and wrote something down, and then hustled out the back of the church. Nick followed him.

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The guy climbed into a dark blue Ford Focus and took his place at the rear of the funeral procession. Three other cars pulled in behind him. Nick joined Strahan at the sedan. “Let’s get in line.” “Why don’t you just ask him who he is?” Shaking his head, Nick popped his door. “Later.” Strahan climbed in the passenger side. Nick started the car and edged in line behind a pale green Chrysler. The procession wound its way through Maria’s suburban neighborhood before finding its way back to central New Orleans via the interstate. A cool breeze ruffled Nick’s hair as he exited the car beside a long row of decades-old crypts. Doors slammed up and down the long row of cars, the cacophony echoing off the scattered tombs like muted bomb blasts. His nerves on edge, he searched the gathering mourners for Blond Hair. “There he is,” Strahan said, nodding toward a group of men skirting the second crypt. Sure enough, Blond Hair tailed them. He now wore his sleek silver sunglasses. Still looking around, he halted several feet behind Maria’s family, who were already seated in folding chairs beside her closed mahogany casket. A lump formed in Nick’s throat as his eyes played over both it and the open crypt behind it. Maria had been so vibrant and alive in college. The proverbial girl-next-door, just like Jasmine. If O’Neill had killed her, the bastard deserved to die. But if not—they had to find whoever had murdered her and the two other women before the scumbag struck again. Nick slipped past Strahan and two mourners huddled against the cold wind and positioned himself directly behind Blond Hair. The priest’s monotone blended with the rising breeze, mesmerizing Nick. He soon found himself swaying. Blond Hair whipped around and examined the crowd. That woke Nick up. He raised his eyebrows and studied the other man. Up close, he looked to be about thirty or thirty-five. In good shape. Tense. “Amen,” the priest finally intoned. Blond Hair sidled up to Maria’s teary-eyed father and whispered something in his ear. What the hell was he doing? Nick poised on the balls of his feet. The second Blond Hair turned and started off, Nick reached out and snagged his sleeve. “Sir?” He pulled back his jacket to reveal his gold shield. “May I speak with you in private?” “Sure thing.” Nick led him to a trimmed square of grass beside the next crypt, turned, and confronted him. “Who are you, and how do you know Mr. Talley?” “I’m Rick Zan,” the man said, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. He opened it to show Nick a valid Louisiana driver’s license. Next to it was a private investigator license. “I’m ex-military police, and a PI. The card’s legit.” All at once, the man’s presence made sense. Nick relaxed slightly. “Maria’s father hired you.” “Yep.” Rick jammed his wallet back into his pants. “Said he didn’t trust cops. Paid me a bundle to look for her murderer.”

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“We arrested Butch O’Neill yesterday.” “So I heard.” The PI adjusted his sunglasses. “Mr. Talley doesn’t think he’s the guy.” “Why not?” Nick frowned. What did he know? “He spotted another dude in a small red car casing his house the day before Maria died.” Blond Hair adjusted his sunglasses. “It was her mother’s birthday, and they had a family party. Apparently, the guy took pictures of Maria from his vehicle.” “A stalker. He didn’t tell me about that.” “I believe he spoke with another officer yesterday.” Rick bobbed his head toward the crowd of mourners, where Strahan stood watching them. “That detective over there came by the house.” “Strahan?” Startled, Nick gaped at his new partner. A shaft of anger pierced him. Why had Strahan gone behind his back and revisited Maria’s parents? “You didn’t know?” “No.” Nick set his mouth. Damn Strahan for going out on his own. He was too new and inexperienced as a detective. Hell, he might have jeopardized the entire case. Trying not to show his anger, Nick eyed Zan. “Thanks for the info. I’ll take it from here.” “You know, detective—if Talley wants to give me cash to look for his daughter’s killer, I’m gonna turn over every rock in this state.” “Meaning there’s a bonus in it for you.” “You’ve got it.” Rick grinned. “If I can find the guy, it’s another fifty grand in my pocket.” “Sounds like I’m in the wrong profession.” Nick quirked his mouth in derision. Hell would freeze over before he ever became a private dick. He turned to go. “Good luck, Marconi,” Rick called out. “If I find him, I’ll let you know.” Nick shot him a disgusted look. “You’d damned well better.” Furious with Strahan, he made a mental note to speak with Parker about him. His partner needed reaming out, and then some. Nick scowled. If he had his way, Strahan would be back in uniform before the day was out. Resisting the urge to confront him in public, Nick fisted his fingers around his keys and studied the sight before him. Most of the mourners had returned to their cars. All except Maria’s family, who were still clustered around her crypt, crying. A fresh shard of pain lanced Nick as memories of the day he’d buried Jasmine flooded him, widening the crack in his heart and making it pound out his grief. But he sucked it up, walked over, and gave the Talleys his condolences. Afterwards, he pulled Maria’s father aside. “I’m sorry to have to speak to you at a time like this, sir. But why didn’t you come to me with your information about the man outside you house? I have resources your PI only dreams about.” “I know you do, son.” The old man’s chin quivered. “I talked to your partner yesterday, and told him you’ve arrested the wrong man. I have to find my daughter’s killer.” Nick felt like a heel, not only for trusting Strahan, but also for letting himself get sidetracked by Butch O’Neill if he wasn’t the killer. He made a fist. “We’re gonna find him. That I can promise you. If it’s not the man we have in custody, I’ll keep looking. He won’t get away with this.” Talley nodded, and a tear slipped down his grizzled cheek. He wiped it away.

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“I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” Nick said, trying to sound as sincere as he felt. “You’d better get back to your wife and son.” “Let me know if you learn anything. Please.” The old man’s eyes glimmered with moisture. Nick assured him that he would. Then he turned toward Strahan, and remembered what the PI had said about him returning to the Talley’s house alone the day before. He strode up to his new partner. “Get in the car.” “Why the hurry?” Strahan asked, falling into step beside him. “What’s up?” “I want another partner,” Nick snapped. “That’s what.” “I don’t understand.” “You’ll figure it out soon enough.” Righteous anger made Nick’s face burn, and he snapped his mouth shut. Now was not the time or place to blast Strahan. Neither of them said a word on the way to the station. Parker was on the phone, so Nick stopped at his desk to check his messages. A copy of the latest Times Picayune lay on his desk blotter. His eyes landed on the lead headline, which read, Vials of Blood Found Inside Murder Victims. A flash-fire of anger shot through him. He had deliberately held back the vials when he’d released the data about the murders to the press. What the hell? He snatched up the paper and strode toward Parker’s office. Telephone call or not, he was talking to his boss. He burst through the door. “Captain.” Parker scowled and waved him off. “This can’t wait,” Nick insisted, holding up the newspaper. “I’ll get back with you, Hank,” Parker said into the phone. He hung up and looked at Nick. “I put that on your desk. Who leaked the information?” “Strahan,” Nick said, his face growing hot. “I’d put money on it. He’s been acting strangely.” “Got any proof he’s responsible?” Parker asked, his face a thundercloud. Nick shook his head. “Just my intuition.” “That’s not good enough. Question him.” Nick nodded. He damned well would. He started to leave, but abruptly remembered what else Strahan had done. He halted. “We have another problem, Captain. Strahan re-interviewed Maria Talley’s father on his own yesterday.” “After being in this unit only two days?” Parker lifted his eyebrows. “Yeah.” Nick scowled. “I don’t work well with grandstanders.” “You plug that damned leak. If he’s responsible, you won’t have to worry about working with him at all. I’ll boot his ass back down the ladder.” “Will do.” Nick turned and started out. Getting rid of Strahan would suit him just fine. He found his partner in the lobby, grabbed his arm, and hauled him toward the storage closet. “Don’t say a word. Just listen and answer my questions. Understand?” Strahan shook him off. “What the fuck are you doing?” “You’ll find out soon enough.” Nick used his body to force his partner through the door. “In here. We need to talk.”

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Strahan gave him an odd look, but obeyed. “Why can’t we talk out there?” “We need privacy,” Nick said. He wanted a captive audience. His face tight, he stepped into the closet and shut the door. Looking perplexed, Strahan crossed his arms. “I don’t understand.” “You will.” Nick fisted his hands. It was going to be hard not to punch the guy, but he had to remain in control. He took a deep breath to steady himself. “Why’d you leak the vials to the press?” Strahan’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson. Bingo. Nick stepped closer to him, so close he could smell Strahan’s sweat. “Tell me why.” “I don’t have to answer to you.” Strahan turned for the door. His blood growing hot, Nick blocked his path. “You’re not going anywhere until you come clean with me.” “The hell I’m not.” Strahan tried to muscle by him, and Nick grabbed the collar of his shirt, twisting it to cut off his air. “You’d better spill it. Now.” “Or what, detective?” Strahan taunted. He narrowed his eyes. “You gonna slug me like you did Butch O’Neill?” “I never hit that rat bastard. But I’ll do whatever it takes to get to the bottom of this,” Nick growled. “Tell me exactly what you leaked to the media, and why you did it.” “Every-fucking-thing. How we found ‘em, and where. What Pal found on the bodies. Everything except those yellow sticky notes.” Thank God for that. Nick released him. “What the hell is wrong with you? You go behind my back and start your own investigation, and then you leak vital information to the press. Are you trying to derail this case?” “Of course not,” Strahan snapped, rubbing his neck. A red streak marked the spot where Nick had twisted his collar. “One of the reporters paid me big bucks. I need the money. I’ve got bills. Credit cards, my house, not to mention what I owe my ex-wife in back child support. Life’s a bitch for me right now.” “It’s about to get a helluva lot worse,” Nick said. “You might as well clean out your locker. PID is gonna be all over this.” “They can’t fire me. I’m civil service.” “I wouldn’t count on that helping you in this case. At the very least, you’ll be suspended and busted back to patrol. Wouldn’t surprise me if they charged you with Obstructing Legal Process.” “It’ll never stick,” Strahan growled. “Now, get the fuck out of my face.” “No way.” Nick jerked his thumb toward the door. “Let’s go. Parker needs to hear what you just told me, and I wanna hear you tell him.” “Not now. I have an appointment.” “You don’t have a choice.” “Like hell I don’t. You’re nothing but a loose cannon, Marconi. Too dangerous to be on the street. That’s the next thing I’m gonna tell the press.” Strahan glared at him a long moment, and then shoved past him and yanked open the door. Nick grabbed his arm, but Strahan jerked free and marched away, toward the station’s front door.

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Anger seared Nick’s chest. He clamped his mouth shut so as not to make a scene, but followed Strahan to the parking garage’s sloped entrance. He had to make his partner listen to reason. Strahan abruptly turned. “If you’re thinking of dragging me back inside, forget it. I’m out of here.” He suddenly took a right and jogged across the busy street. With a curse, Nick stepped off the curb, and was met by a chorus of horn blowing. A blue Ford Ranger skidded to a halt only inches from his leg, and forced him back onto the curb. Strahan dodged a squealing taxi and made it across the street. His heart in his throat, Nick watched his partner disappear around the corner. A cool rain began to fall. Nick spat a curse and ducked into the parking garage. Wiping moisture from his face, he yanked out his cell phone and dialed Parker. His boss picked up on the second ring. “Parker. Homicide.” “Captain—” Nick angled through the garage toward the door leading into the station. “I was right. Strahan is responsible for the leak.” “He admitted it?” Parker barked. “Yeah. I tried to get him to come to your office, but he took off down Esplanade.” Nick stabbed his fingers through his hair. Anger fueled by his guilt over O’Neill spilled through him. Parker remained silent for a moment. Then he said, “That confirms his guilt. I’ll call PID.” “They’ll need to talk to me. Strahan confessed.” He veered around a parked car and opened his mouth to tell Parker exactly what his partner had said, when a blunt object crashed against his skull. His vision blackened. The phone fell from his hand and skittered under the car. Nick struggled to regain his balance and lunged at his attacker. The guy countered with a sharp blow to his temple. Nick stumbled and went down. Dizziness made his head swim. He fumbled for the Glock, but the heavy tip of a boot caught him under the chin. Another kick slammed into his gut. Bile rushed up his throat. “This is just for fun, Marconi,” a deep male voice rasped. “To let you know you’ve got it all wrong. How can you be so damned stupid?” With a strangled roar, he dove for the man’s legs. Pain exploded across Nick’s back and he hit the concrete face down. He grunted as another kick knocked the air from his lungs. He saw a brilliant flash of silver, and everything went black. Sirens sounded on the street outside, their piercing wail growing louder and louder. Nick battled through the haze surrounding him and fought for the surface, which was just out of reach. Finally, with great concentration, he caught his breath. He gagged on the taste of blood in his mouth. Spitting it out, he pressed his cheek to the cool concrete and held himself very still. His head and back throbbed. He coughed, and winced from the pain arcing through his jaw and ribs.

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The sirens grew closer, so loud they made him cringe. He gingerly rolled over onto his back as a marked cruiser rolled to a stop beside him. The smell of its exhaust made his stomach lurch. Two uniformed officers leapt from the car just as Parker plunged out the station’s door. “Nick!” Parker’s bellow carried over the uniforms’ cackling radios. “What the hell happened?” One of the officers knelt down beside him. He was young, and looked worried. “Detective, are you all right?” “I-I think so,” Nick managed, banding an arm across his aching mid-section. Blood dripped from his lip onto his sleeve. It was still hard to breathe. “Guy . . . jumped me. Hit my head.” Parker slid to a stop beside him and crouched down. He was breathing hard. “I heard a commotion on the phone. Who was it?” “I don’t know,” Nick croaked, shaking his head. Big mistake. He groaned and touched his temple. Pain streaked through it. “Ow!” “You need to see a doctor.” Parker gripped his arm and hauled him to his feet. Nick stumbled. One of the uniformed officers caught him and propped him against the sedan. “Let us drive you to Mercy General.” “No.” The world spun around Nick, and he tried to shake off the unsettling bout of dizziness. “I’ll be okay.” “You’re going to the hospital, detective, and that’s an order,” Parker said gravely. “You might have a concussion, or worse.” Nick didn’t argue. He glanced around, but that only made his head hurt worse. He muttered a curse and pressed a hand to his sore ribs. “I need my cell phone.” The second uniformed officer scooped it up from the other side of the car and held it out. “Found it.” “Good.” Parker took it from him. “Get SCID over here. I’m going to the hospital with Marconi.” “You don’t have to go, sir,” Nick said, as his boss gave him the phone. Parker just looked at him. “I’m going.” The two uniforms helped Nick into the backseat of the cruiser, and Parker climbed in after him. Nick tried to peer through the metal cage in front of him, but the attempt made him dizzy all over again. He sat back against the seat and tried to regulate his shallow breaths. Anything deeper hurt. “Relax and sit still,” Parker said. “We’ll be there soon.” “The bastard said, ‘This is just for fun, Marconi. And to let you know you’ve got it all wrong.’” Nick scrubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. His fingers came away red. He grimaced. He was still bleeding. “He was talking about Bruce O’Neill.” “Must think we have him dead to rights.” “Which we don’t.” Nick wiped his hand on his pants. “I have my own questions about O’Neill’s guilt.”

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“That’s good to hear, because so do I. Still, it was your sister’s blood inside those vials,” Parker said. “None of it makes a damned bit of sense.” Nick battled a surge of nausea. “It does if O’Neill didn’t kill Jasmine.” “Let’s get you checked out before you worry about that,” Parker said. “Then we’ll go over all our evidence with a fine-toothed comb. There’s got to be a good reason why you were attacked.” “O’Neill or his lady could be behind it.” “He’s mad as hell, but he doesn’t have telephone access in lock up.” Parker frowned. “Did Delia Bates seem the type to hire someone to do this?” “No. She spends all her money on crank.” Nick swallowed against the bile burning his throat. He was relieved when the uniform wheeled the cruiser into Mercy General’s ER entrance. Any more whipping around corners, and he was gonna hurl all over the floor. His chest burned. Hell. This was the last thing he needed right now. He had to get back on his feet fast, so he could solve this case.

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Chapter Seven It was Saturday, and Gracie was desperate to keep her mind off Patti. So she spent the afternoon in her office transcribing notes. Still, her nerves were on edge. She’d sat up the night before watching the street, expecting Jerry to appear at any moment. He hadn’t. But she hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d tossed and turned, thinking one minute about Patti’s terrifying last moments, and the next hearing noises outside. She rubbed her aching neck. Time to go home and get ready to meet Patti’s mother and sister. She backed up her notes, shut down her computer, and locked up. It was after four o’clock. Worry filled her as she negotiated her way through the thin stream of traffic leaving downtown New Orleans. She didn’t want to return to her house, but she had no choice. Patti’s family had arrived early this morning, and had left the motel around eleven to make arrangements to have Patti’s body flown home to Florida for burial. Gracie was afraid Jerry might show up and ruin their visit. He hadn’t exactly threatened her last night, but he had made it clear he wasn’t going away. She didn’t want to see him. Not today, and not tomorrow. But she had to come up with a plan in case he was sitting in her driveway or on her front porch when she arrived home. As she neared her street, she pulled out her cell phone and punched in 911, but didn’t make the call. She let her finger hover over the button instead, hoping she wouldn’t need to ask for help. She held her breath when her house finally came into view. To her relief, there was no car in her driveway, and no sign of Jerry anywhere. She halted her Nissan and peered up and down the street. Nothing. She blew out a thankful breath and tucked her cell phone back into her purse. Then she looked around again, and drove into the garage. She didn’t feel safe until the door rolled shut behind her. The house was empty. She peeked out the front window, and slipped out onto the porch to retrieve her mail. Her knee bumped the chair beneath the mailbox, and an eight-inch square package tumbled out of it onto her foot. Gracie staggered backwards and stared down at the box in surprise. Had Jerry left her another gift? Surely not. She was afraid to touch it, so she flipped it over with her foot and leaned down to read the return address. Audrey Simmons. Her mother.

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Thank God. Gracie’s heart beat a mile a minute as she picked up the box and weighed it in her hands. Not heavy. She hadn’t heard from her mother in months. They hadn’t been close since her fifteenth birthday, the day her father was sent to prison. They rarely talked or corresponded. Christmas and birthday gifts had stopped long ago. Her mother’s response to her graduation from medical school had been to send a greeting card. “Oh, Mom,” she whispered, shaking the box. “What are you up to now?” She gathered the mail and carried it and the package inside to her kitchen table. Her nerves thrummed as she grabbed a knife from the block on the counter and slit it open. It was filled with wadded newspaper. She tossed that aside and gaped open-mouthed at the medals her father had won at police shooting competitions. A faded picture of him in uniform. And his black leather ankle holster, which to her relief, was empty. She wouldn’t have been surprised if her mom had sent a loaded gun through the mail. A wave of revulsion washed over Gracie, and hot tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Mom. How could you do this?” she whispered aloud. “You know how remembering him upsets me.” She dashed the moisture from her cheeks and dug a blood red envelope from the bottom of the box. Her fingers shook as she opened it and pulled out a stark white card emblazoned with a black and red peace symbol. Her heart tripped. Was this her mother’s feeble attempt at making amends? If so, she had a lot to learn about reaching out to family. Gracie opened the card and strained to read her mother’s cramped handwriting: I didn’t know how to tell you this, so I decided to write instead of calling. You got your wish, at last. Your father’s dead. He hanged himself in his cell at Angola. Gracie was suddenly lightheaded, and the card swam in front of her. Struggling to regain her equilibrium, she pulled out a chair and sat down. Her father was dead. And for some reason, her mother had thought it necessary to send Gracie some of his police memorabilia. But why? To revive Gracie’s terrible memories of his arrest and conviction? To get back at her? To hurt her, the way her mother was hurting now? Gracie looked back down at the card, and continued reading: He died ashamed of what he did, and he wanted your forgiveness. Too bad you couldn’t absolve him of his sins—in your eyes, anyway. But you’ll always be Roger Simmons’ daughter. And don’t you ever forget it. She threw the card across the table as pain arced through her, the ache so fierce she wrapped her arms around herself and let out a low keening sound. Her tears dampened her cheeks. She had loved her father, and he had betrayed her with his lies. She couldn’t understand how her mother could defend him. He’d left her broke and alone and— The telephone shrilled, cutting into her thoughts. She spun in her chair and eyed the cordless unit hanging on the wall like it might attack. She rose and peered at the Caller ID display through a haze of tears. It was Jerry’s cell phone number.

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Gracie went cold inside. No way was she answering it. Not after last night. She shook off a distinct chill and dashed a hand over her eyes. Then she stalked back to the table, where she scooped up the card. The telephone kept up its insistent ringing, but she ignored it and reread her mother’s insensitive note. A pall of sadness settled over her. She felt as though her mother had died along with her father, because their relationship was now hopelessly broken. The ringing beside her finally stopped. Why didn’t he just give up? She let out the breath she’d been holding and stuffed the card back into the box. Her hands shook as she closed it as best she could and headed for the garage. She would put it on a shelf in her storage cabinet until she could dispose of it. Her fingers closed around the doorknob. The telephone began to shrill again, and Gracie jumped. Damn him. She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer that Jerry would drop dead. Her heart thumped. She opened the door, and cool, oil-scented air wafted over her. She shifted the box to her other hand and flipped on the light, just as a loud knock echoed through the house. Startled, she whirled around and stared at the entrance to the living room. Someone was banging on the front door. “It’s Jerry,” she whispered, somehow knowing it deep in her bones. This day was quickly becoming a nightmare. The telephone continued to ring, and the persistent knocks echoed loudly. Her nerve endings tingled. She tossed the box at the table. It missed, and her father’s medals clattered to the floor beside his picture, which somehow managed not to break. She dashed away the last of her tears and slipped through the kitchen and into the shadowy living room. Careful to stay away from the windows, she edged up to the door and looked through the peephole. Sure enough, Jerry stood on the mat glaring at the door. She took in his perfect Ken doll hair, his angry black eyes. His thick, snarling lips. Why had she gone out with him in the first place? Was she that desperate? He snapped his cell phone shut, and her telephone immediately went silent. The sudden hush in the house thundered in her ears. He fixed his gaze on the peephole, and she felt like she was under a microscope, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. He raised his fist and pounded again. She gritted her teeth and edged away from the door. “I know you’re in there, Gracie,” he yelled. “I saw you drive up. Answer the fucking door.” “No way.” She pressed a hand to her heart. Jerry kicked the bottom of the door. “Come on, damn it. Let me in! I just wanna talk to you. We need to discuss our future.” Not in this lifetime. She ran into back into the kitchen and snatched up the cordless handset before he could call her again. Her fingers shook as she punched in 911.

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***** Nick leaned back on the gurney in Trauma Room 4 of Mercy General’s ER and draped his forearm over his eyes. His head throbbed, and his ribs felt like they’d been trapped in a vice. His anger at Strahan didn’t help. Every time he thought about the rookie detective going behind his back, leaking evidence, and running off when Nick tried to take him to Parker, he grew more furious. His hands clenched into tight fists. “You need to take it easy.” Parker’s deep voice broke into his angry reverie. “Being mad isn’t gonna help.” “You want me to calm down?” Nick asked, glaring up at his boss. “Catch Strahan. That prick deserves to face charges.” “He will. I put an APB out for him in the car.” Nick raised his eyebrows, and even that hurt. He cursed silently. “You were babbling nonsense.” Parker twisted his mouth. “I didn’t think you heard me.” “Yeah? Well, I’m not exactly used to being beat to a bloody pulp.” Nick shifted, and winced when pain lanced his side. He’d had X-rays and been poked and prodded by two different doctors and one skeptical looking nurse. Supposedly, nothing was broken. When was she coming back with his pain medication? “Sir?” A uniformed officer strode into the room and approached the Captain. Parker turned. “Hey, Andretti. What’s up?” “Your cell phone must be off. Dispatch has been trying to call you.” Parker pulled out his phone and glowered down at it. “Damn. I forgot to charge it again. Sorry.” The uniform quirked his mouth, and then grew solemn. “There’s been a shooting two blocks from the district station, on North Rampart Street. One person is dead. We need a detective on scene.” North Rampart. Strahan had gone that way. If that bastard had shot someone— Nick threw a leg over the side of the gurney. “I’ll go, Captain.” “Like hell you will,” Parker growled. “I know you’re thinking Strahan might be involved, but you’re staying put until you get those meds. Let me borrow your cell phone.” Nick grudgingly handed it over and eased his leg back onto the gurney. He hated to admit it, but he was grateful Parker had benched him. He hurt too much to move. Parker punched in a number and nodded at Andretti. “I’ll send someone.” The officer bobbed his head. He turned to go, and his radio crackled to life. “OneBravo-four, we have a disturbance at 215 Olga Street. See the complainant, Gracie Simmons. I repeat, Gracie Simmons, at 215 Olga.” Ignoring the pain in his side, Nick sat up straight. “Hold on, Andretti.” The uniform halted and turned around. Nick looked at Parker. “Captain—” On the phone to dispatch, Parker waved him off and turned away. Nick turned to Andretti. “I’m going with you.” “Are you sure?” Andretti arched his brows.

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Nick nodded and slid both legs off the bed until his feet met the floor. A wave of dizziness slammed him, and he grabbed the edge of the gurney for support. Shit. He had to get out of here and help Gracie. She was his psychiatrist, but in the short time he’d been seeing her, he’d come to care for her as a friend. As a woman. He shook his head to dispel the cobwebs in his brain and reached for his clothes on the chair beside him. Pain flared across his ribs. He cursed sharply. Parker whipped around and gave him the evil eye. “Just a moment, ma’am,” he said into the phone. He lowered it and scowled at Nick. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” “Going with Andretti.” Nick held his breath and jerked his T-shirt on over his head. The Captain lifted the phone back to his ear and finished his call in a series of blunt monosyllables. He signed off and slapped the phone shut. “Hilliard’s taking that case—and it has nothing to do with Strahan. No need for you to hurt yourself.” “I’m not going on that call.” “Oh?” Parker said. “Then where are you going?” “There’s another emergency.” Nick shrugged into his dress shirt, and grimaced. His head pounded. “Don’t worry about it. I’m okay.” “I’m not worried about any damned emergency. I’m worried about you.” “I’m just fine.” Nick blinked to dispel another bout of dizziness. He clumsily buttoned his shirt. “Really. Just give me my telephone.” Parker handed it over. “Neither of us have a vehicle.” “No problem.” Nick pocketed the phone. “I’ll ride with Andretti.” “I’ve got a call on Olga, off North Carrollton Avenue,” the uniform said. “You wanna ride?” “No.” Parker peered at Nick, who blew out a frustrated breath. He knew he might as well fess up, because Parker would find out where he was going sooner or later. He met his boss’s curious gaze. “The call is at Dr. Simmons’ house.” “I see.” One corner of Parker’s mouth rose. “I don’t suppose I can talk you out of it.” “Not a chance,” Nick said. “But you can find that damned nurse and get me my medicine.” Parker started for the door just as she breezed in and shot Nick a stern look. He offered no explanation. But at her direction, he calmly dropped his pants and took a needle in the butt. ***** He trailed the shiny black Lexus through the French Quarter and across town to City Park. As they drew closer to the large green space, the car slowed to a crawl and turned onto Harrison Avenue beside Bayou Oaks East Golf Course. He let two cars in between them and hung back until he was sure he wouldn’t be noticed. Then he swung into the small parking lot serving the Arboretum nature trail a few spaces down from the Lexus. The woman got out of the car and ran her hands through her long blond hair. Her warm-up jacket bowed out to reveal pert breasts encased in tight red Spandex. His body tightened. He licked his lips.

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Donna Jeffers was a bombshell, waiting to go off. A sexy, tight-assed bombshell. It was amazing how similar his tastes were to Marconi’s. She adjusted her socks, passed through the fence, and took off down the dirt trail at a brisk walking pace. Not wanting her to get too far ahead, he exited the compact and started after her. The air was cool and crisp, and the late afternoon shadows were deep under the trees. Two joggers ran by, their sneakers kicking up clouds of dust. It was March, but they hadn’t had much rain. His blood sang through his veins. He could have waited in his car, but following her gave him a sense of power. He loved the hunt and the chase. The heady anticipation. Donna continued down the path and he hung back, not wanting to alert her to his presence. He wouldn’t grab her until she’d finished her walk and the shadows had deepened to the point of blackness. A woman struggling to push a whiny brat in a stroller over the uneven ground shot him a suspicious look as he slipped past her. A little boy who looked to be about five tagged along behind her. He longed to trip her and her kid and show them the tools in his trunk, but he held himself in check. He didn’t want to give himself away. Donna reached a fork in the trail. Without warning, she angled to the right and began a slow, sexy jog. The sight of her moving hips encased in those tight red athletic pants made his body harden to the point of pain. He had to get closer. Trying not to be obvious, he adjusted his jeans and began to run. Slowly at first, then faster. The steady slap-slap of his boots on the ground rang in rhythm with his thudding heart. His breath sawed out and the cool air seemed to warm. They passed a freshly planted flowerbed, and the rich odor of daffodils tantalized his nostrils. He felt as one with the earth and connected to the sleek, enticing woman jogging in front of him, unaware the shadow behind her would later take her life. Another jogger passed him. He slowed his pace and fell back, careful to keep Donna in sight. His hands twitched with the need to touch her, and he was winded, but not overly so— which was good. He would need his strength for the kill. To his relief, within a few minutes they were back at the entrance where their jaunt had begun. The sky had turned a deep purple. The shaded walkway to the parking lot was a kaleidoscope of dark and light, with the asphalt behind the cars fending off the last of the sun’s rays. He checked his watch. Six-thirty. It was still early, but grabbing her now would give him more time to play. He spotted the woman with the stroller in the parking lot, stowing the contraption in the back of her dark green minivan, which was parked beside his car. Her little boy turned and looked right at him, the kid’s innocent eyes narrowing like he knew what was about to happen. His pulse rate quickened. The bitch and her brood had to leave. Now. Donna entered the thickest shadows beneath the trees and stopped to stretch. He fisted his hands as she bent over and gripped her ankles. Heat surged through him. He had to move, before he lost control. He couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

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“Excuse me,” he said, stripping off his watch and quickly shoving it into his back pocket. She whirled and clapped a hand to her chest. Her anxious eyes roamed over him. “Oh my! You startled me.” “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He smiled and closed his hand around the folded bandanna tucked neatly into his pocket beneath his watch. “Do you have the time?” “Of course.” She squinted down at her timepiece, and looked up. “It’s six-thirty-three.” “Thank you,” he said, edging close enough to her to draw in her warm, musky scent. Her skin was damp with sweat. He swallowed back the urge to run his fingers into her slick cleavage. His body trembled. He pulled the bandanna from his pocket and made a show of mopping his brow. She smiled and turned around as the minivan drove away. Their two cars were the only ones left in the parking lot. His hands flashed out. He slapped the bandanna over her mouth and banded his other arm around her, pinning her arms to her sides. She shrieked into the folded cloth. “Don’t scream, and don’t fight me,” he growled, ramming his rigid arousal against her taut backside. “You stupid bitch.” She whimpered. “Shut up,” he snapped, punching her hard in the side. “Or I’ll kill you. Understand?” A second layer of sweat popped out on her brow. She nodded briskly. He crammed the bandanna into her mouth and wrenched one of her arms behind her, then the other. She fought him, but he held her fast and fastened her wrists. “You’re not going anywhere, except with me.” She went down on her knees and made a funny howling sound. He yanked her upright and she squirmed. He could smell her fear and the musky, damp odor of her crotch. It excited him. He quickly scanned the area around them, and saw no one. The minivan was gone. “Let’s go,” he whispered, roughly shoving her toward the compact. “That’s my car.” She whimpered again. Darkness had fallen, and the streetlights along the road beside the parking area began to blink on. Lucky for him, this part of the park was now deserted. He popped the compact’s trunk, grabbed her arm, and dragged her toward the rear of the tiny car. She shook her head and struggled to get away. He yanked her close and stared into her eyes. “Stop fighting me. You won’t get away.” She trembled. He laughed. Then he opened her jacket and yanked up her tight knit top to reveal one of her round, firm breasts. His flesh leapt. He pinched her nipple, and she squealed. “That’s nothing, baby,” he whispered in her ear. He licked her ear lobe and her neck. Then moved lower, and took her nipple into his mouth. He sucked it hard, pulling half her breast into his mouth. Her soft flesh was salty with sweat.

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He swirled his tongue around her nipple and then bit down on it. Hard. She screamed into the cloth in her mouth. He shoved her into the trunk and slammed the lid.

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Chapter Eight Fear crawled through Gracie as she held vigil beside the living room window, which grew darker as daylight waned. Her worried gaze swept the shadowed street running by the house. Where were the police? She’d called them over a half hour ago, while Jerry was still banging on the front door. When she didn’t answer, he moved to the back, pounding on the door to the garage so long she feared it would give way. Thank God it had held—or he’d be inside with her right now. A shiver tiptoed up her spine. She shook it off and eyed the lawn. His car was still in the driveway, yet he was nowhere in sight. Where could he be? She dropped the curtain. She should check the back of the house again, just in case. The hairs on her arms came to attention as she entered the kitchen and peeked out the back window. The light beside the door formed an oblong yellow pool on the concrete porch, and the cool breeze ruffled the shrubs near the fence. Nothing else moved. Gracie started toward the door to the garage and spotted the overturned box on the floor, her father’s picture and medals strewn around it like tossed confetti. An ominous chill flowed through her. That package had turned out to be an omen of what was to come. Fear, anger, and frustration. Emotions that had dogged her ever since her father had been arrested and sent to prison. Determined to retain control over her life, she grasped the doorknob. Down the hall, glass shattered. She jerked her hand away and whirled. Her heart thumped wildly. She spun and searched frantically for a weapon. Anything. Her eyes fell on the wooden block sitting beside the stove, which held a half dozen razor sharp knives. She snatched out the largest one and gripped its handle in one shaking fist. “He might get inside,” she muttered gamely. “But he won’t take me without a fight.” She squeezed the knife handle. “Bastard.” A light tinkling sound startled her. More glass falling. Her pulse thrummed in her ears. She held her breath and passed the living room door, and a pair of bright headlights split the darkness. She halted. Thank God. She hoped it was the police. Thudding footsteps pounded across the back porch. She clutched the knife to her chest and pressed herself to the wall. Jerry was leaving. The cops had scared him away. The front doorbell rang.

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She willed her heartbeat to slow down and slipped into the dark living room just as the doorbell pealed again. Gracie tiptoed through the dimness to the door and looked out the peephole. Two uniformed officer’s stood in the gloomy shadows beside the mat. She couldn’t see their faces. Relief sailed through her. She flipped the deadbolt and yanked open the door. “Officers.” She waved the knife. “He ran through the back yard.” The cop on the left got on his radio. The other man wasn’t wearing a uniform. He was in plainclothes. She frowned. “Gracie, are you all right?” He stepped forward through the shadows. It was Nick. She’d know that voice anywhere. Her heart turned over. She smiled, until he stepped into the light. His jaw was purple, and a cut that hadn’t clotted marred his lip. His eyes had a glazed look. Her mouth dropped open and she clutched his arm. “Oh my God. What happened? Did Jerry do that?” “Who’s Jerry?” he asked. His gaze locked on the blade in her other hand. He gripped her wrist. “Whoa, doc. Put down the knife.” The cop in uniform put his hand on his pistol. “Ma’am?” “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. Her cheeks burned. She looked down at the razor sharp blade. “I picked it up in case it was Jerry at the door.” Nick took the knife. “You’d better explain.” “You first.” She swallowed, and let her gaze play over his bruised face. “You look like you went ten rounds with a prize fighter.” “Don’t worry about me. Who’s Jerry?” Nick’s glazed blue eyes roamed over her face. He cupped her elbow and led her into the living room. “Why don’t you sit down and tell us about him?” “Okay.” Her legs suddenly felt weak. She longed to throw herself into his arms, but she forced herself to perch on the edge of the couch instead. Nick sat down beside her with a wince, and the other officer claimed the recliner. Nick introduced him as Andretti. She acknowledged him with a brief smile, and then turned to study Nick’s bruised face. “Jerry is a guy I dated for a while, but we had no chemistry.” Gracie rubbed her arms. “He’s been calling me incessantly ever since, here and at the office, leaving message after message. Nothing strange, just annoying notes begging me to answer the phone. Until tonight, that is. He almost broke the door down, and then tried to break into my house through my bedroom window.” “Did he get inside?” Anger flared in Nick’s eyes. He pulled out a pen and pad. “No.” She shivered. “Thanks to you. He ran when you pulled in the drive way.” “What’s his last name?” Nick asked. “Howard. He lives in the Garden District. I don’t know where.” “Give me his description. Height, weight, hair color, eye color, etc. If you watch TV, you know the drill.” Gracie pictured Jerry as he’d looked when she’d stared through the peephole only a few short minutes ago. “He’s about six feet tall, 185 pounds, with short sandy hair—like a Ken doll.”

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Nick cocked an eyebrow. She shrugged. “His looks are average, and he’s in decent shape. Just an average guy.” “Any distinguishing marks?” “A strange little mole.” Gracie touched her jaw. “Right here. It’s shaped like Australia.” Andretti snickered. Nick shot the younger officer a fierce look, and then turned his attention back to his pad. Andretti snapped his mouth shut. “I’ve never thought he was dangerous.” Gracie drew her brow into a tight frown. “Only irritating. Then he changed.” “When did the calls start?” Nick asked. He gingerly rested his elbows on his knees. “While you were dating?” “No. Not until I dumped him.” Her chest constricted as she remembered how demented he’d looked tonight. “He’s been calling me for weeks, but I quit answering, until yesterday. I didn’t recognize the number on my Caller ID, and I thought it was Patti’s mom calling from the motel. Jerry must have gotten a new cell phone number.” Nick met her gaze. The glaze in his eyes seemed to be getting worse. She decided he must be on pain medication. He rubbed his palm on his thigh. “Tell me everything that happened. Did you go to work today?” “Yes. I spent the afternoon at my office transcribing notes.” She couldn’t stop moving her hands. “I was trying to keep my thoughts off Patti and how—how she died.” Even though she tried to stop them, tears filled her eyes. She brushed them away. “When I got home, Jerry called me from a number I recognized. I didn’t answer.” “Good girl.” Nick bobbed his head. “Not answering didn’t help.” She scowled. “Because less than thirty minutes later, he came over. That’s his car in the driveway. The old Chevy Lumina.” “Damn. You should have told us.” Andretti bolted to his feet. “I’ll check it out.” Nick nodded. “Run the tag and give me a heads up.” “Will do.” Andretti sent Grace a disapproving glance, and disappeared out the door. “I know.” Gracie bit her lip. “I should have said something. I was just so shaken up—” “That’s understandable.” Nick’s warm-as-whiskey voice soothed her frazzled nerves. “You were upset. Tell me what happened after Jerry got here. What time was it?” “Six-thirty.” She recounted Jerry’s knocking and loud shouts from the porch, when he’d accused her of ignoring him. “Then it was like he just snapped.” “And he tried to break in?” “Not right away.” She drew in a deep breath. “He banged on the door some more, then moved to the back and pounded on that one. I was afraid he’d break it in. The door opens into the garage, and it would have been a breeze for him to get into the house from there.” Nick stared at her. “You don’t have a deadbolt?” “Not on that door.” She swallowed. “I’ve been meaning to have one installed. But—” “I’ll take care of it.” “You don’t have to.” “I know I don’t,” he said, his attentive gaze suddenly making her nervous. “I wanna do it.”

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She shifted uncomfortably. Their roles had suddenly changed. It was like all at once he was the doctor, and she was the patient. Nick seemed to sense her unease. He straightened gingerly, and returned his attention to his notes. “He never got inside?” “No. But I heard glass break about the time you arrived.” “In your bedroom?” Nick scowled. She put her hands on the sofa. “Yes. I was afraid to go in there.” “That was smart,” he said, carefully rising. He eyed the door to the kitchen. “Which way?” She jumped up and moved ahead of him. “I’ll show you.” “No.” Nick caught her arm. “Tell me where. You stay here.” Gracie drew in a shaky breath. The idea of Nick examining her private space while she waited made her skin tingle. Yet she knew he needed to see what Jerry had done. So she said, “Go through the kitchen and turn left. My bedroom’s the last door on the right.” She dug her fingernails into her palms and followed him into the kitchen. A lump rose in her throat as she watched him draw his pistol and disappear down the dark hallway. He was injured, and he was coming to her rescue. Minutes later, he returned. His angular face was taut. “Bastard broke your window, all right,” he snapped. “Glass is everywhere, even on the bed.” “I knew it,” she said softly, fear rampaging through her once again. Even with Nick so near, she longed for safety. This was her home, which had been violated. If she wasn’t safe here, where could she go? Despair filled her. Nick ran a hand through his short hair. “If you have a board, I’ll cover the window.” “There’s lumber in the garage.” Grateful for his help, she indicated the door. “I have tools.” “I’ll get ‘em,” he said, starting for the front of the house. “After I talk to Andretti.” “Wait a minute,” she said, having second thoughts. “Are you sure you’re up to it? It’s obvious you’re in pain.” “I’m okay.” He sent her a hooded look. She nodded. Having him here was a comfort, but she still felt like she might crack. The stress of the past few days was wearing on her. First there had been Patti’s brutal murder, then the startling news of her father’s suicide. And now Jerry had crossed the line from annoying to downright dangerous. Nick pulled open the front door and stepped outside. She walked over to the window and watched him speak to Andretti, and then turn back. He moved slowly, like every step sent pain jarring through him. Her first thought was that he had fought with a suspect, but she realized that wasn’t fair. She didn’t know what had happened to him. It might not have been his fault at all. The door opened and he stepped back inside, with Andretti on his heels. “The car’s a rental, stolen yesterday in Kenner,” Nick said with a dark scowl. “Are you sure he was your guy?” “He was never my guy,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended. “And yes, I’m sure it was Jerry. I saw him through the peephole.”

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“Okay.” Nick turned. She grabbed his arm. “No, it’s not okay. He said I would listen to him, or I’d pay. He didn’t say how. I didn’t sleep last night expecting him to come here and then tonight he pulls this stunt.” “You should have called me,” Nick said looking down at her hand. Abruptly realizing she was squeezing his forearm, she let go. Her cheeks flamed. Nick quirked his mouth and turned to Andretti. “Did you tell SCID about the car?” He nodded. “They’re en route.” “Good. Tell ‘em to rush it.” Andretti vanished out the door. Gracie folded her arms. “Isn’t it unusual to call in the crime scene unit after something as insignificant as breaking and entering?” “I’m taking a few extra precautions,” he said. “Because of what happened to Patti.” “You think Jerry killed her?” Her throat closed up, and she gaped at him. “Oh my God!” “I don’t know that for a fact. I’m just looking at every possibility.” “You said you’d arrested the man responsible.” “I know. But some things just don’t add up,” Nick said gravely, his expression tormented. Then he seemed to shake it off, and she wondered if she’d imagined the flash of pain in his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Did Jerry know Patti?” “Yes.” Gracie’s stomach flip-flopped. “I don’t think he knew her very well, but he and I did go out with her and Tom a few times.” Nick wrote that down. Suddenly nauseous, Gracie leaned against the wall to keep from swaying. “Oh God. If she died because I introduced them…I’m not sure I can live with that.” “Don’t speculate. It does no good,” Nick said, looking up. His eyes were twin pinpoints of flame. “We don’t know if Jerry is our guy. But even if he is, Patti’s death wasn’t your fault.” Gracie knew he was right, but still a fog of depression stole over her. She fought off a fresh onslaught of tears. To keep Nick from seeing her cry, she slipped past him into the kitchen. He followed. “Gracie—” “Call me Dr. Simmons, please,” she said, trying her best to remain professional, and knowing she was failing miserably. “I’m your psychiatrist, remember?” “Yeah. And I’m the burned out detective working my ass off to keep you safe,” he said. “So damn it, Gracie. Don’t push me away.” Totally unnerved, she grasped the edge of the sink and leaned over it. She wasn’t used to giving up control—to anyone. After her father’s betrayal, she’d retreated into herself and done exactly what she wanted with her life. She’d completed college in three years, gone on to medical school, and come out ready to open her practice. Now Nick wanted her to lean on him, and for the first time she was ready to do just that. Why that was true, she didn’t want to know. He came up behind her. “I need to cover your window.”

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She turned and looked at him, standing so tall and resolute. His cheeks were shadowed by purple bruises and his dark beard, and yet his eyes were keen. He watched her every move. She dug her fingernails into her palms and brushed past him again, drawing in a healthy dose of his heady citrus aftershave. “Come with me.” His footsteps echoed on the kitchen tiles as he tagged along behind her. She opened the door and, suddenly realizing he’d halted, spun around. He stood by the table, his eyes riveted to her father’s medals splayed out on the floor like forgotten treasures. “Whose are those?” “My dad’s.” Her face grew hot. “I meant to pick them up.” “They’re from NOPD,” Nick said, eyeing her strangely. He hiked his brows. “He was a cop?” “Yes.” She went rigid. “Until he was arrested for money laundering, dealing drugs, and killing a man.” Her words echoed in the ensuing silence. Nick continued to stare at her. “In other words,” she continued. “He was a bad cop.” “And you’ve been counseling me,” Nick said, his measured words ringing in her brain. “I’ve remained objective. Besides, you aren’t bad. Are you?” “No,” he said, moving up beside her. “But it couldn’t have been easy for you. All my cop slang, my cynicism, all that talk about murder—” “I can handle it.” She lifted her chin as the realization sank in that he wasn’t criticizing her, he was concerned about her. An odd warmth spread through her. He looked at her with admiration. “I think you can handle just about anything.” His praise brought a new onslaught of moisture to her eyes. She turned away. He took her arm and urged her back around. “Are you sure you’re all right?” “Yes,” she said, shaking off his hand. Her weary green eyes locked with his intense blue ones. “I need to find that lumber for you.” Without another word, she slipped out the door. Nick longed to pull her back inside and wrap his arms around her, but how could he? He was a tired, cynical cop, and she was his shrink. Besides, she hated law enforcement—and he couldn’t blame her. Simmons. He frowned. He wasn’t familiar with the name on the force, but he’d do some research and find out exactly what her old man had done. The fact that his medals were strewn about like trash on Gracie’s kitchen floor told him her pain went deep. He doubted she would welcome his touch. Biting his tongue to keep from saying anything, he followed her into the dimly lit garage. She had found a pile of boards in the far corner. He dug out one that looked to be about the size of the broken window. Soon he had it in place to keep out the rain—but it wouldn’t protect her from intruders. He joined her in the kitchen and put the hammer on the counter. “You can’t stay here.” “I’m not going to.” She leaned against the sink. “I’m meeting Patti’s mother and sister for dinner.” “Do you think that’s wise? Going out, I mean.” Nick said, unable to keep from frowning. If Gracie went out in public, she might be singled out by Jerry, who might grab her—or worse.

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She looked at him. “They’re my best friend’s family. I need to be with them.” She was right, of course. Her grief ran deep, and it would help her to spend time with Patti’s family. Nick frowned. “Then tell me where they’re staying, and where you plan to eat.” “Why?” “I’m gonna put a protective detail on you.” “Nick, no. Don’t do that.” “Yes. And I want you to stay with them at their hotel.” His intense gaze never wavered from her face. “Okay?” She hesitated, and then seemed to decide it would be a smart move. One Jerry wouldn’t expect. And it would also give her more time with Patti’s family. She nodded slowly. “All right. But after they leave town, I can’t promise anything.” “No problem. We’ll take it one day at a time.” ***** It was late, but after Nick arranged for a protective detail, gave Gracie his card, and saw her off with Patti’s family, he drove downtown to the Orleans Parish Prison on Gravier Street. He wanted to see O’Neill again. Alone. The loud metallic clang of the bars closing behind him grated on his raw nerves. The stale air inside the lockup smelled like sweat and old socks, and he tried not to breathe too deeply. His ribs ached as he waited in silence for the guard to punch his security code into a panel on the wall. Once he did, another door slid open in front of them. Nick was led down the hall directly to O’Neill’s cell, where Butch sat cross-legged on his bunk. He sneered at Nick. “Well, well, well. If it ain’t my favorite detective.” The guard opened O’Neill’s cell door and Nick strode inside. The door clanged shut behind him, leaving him inside the cage with the animal that might or might not have murdered his little sister. Despite his vow to stay calm, his blood grew hot with anger and he fisted his hands. “Did you come to finish what you started in that interrogation room?” O’Neill eyed Nick’s taut stance. Nick shook his head and took a deep breath. “I just want answers.” “You want me to say I killed those girls.” “Did you?” O’Neill just looked at him. Fury boiled inside Nick. He stepped closer to the prisoner’s concrete bunk. “You like being in a metal cage?” “Hell no.” “Then tell me what happened.” “Why should I?” O’Neill snorted. “So you can have an excuse to put a needle in my arm?” “You should already be dead.”

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“I didn’t kill Jasmine.” O’Neill’s hard façade cracked. “You think I’m a monster. I’m not.” “You took her blood, you son of a bitch.” Nick said through clenched teeth. “Her murderer took her blood. I didn’t touch her. She wouldn’t let me.” “So you forced her.” “Was she raped? Did she have my DNA on her? Inside her?” O’Neill lurched to his feet. “No!” “DNA wasn’t—” “You cops found nothing in her apartment except my fingerprints.” O’Neill interrupted, putting his weasel face within an inch of Nick’s. “They were there because I was dating her. Everything you had on me was circumstantial.” “How do you know Maria Talley?” Nick asked, hoping to throw O’Neill off guard. If the ex-con was lying, it should show. O’Neill pulled back and frowned. “Who?” “Sierra Pinson? Patti Warren?” “Never heard of ‘em.” “Don’t you read the paper?” “Not if I can help it.” O’Neill narrowed his eyes. “You’re tryin’ to tie me to those dead girls. I didn’t know any of ‘em.” “Where were you Monday night?” “With Delia. Catching up on what I missed. A little tail.” “Tuesday?” “Delia can’t get enough of me.” O’Neill sneered. “She’s also addicted to crank.” “She didn’t have any that night. She had me.” “What about Thursday?” Nick asked, edging closer. “Did you rape Patti Warren?” “I didn’t rape nobody!” O’Neill roared, doubling up his hands. “I ain’t no rapist, and I ain’t never killed nobody. Not Jasmine, and not any of those other girls.” He turned his head toward the empty hallway. “Guard!” “I’ll be back,” Nick said. “Count on it.” O’Neill’s thin face darkened. “Come back whenever you want. My story ain’t gonna change.” The guard appeared and unlocked the door. Nick stalked out of the cell, his rage a living, breathing creature inside him. But instead of being directed at O’Neill, it was directed inward, toward himself. O’Neill continued to deny his involvement in the murders. His story hadn’t changed, not once in five years of incarceration in one of the toughest prisons in the country. He swore he was innocent. Nick had to agree. And that made him physically ill.

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Chapter Nine “I’m sorry we had to postpone. I had to close the office.” “Have you been crying?” “Yes.” “What’s wrong?” “My best friend was killed.” “Oh, really? How did she die?” “She was murdered.” “People die so easily.” “Excuse me?” “You’d think it would take a long time. But it really doesn’t.” “You’re scaring me.” “I don’t mean to. I’m simply stating a fact.” “How do you know this?” Silence. ***** Once he left her office, Gracie dropped her head into her hands and fought back tears. Her heart pounded. Never, in her six plus years of private practice, had she ever encountered a patient like him. She’d treated people suffering from schizophrenia, victims of posttraumatic stress, narcissists—but never anyone who truly frightened her. Until now. He was intelligent, socially adept, and he obviously suffered from an extreme form of antisocial personality disorder. In other words, he was a psychopath. Alarm skittered over Gracie’s skin. She sat up and rubbed her arms. She wanted to help him. She really did. But for the first time ever, she doubted her ability to reach a patient. His file had said he suffered from depression and extreme anxiety. Now, she was the anxious one. She should have taken Nick’s advice and cleared her calendar. Patti’s murder had hit her harder than she had realized, with her unstable emotional state only serving to ratchet up the fear growing inside her like an out of control wildfire. She’d spent Saturday night through this morning with Patti’s mother and sister. Each time they’d left the hotel, she’d searched out the policeman Nick had sent to ensure their safety. She’d seen no sign of Jerry, and she’d kept her cell phone on silent. He had called, but she hadn’t answered. Not once.

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Now Patti’s mother and sister were flying out of the city with Patti’s body. Gracie had no choice but to return home. The idea of sleeping alone in her house terrified her, even though she’d had the broken window replaced, and that in turn made her angry. She scrubbed her hands over her face. Maybe she should take a vacation. Drive to Florida, Texas, the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Anywhere she could get away and forget all that had happened. She needed space and time to heal. To lick her wounds. A knock at the door startled her. She sat up straight in her chair. “Yes?” “Dr. Simmons?” Ashley opened the door and stuck her dark head inside. “Sorry to bother you, but someone just dropped off a package.” She started into the office carrying a long white box. Just like the one containing Jerry’s roses. Gracie’s pulse leapt. She got up and met Ashley in front of the desk. “Who brought it?” “Some guy.” Ashley shrugged. “Average looks. He had on jeans and an old green hoodie.” “Have you ever seen him before?” “No.” Her brow furrowed. “Why? What’s wrong with the box?” She looked at it like it might bite her. “I don’t know,” Gracie said, trying to keep her tone even so she wouldn’t upset the girl. “Maybe nothing. I just think we need to be careful.” “Oh my God! Do you think it’s a bomb?” Ashley’s eyes widened. She held the box out at arm’s length. “Take it. Please.” “Thanks, Ashley.” Gracie twisted her lips and took the package. Ashley backed away, until her hips met the doorjamb. “I’m sorry. But your—your ten o’clock appointment is here. Should I send her in?” “Give me a few minutes, please.” With a brisk nod, Ashley shut the door. Leaving Gracie alone with the box. She set it on the desk and stared at it as if willing it to open itself. Who had sent it? Why? And, more importantly, what did it contain? There was no name on it, no florist or store name imprinted on the lid, nothing to distinguish it from any other average looking long, rectangular white box. With trembling fingers, she reached out and broke the lid’s plastic seal. Perspiration beaded on her forehead. She wiped it away, and told herself she was being ridiculous. It was only a box. She held her breath, and slowly lifted the lid. It was filled with wadded blood red tissue paper. Her heart thumped. She pulled the paper out, piece by piece. Until she spotted something dark and ugly in the bottom of the box, and a sickening odor wafted over her. Gagging, she pinched her nose shut. What was it? Her hand shook as she pulled back the tissue paper and spied slick dark fur, thick black whiskers, and one blue-black, beady eye, staring back at her. It was a dead rat. She jerked her hands off the box and slapped them over her mouth. A scream lodged in her throat as she edged away from the desk. Jerry. He had to have done this.

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The rat’s putrid odor filled her nostrils. Swallowing back a surge of bile, she took a wide path around her chair and dug her purse from the bottom drawer. Nick’s card was sticking out of her wallet. With trembling fingers, she pulled it out. Did she dare call him? Or should she call 911? ***** With a curse, Nick shoved Patti’s autopsy file away and slammed his fist down on his desk. He’d just reread the paragraph about the red cotton fibers found in her mouth for a third time, and it only served to make him more frustrated. The fibers were an exact match for strands found on the other two women, but other than the yellow sticky notes and the tiny vials of Jasmine’s blood, they had nothing else. The fibers on the jungle gym were white cotton terrycloth, which could have come from any towel. No way to trace them. He pressed his hands over his eyes, which burned from lack of sleep. He’d gone home and flopped painfully into bed at two a.m., but had only managed to toss and turn for the next four hours, thanks to his aching ribs. The pain meds sent him flying, and he couldn’t work like that. In addition, the dead women marching through his head kept trying to talk to him. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop his mind from working, couldn’t shake the feeling he was missing something vital. So he’d finally given up and come in to work. He usually liked being in the squadroom when it was quiet, but this morning while it was still dark, it had sucked. At least now, other people were around. He rose from his desk and poured himself a cup of the sludge that passed for coffee at the station. Telephones jangled, two detectives conducted interviews nearby, and another sat pecking away at a report on his computer. The hubbub was usually soothing to Nick. But not today. In addition to thinking about the case, he had Gracie on his mind. She’d been truly frightened the other night, when that freak had tried to break into her house. He’d had uniforms on her ever since, without his boss’s approval, but there had been no sign of Mr. Jerry Howard. He wasn’t at his house, he wasn’t at work. The only good thing was that Gracie hadn’t seen him, either. Nick wanted to have his place tossed, but without more evidence against him they had no probable cause. He swallowed a healthy sip of bad coffee, and almost choked on it. It tasted like ashes. He turned and spewed it into the garbage can, following it with the half-filled cup. “Bunch of crap.” “Marconi!” Captain Parker’s strident bark carried over the din of phones and voices. Nick jerked around. His boss strode toward him between the desks holding up a small pink message pad. His face was taut as he ripped off the top page. “We got another one.” “Another what?” Nick asked. Although deep inside, he knew. His gut twisted. “Another body.” Parker handed him the note. “This one’s in City Park. Thirtysomething female. Throat slit, blood drained. Pal’s en route.” “Any ID?” “Not yet.”

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Nick digested that. Then he asked the question he most dreaded, the one he had already answered in his head. “How long’s she been there?” Parker raised his brows. “O’Neill’s been locked up for two days,” Nick said. A tingle of apprehension rolled up his spine. This would seal it. “It’s a fresh kill. O’Neill’s not guilty.” The grim reality of Parker’s remarks sank in, and Nick gritted his teeth. He’d already come to that conclusion, but the room still swam before his eyes. The anxiety, exhaustion, and tension of the past week suddenly crashed in on him like a collapsing brick wall. He crumpled the note in one tight fist. “I put an innocent man in prison. Six years of his life. Gone. There’s no way he can get it back.” “You thought he was the guy.” “I wanted it to be him.” A sharp pain lanced through Nick. “Hell, I never even looked at anybody else for Jasmine’s murder. He was there. He was easy. Shit.” “She had a history with him.” “But he didn’t kill her.” “The time frame fit. His lies, his outbursts—” “It was all circumstantial. Every damned bit of it,” Nick choked out. “Now, all these other women are dead.” “You can’t turn back the clock.” “Who knows how many died because of me?” Nick’s eyes stung with tears. He turned away. His chest felt like it might implode. “I dated all of ‘em. And now—Jesus.” Parker put his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “We’ll get him, son.” “How?” Nick spun around. “We have nothing. Nothing but sketchy time frames, a stack of dead bodies, and those vials of my sister’s blood.” “We have the notes. We know his signature. And we have the lubricant, from the last girl.” Nick scowled. “We’ve also got fibers,” Parker said. “Don’t forget those. Red cotton. The ME’s trying to match ‘em right now.” “He told me,” Nick said. If Pal could find that cloth, forget the damned towel. Maybe they had a chance. A slim chance, but it was better than nothing. Parker gave his shoulder a hard squeeze. “Don’t give up, son. We’ll get him.” “It could be a copycat,” Nick surmised, although he knew he was grasping at straws. “Strahan leaked the blood to the press.” “No.” Parker shook his head. “It’s the same MO, the same signature. No way it’s a different doer. You know that.” Icy hopelessness settled over Nick, and he sank in upon himself. The perp was relentless, a cold-blooded killer who wanted Nick to suffer as much as those poor girls he butchered. The bad part was, he was getting his wish. Parker furrowed his brow. “We have to let O’Neill walk.” Nick jerked as anger rushed in to replace his despair. He stared at his boss. “We got him for assault. He tried to take me out.” The Captain shook his head. “He’ll get time served.”

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“Damn it.” Nick scrubbed his stinging eyes. He had to shake off this awful pall and catch that prick before any more women died. “Location of the latest girl is on the note.” Parker nodded at the pink paper still wadded up in Nick’s left hand. He smoothed it out, and read it. The playground off Victory Avenue near the Suicide Oak. He looked up. “Another swing set?” “Nope.” Parker sent him a level gaze. “This time he used a basketball goal.” “Ah God.” Nick’s stomach turned over. “How did he manage that?” “All the streetlights in the vicinity were shot out. He planned that ahead of time.” Nick crumpled the paper and shoved it into his pocket. “Go on,” Parker said. “Do your job. Then visit the shrink. It’ll help.” Gracie. A startling burst of warmth spread through Nick at the thought of her. She was the one bright spot in his dark, aching, lonely world. Like the sun coming out after a violent storm. And all at once, he felt a strange sense of peace. Of order and goodness. Parker slapped his shoulder again, and turned away. Nick watched him go, then pulled out his keys and left the station. Pain flared across his ribs as he climbed into the sedan, but he buried that ache along with his throbbing heart and focused on driving to the crime scene. Halfway there, his cell phone rang. Probably Parker, with more info. Nick jerked out the device. “Marconi.” “Nick?” Gracie’s soft voice surprised him. The tightness in his shoulders immediately eased. He took a deep breath. “Gracie,” he said, glad to hear from her, but wondering why she’d called. “I didn’t know whether to call you, or 911.” “What’s the matter?” Nick’s senses went on red alert. “I just received a package.” “What kind of package? Where are you?” “At my office. Ashley said a guy in a green hoodie dropped it off.” “Did you open it?” Nick asked. Worry bloomed like a cancer beneath his breastbone, and he squeezed the steering wheel. She hesitated. Then finally whispered, “Yes.” He cursed inwardly. “What was in the box?” “A dead rat.” “Shit.” Clenching his jaw, he whipped around a slow-moving pickup. “Where is it now?” “On my desk.” Her voice wavered. “It smells awful.” “Is there a return address?’ “No.” Her voice grew firmer, as if she were trying to shake off her fear. “It’s in a plain white cardboard box, long and narrow. Like from a florist.” “Is your receptionist with you?” “Yes.” “Don’t let her leave,” he said. Frustration filtered through him. “I’m on my way to a crime scene, or I’d come right over.” “There’s been another murder?”

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“Yeah. Don’t ask me for details.” The light ahead abruptly changed from green to red, and he stepped on the brake. Orleans Avenue, near City Park. He was almost there. Her breath seemed to halt. “Tell me. Please.” “Not now. I’ll send a unit over to pick up the rat. The officers will need to talk to both you and Ashley.” “Fine,” Gracie said, her tone turning to ice. The light changed, and Nick pressed the gas. He blew out a tense breath. “I’ll call you later.” “Promise?” An unexpected surge of heat made his body react, and he suddenly felt raw and exposed. Needy. “I promise,” he rasped. Gracie made him ache in ways he didn’t know he still could, and she made him want what he couldn’t have. Hell, she made him feel for the first time since Jasmine’s brutal death. His sister’s demise had hurt him in ways he hadn’t expected. He buried the powerful emotions springing up inside his heart and ended the call. Then he phoned dispatch. He had to get his mind off Gracie and focus on the crime scene he was about to see. He couldn’t allow himself to get any closer to her, but he’d be damned if he’d let some lowlife hurt her. He would call her later, just like he’d promised—but only to make sure she was okay. Nick entered the park and slowly wound his way around the circular drive to the Suicide Oak. Across the way, not far from the Children’s Carousel, was a small playground. Yellow crime scene tape draped around the basketball court flapped in the rising breeze. The clouds were low and heavy, and although it was almost noon, the air was chilly. He spotted Pal and ADA Lang talking animatedly beside the girl’s sprawled body, which lay at an odd angle beneath the playground’s sad excuse for a basketball goal. “This doesn’t make any sense,” Nick muttered, furrowing his brow. The bent goal appeared to be regulation, with a twelve-foot high rim. The perk must’ve had help to get her up there. No way could one man have hoisted the girl that high alone. Or had he? Nick parked the sedan and ducked beneath the fluttering tape. The brisk wind cooled his sweaty skin. He drew in the coppery odor of blood, and pulled out his jar of menthol salve to offset it. He dabbed some beneath his nose, then he dumped it back into his pocket. “Marconi.” Lang sneered. “Nice of you to stop by.” “You run out of cases to prosecute?” Nick asked, blowing off the ADA’s sarcastic remark. Lang was an ignorant prick. “Never seen you at so many crime scenes.” “Yeah? Well, maybe if you’d do your job, I wouldn’t have to be here.” Nick bristled. “I am doing my job.” “You arrested the wrong guy.” Lang’s cynical stare burned Nick’s skin. “For the second time, I might add. Poor dumb bastard.” Nick made a fist. He longed to punch the smug ADA, but he knew he had to stay in control if he wanted to keep his badge. “And now the real killer’s struck again,” Lang bit out. “It’s your fault this girl is dead.”

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“Knock it off, Lang.” Pal put his beefy body between Nick and the obnoxious ADA. “Nick’s doing all he can to find this guy.” Nick edged around him. “It’s okay, Pal. I don’t need you to babysit me.” “You sure, Marconi?” Lang asked, his lips curling back to reveal even white teeth. Nick leveled a steady gaze at the ADA. “I don’t need a babysitter, but you’re right. I’m the reason all four of these girls are dead.” “Is that a confession?” Lang took an eager step toward him. He was practically salivating. Nick shook his head. “Hell no.” “Moron,” Pal muttered, backing away. “Don’t bait him, Nick. He’s not worth it.” “I’m not baiting him. I went out with all four women,” Nick said, his gaze falling to the lifeless body sprawled beside them. He hadn’t even looked at her yet, but he recognized her immediately. Donna Jeffers. His gut clenched. The girl he’d been caught with on the football bus in eleventh grade. She was bustier now, but still slim. And very, very dead. He looked at Lang, and tried hard to keep his emotions in check. But his voice cracked when he said, “He’s gone after all of them because of me.” Lang’s mouth fell open. Pal crouched beside the body. “Nick, look at this.” Relieved to have a distraction, Nick tore his gaze away from Lang’s and squatted beside Pal. “What is it?” “There’s another rolled note, probably wrapped around another vial. Poor girl was raped.” The ME pointed out a series of dark bruises on Donna’s crotch and upper legs. Then he moved his hand to a different area. “But this time, we have fluids.” The perp’s semen. Nick’s gaze locked on the dried white liquid caked on the girl’s inner thighs. Finally, they had what they needed most in this case. DNA. He wiped his brow, and felt a sharp sense of vindication. “We got the son of a bitch.” “If he’s in the Louisiana database or CODIS. Hot damn.” “You’d better hope to hell he is,” Lang said, stepping backwards in distaste. His face had turned a funny shade of green. “Marconi, I’m watching you.” Nick pushed himself to his feet and gave Lang a grim smile. “Enjoy the show.” ***** Tommy Austin stood in the shadows beneath the Suicide Oak and watched, terrified, as the heavy man in the gray suit pointed between the woman’s legs. He hadn’t been able to stop himself. She’d been naked, with her big breasts exposed and her thighs wide apart, just like in the dirty videos he’d swiped from his dad’s bedroom. He’d only planned to look at her. But then he’d gotten close enough to touch her, and his body had ached with the need for release. So he’d jacked off right there, not thinking it would matter. It did. The cops had her now, and with her came the fluids from his ejaculation. They’d think he murdered her.

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Tommy turned and sprinted away from the scene, the sharp slap of his shoes on the street as loud as cannon blasts in the icy morning air. He didn’t notice the cold, the lack of traffic from the sealed streets, or which direction he was headed. He only knew he had to get away. Because if they caught him, they would tell his father what he had done. ***** “You didn’t see the deliveryman?” Andretti asked. Gracie shook her head. “He dropped it off with Ashley at the reception desk.” “Did anybody else see him? Your nurse, maybe? Any of your patients?” “One woman may have, but she’s agoraphobic. I can’t allow you to question her.” “Dr. Simmons, we can’t help you if you won’t cooperate with us.” Andretti gave her the same hard look he’d given her the night she’d told him Jerry’s car was in her driveway ten minutes after they’d arrived at her house. She crossed her arms. “I’m sorry, but I won’t jeopardize my patient’s fragile condition for your investigation.” “The guy is stalking you.” “He’s only trying to scare me.” “Come on, doctor.” Andretti drew his brows together. “He tried to break into your house.” “Not this time.” Andretti clenched his jaw. “Detective Marconi asked me to conduct a thorough investigation, and that’s what I’m trying to do.” “You’re doing a fine job.” At the mention of Nick’s name, Gracie felt a warm tingle. She rubbed her arms. “I’ll call you if I find out anything else. I promise.” “We have Ashley’s description of the guy. But no definitive features, no car, and no fingerprints, thanks to that textured box. We need more if we’re going to learn who delivered them.” “Doesn’t matter. It was Jerry who sent me that little present. If he didn’t drop it off himself, he paid someone to do it.” “Fine. We’ll question him about this too, once we find him.” “You’ve been looking for him since he tried to break into my house.” The idea of Jerry getting away with this in addition to the attempted break in chilled her to the bone, but she couldn’t let Andretti rattle Mrs. Applegate. Gracie raised her chin. “I’ve done all that I can do.” “I’ll be sure and pass that on to Detective Marconi,” Andretti said, picking up the large paper sack containing the box with the rat. “He’ll be in touch.”

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Chapter Ten Nick tried not to breathe in the sickening odors from the morgue. His nerves thrummed as he pulled out his bottle of menthol salve and looked at Pal over Donna’s sheet covered body. “How long until you have DNA results on this one?” “This is not CSI, Marconi. But for you, I’ll hurry it along,” the ME said with a tight scowl. “Just don’t tell anybody. The ADA is giving me fits about the Bradley case. He’ll have my ass if he finds out I jumped ahead with this one.” “That case is a slam dunk,” Nick said, anger filling the void in his chest where his heart used to be. This day was going from bad to worse. “Forget Lang and his misplaced priorities. Women are dying.” “I know.” Pal said with a grimace. “I’m tired of doing autopsies on healthy victims.” A heavy weight settled inside Nick’s gut. He glared at the ME. “What about the note?” “I thought you’d never ask.” Pal pulled on a pair of latex gloves and reached for a plastic bag on the counter behind him. “This one’s a doozy.” “Let me hear it.” Pal pulled out the yellow slip of paper. Nick closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the words as the ME read in a gravelly voice, “Roses are red, violence is blue. Poor ole Donna died, because of you. That’s four innocent lives on your conscience, Nick. Can you live with that? Ha ha!” Nick blanched. What a sick son of a bitch. Hadn’t he just gotten through thinking today couldn’t get any worse? He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered another foul oath. “You okay?” Pal asked, depositing the note back into its bag and zipping it shut. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m just fine.” Nick ignored the slow swirl of nausea in his stomach and raised his head. Focus. Think about the case. He met Pal’s understanding eyes. “Do you have anything else? A hair, maybe? Prints? Fibers?” “Nothing but the semen.” Pal walked over to a second table on the other side of the room. “I did run down the fibers from the first three bodies, though. All appear to have come from the same cloth.” “Red cotton,” Nick said. “You told me.” “Did I tell you they came from a bandana?” Pal opened a zipper bag larger than the one containing the note, and pulled out a big square of red and white printed cloth. He grinned. “Just like this one.” “I’ll be damned.” Nick walked over and took the bandana from Pal’s beefy hand. The cloth was thin, but strong. He looked at the ME. “He shoved it into their mouths so nobody would hear their screams.” “That would be my first guess.”

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Nick turned it over. There was nothing special about it. Bandanas were everywhere. But if he could find where the perp bought his— “Before you ask, we haven’t narrowed down the fibers to any particular brand. We’re working on that. It may take a while, especially if the bodies keep piling up.” Nick wrapped the cloth around his fist. “Do the best you can.” “I will. And I can tell you that most bandanas are made in China. They’re a dime a dozen down in the French Quarter.” Nick nodded. Pal was right, damn it. He gave the bandana back to the ME. “Just do what you can. We gotta get this guy.” The note’s vicious message echoed in Nick’s head as he drove back to the district station. He had to stop the killer before another woman died. What had the guy said earlier? One for every year he’d spent inside. Nick ground his teeth. He had to go back over the list of recently released felons. Who had he missed? He called Andretti to get the officer to run down a couple of the ex-cons, and the uniform filled him in on Gracie’s dead rat—along with the fact that she wouldn’t allow him to question a patient who might have witnessed its delivery. Nick muttered a curse and glanced down at his watch. It was almost noon. He needed to file his report and talk to Parker. But that could wait. He turned around and drove downtown to Gracie’s office building. A lone security officer sat in the lobby, reading a newspaper. He didn’t even look up when Nick headed for the elevators. Nick shook his head. Anyone could just walk right in. To his surprise, Gracie’s office door was locked. A sign beside it told him she was out to lunch. Frustrated, he turned away, and ran straight into Gracie’s young receptionist. Literally. Ashley blushed and fumbled with her purse when Nick caught her arms. “Hello, detective. Dr. Simmons is at the coffee shop down the street. I-I just came back to the office to get my cell phone.” “I see.” He turned to go, but had a thought and turned back. “Ashley—” “Yes?” “You accepted the package that contained the rat, right?” “Yes, sir. It smelled awful. I’ve already talked to the other officer. Andretti, I think was his name.” “I know. And I appreciate your help,” Nick said, taking out his pad and pen. “I have a few more questions for you, if you don’t mind.” “No problem.” “Did the other officer ask you anything about the building’s security?” “A couple of questions, maybe.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t tell him much. We have that one guard downstairs. That’s pretty much it.” “Does he ever walk out with you and Gracie—Dr. Simmons—after dark?” “Not usually.” “Are the doors locked at five o’clock?” “I can’t say. I’m usually not here that late. But Dr. Simmons stays after hours pretty often, transcribing notes. You could ask her.”

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“I will.” Nick made a note reminding him to question Gracie thoroughly about her office security. “Do people making deliveries have to check in with the guard before coming upstairs?” “I don’t think so,” she said with a frown. “They just walk right up.” “All right. Thanks,” he said. Irritation flooded him. This building was a crime waiting to happen. He tucked the pad and pen back into his pocket. “Do I turn right or left to find the coffee shop once I reach the street?” “Left.” Ashley adjusted her purse strap. He left her standing beside the door digging for her keys. Five minutes later, he located Gracie at The Java Barn, an upscale coffee shop about three blocks down. She sat at a table in the corner all by herself, sipping a cup of coffee and munching on a wrap. A newspaper was spread out on the table in front of her. He stood near the counter for a moment, just watching her. Her silky blond hair was pulled away from her face in a knot that lent her a professional air, but a few strands had escaped to curl around her face, giving her a just-out-of-bed look. She dampened her lips, and he couldn’t help but follow the darting movements of her pink tongue. His body tightened. Down boy, he lectured himself. His face grew hot. Damn it. He had no business reacting to her like that. She was his shrink, for God’s sake. But at least his attraction meant he could still feel. He drew in a deep breath and strolled up to her table. “Eating alone?” She looked up. Her jade eyes widened. “Nick! I mean, detective. Hello.” She nervously put down her wrap, wiped her hands, and indicated the chair on the other side of the table. “Please, won’t you—won’t you join me?” “Sure.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. Then he shot her a wry look. “I’m surprised you can still eat after seeing that rat.” She wrinkled her nose. “Thanks for reminding me.” She pushed her plate away. He pushed it back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” “I’m fine.” She lifted her chin. “I’m sure you are. But we need to find out who sent you that little gift.” Nick rested his elbows on the table. “You should let us interview the patient who witnessed its delivery.” She shook her head. “I’ve been over all this with Officer Andretti. That patient is afraid of strangers. I’m not about to upset her by allowing you and your men to bombard her with questions.” “I’m not going to bombard her. I just need to know what she saw. She can work with our computer sketch artist to help us identify him.” “No.” Nick sat back. She was one determined lady. Gracie sipped her coffee. “I won’t jeopardize a patient’s mental health for any reason.” “Not even to save yourself?” “Save myself?” She made a choking sound and set down her cup. “Jerry sent that rat. He’s off his rocker, but he’s not violent. He’s only trying to scare me.” “He tried to break into your house.”

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“Because I wouldn’t answer the door.” “And that justifies breaking and entering?” Nick raised his eyebrows. “Come on, doc. What would you tell one of your patients if they had experienced something like that?” She opened her mouth to answer him, but didn’t say anything. He quirked his lips. “You’d tell them to talk to the police, wouldn’t you? So they could get a restraining order.” She held up her cup with both hands and peered down into it like it would give her some magical answer to his question. “Wouldn’t you?” “Don’t you want some coffee?” she asked, abruptly coming to her feet. “I’ll get you a cup.” Frustration flared through him. He jumped up and grabbed her arm. Pain stabbed his ribs. Hell, he’d forgotten all about being injured. “Sit down,” he said, tensing to offset the raw burn in his side. “Please. I don’t want any coffee.” She shot him a hard look, but she obeyed. “I want you to hear me out.” He glowered at her. “We’re talking about keeping you safe.” “What do you want me to do?” Her jade green eyes pierced clear through to his soul. She crossed her arms. “Do you want me to stop living? Maybe hide in a box so no one can find me?” “That’s not a bad idea.” “Forget it.” She snatched up her cup, and sloshed coffee all over the table. “I won’t abandon my patients, and I won’t put them in danger.” “They’re already in danger.” Gracie halted her cup in mid-air. “What do you mean?” “If Jerry Howard can deliver a dead rat to your office in total anonymity, then he can march right in there with a weapon and start firing. I went by your building looking for you, and the security guard never even looked up when I walked by. I could’ve been carrying an assault rifle and he wouldn’t have stopped me.” “I never even thought of that,” she whispered, the blood leaving her face. She set her cup down with a sharp click. “But it’s simply not possible. Jerry’s just hurt and angry. He would never hurt me.” “Angry people kill.” “Yes. Sometimes, they do.” She met his eyes. “And I certainly don’t want my patients getting hurt. But there’s no way I can close my practice. They need me.” “At least talk to the building’s owner about lining up some extra security. What you have now is a joke.” “I’ve already done that. The owner lives in Colorado, and he’s not in the least bit concerned about crime in New Orleans. I don’t know what else I can do.” “He’ll be concerned if people are murdered in his building.” “Murdered?” She sent him a strange look. “Aren’t you simply borrowing trouble?” “I work homicide, Gracie. Trust me. Murder can happen anywhere.” He studied her. “Let me line up some more security for you. Just for a while, until Jerry goes away.”

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She stared at him a long time. “I’d like to keep uniforms on you day in and day out, but my Captain would frown on that.” “I see.” She hesitated again. “So, who’ll pay for this extra security?” “I’ll set it up, and send the bill to the building’s owner.” She laughed sharply. “Like that will do you any good. You can’t force him to pay.” “I can try.” Finally, Gracie said, “Okay. Go ahead with the security, if you can promise me it won’t frighten my patients.” Nick leaned back in his chair. “You’re one stubborn woman.” “I’m being practical. Many of my patients are mentally fragile, and will be suspicious of anything out of the norm. I don’t want to upset them. It could set them back months in their therapy.” “An extra guard or two shouldn’t upset anybody,” Nick said, his temper growing short. He had enough to worry about with a killer on the loose. He made a mental note to call his friend Bob at AAA Security and have him put a guy on Gracie’s office door. Bob used to be on the force, and he owed Nick for saving his ass more than once. “Go back to work, detective,” Gracie said. “Don’t worry about me. Please.” “It’s part of my job.” “Yes, and I’m your shrink,” she said, seeming to get a great satisfaction from using his terminology. “We have an appointment tomorrow. We’ll talk about your new obsession then.” “My obsession?” His stomach flip-flopped. What the fuck was she talking about? He frowned. “What obsession?” “Your obsession with me.” “I’m not obsessed with you,” he said quickly, a jolt of surprise pricking his ego. Is that what she thought? He fixed his eyes on her. “I just want you to stay safe.” “So I can help you?” she asked softly. “That’s part of it.” “That’s what I thought.” She smiled, and it was like the sun coming out on a cloudy day. “Okay. I welcome the extra security, as long as the owner doesn’t mind.” “I don’t care if he minds or not,” Nick said. Then he frowned. “If you were gonna cave, why did you argue with me?” “To give you an outlet for your emotions. You seem upset.” “I am upset,” he said, his nerves dancing just beneath his skin. She could read him so well. Hell, her insight was downright scary. And for some reason, she made him want to open up. He rubbed his suddenly stinging eyes. “It’s been a rough day.” “What happened? Besides the rat, I mean.” “There’s been another murder.” The picture of Donna Jeffers’s nude body sprawled on the concrete like road kill flashed into his head. She’d been murdered just like the others, yet O’Neill couldn’t possibly have done her. He was behind bars. Nick’s heart rose into his throat, and his voice caught. “I thought we had the guy.” “It wasn’t him?”

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“No. And that means he didn’t kill Jasmine, either.” “I don’t understand.” Nick shook his head. “I can’t say any more. Just know I screwed up royally six years ago. I was so sure I had the right perp. So determined to put him away.” He looked down at his clenched hands as a sudden wave of despair rolled over him. “If I hadn’t been so sure it was O’Neill—” She put her hand over his closed fist. A tingle of awareness skittered up his arm, and he resisted the urge to pull away. Having her touch him like that warmed him from the inside out. “None of this is your fault,” she said quietly. “You’re doing a good job.” “No, I’m not.” He shook his head. “I wanted it too much. I wanted it to be him.” “You did the best you could. I don’t—” The urgent bleat of his cell phone cut her off. He muttered a curse and yanked his hand free. Turning away from her, he snatched the annoying device off his belt. “Marconi.” “Nick, this is Pal.” Nick tensed. With any luck, the ME had rushed up the match on the fluids. But hey, it had only been a few hours. “What’ve you got? Please tell me it’s DNA.” “Yeah, clap for me. I told the ADA to go to hell and moved you to the head of the class. But you’re not gonna like what I found. All I have are preliminary results, mind you.” “What does that mean?” Imagining all sorts of scary scenarios, Nick massaged the bunched muscles at the back of his neck. Gracie was staring at him like he’d suddenly grown two extra ears. He averted his gaze and peered out the window at the steady flow of traffic on Canal Street. “The DNA on Donna Jeffers’ thighs belongs to Tommy Lang.” Puzzled, Nick paused. “Lang?” “The ADA’s kid. A seventeen-year-old punk arrested last year for aggravated assault. That’s why we have his DNA.” “Holy shit.” Nick sat back hard in his chair, and reeled from the resultant ache in his side. “What is it?” Gracie asked, her worried green eyes searching his face. “Tell me.” He shook his head and waved her off. “Are you sure, Pal?” Gracie slid forward in her chair like she was going to touch him again. Nick shot her a cutting glare, and she hung back. “Yeah,” Pal said. “You gonna tell Lang? Or will you pass it off to Parker?” “Parker,” Nick said. His boss’s name came out more gruffly than he’d intended, but he couldn’t help it. He was stressed. “I’m no fool. Lang hates my fucking guts.” He ended the call and jerkily clipped his phone back onto his belt. Lang’s kid. No way that kid had killed Jasmine. How old was he back then? Twelve? And how would he have gotten access to her blood, and why would he be targeting Nick now? He’d never even met the kid, much less put him in jail. None of it made a damned bit of sense. “Are you all right?” Gracie asked. She hadn’t taken her eyes off him for one second. Nick met her razor sharp gaze, and reeled from the genuine concern written all over her face. She was truly worried about him. Hell, for that matter, so was he.

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He clenched his hands. “No. And before you ask, I can’t talk about it.” “There’s a problem with the case?” “You could say that,” he said with a scowl. Forget Lang and his damned kid. He was the problem. The perp was killing those women because of him. Nick’s heart ached, and he knew he needed to refocus before he made a complete fool of himself in front of Gracie. He studied her closely. She was just as concerned for him as she was for her patients. Oh, wait. He had a V-8 moment. He was one of her patients. “If you’d like to talk about it, we can move your appointment to this afternoon,” she said quietly. “No thanks.” He looked away, and found himself wishing she was worried because she cared about him as a man, not because of their doctor-patient relationship. “Nick—” “It’s detective, doctor.” He met her eyes. “I know.” She sat up very straight. Her cheeks flamed. “I’m sorry. I was only trying to help.” “It’s okay.” He was being a jerk, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He had to put some distance between them before he did something they would both regret. Yet he had to see to her safety. He raked a hand through his hair. “Look, do you have any place you can go? A friend or a relative you can stay with?” “No. My mother lives in Florida, and we’re not exactly on speaking terms. I’m not really close to anyone here except for—” Moisture suddenly brimmed in her eyes, and she brought a hand to her mouth. Patti. He didn’t say it, and neither did she. But both of them had zeroed in on Gracie’s best friend, who’d be alive today if Nick hadn’t dated her. He forced himself to speak, to keep himself from losing control. But the raspy timber of his voice gave him away. “You shouldn’t stay at home alone. Not after what’s been happening with Jerry.” “Is that—is it really necessary?” “Yes. Jerry might have sent the rat as a joke, but you can’t forget he tried to break into your house. You need to take him seriously.” “I guess I can stay at the hotel,” she said, but he could tell she really didn’t want to. He wished he could offer her sanctuary, but that would put them in ultra-close proximity. Not good. Besides, he’d be on the job 24/7 until the murderer was behind bars. He thought about the inns in the area. “You don’t have to stay at that one, but make sure to choose one that’s not close to your place. Just in case.” “How about the Fairfield, near the airport?” She wiped her eyes. “Is that far enough away? I really don’t like the Belle Chase.” “The Fairfield is too far away. It’s in Kenner, for God’s sake. If you should have an emergency—” He broke off. Then an idea hit him, and he cocked his head. “How about the Sheraton downtown?” “It’s pretty close to my office.”

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“It’s also centrally located. I can have uniformed officers in the area keep a close watch on you there with no problem. Between them and the extra security I’m going to post, you should be safe.” “All right.” She nodded. “But I’ll need to get some things from my house.” He frowned. “Now?” “No. After work.” “You can’t go back there,” he said, appalled she would even consider it. “I have to,” she said, picking up her coffee cup as she rose. “I have patients to see this afternoon, and then I’ll make a quick stop.” “Gracie—” “Don’t try to talk me out of it.” He knew that he’d been beaten, but he didn’t like it. Not one little bit. A killer was on the loose, Gracie was being stalked, and he couldn’t do anything to protect her. Not without putting his heart on the line. ***** Strahan hunched down in his car and watched Nick stalk from The Java Barn to the sedan. Just this morning he’d overheard Parker talking to the brass downtown about Nick seeing a shrink. About how Marconi was walking on the edge, but seemed to be coming around now that he was seeing beautiful Gracie Simmons, the psychiatrist filling in for Dr. Myers while he was in Iraq. That had been before Marconi had nailed Strahan as the departmental leak and tried to drag him into the Captain’s office. He’d gotten away temporarily, but he knew it wouldn’t last. He would lose his badge over this. Because of Nick. But now— Strahan smiled. Nick had just met Dr. Simmons in a coffee shop. They had talked animatedly, and the doctor had even held his hand. Something was going on between them, and that could be advantageous for him. Of course, Nick had gotten a phone call that had sent the good doctor scrambling away. But so what? What was important was the fact that he was seeing the shrink on a personal level. And that information couldn’t be kept secret for very long. Strahan wanted to shout it from the rooftops. But for now, he’d have to settle for sharing it with his friend. He would know what to do with that information. And it wouldn’t be pretty. ***** Gracie busied herself wiping the spilled coffee from the table so Nick wouldn’t know she was watching him leave. But she never took her eyes off him. She was mesmerized by his good looks, and the width of his broad shoulders. Yet he was so troubled, tortured by both his painful past and the stress of his job. She longed to reach out to him, not as a psychiatrist, but as a woman. She wanted to soothe his pain.

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And that was foolish. He was her patient. He’d made it perfectly clear he intended to keep their relationship on a purely professional level. Not that she’d urge him to do anything else. She valued high ethics and would never do anything to damage either her reputation or her practice. But she could no longer deny the strong attraction growing between them. She wadded up the napkin and tossed it into the trash receptacle in the corner. She’d felt the raw tension swirling just beneath the surface of his skin when she’d gripped his hand. He’d been just as aware of the electricity sizzling between them as she was. But he’d given no outward sign that he was affected. Gracie picked up her purse. Now was not the time to dwell on Nick. She had to focus all her energy on her patients, and on staying safe. Walking briskly, she left the coffee shop and headed down the sidewalk toward her office. Fellow workers brushed by her, their eyes on the sun. The day had warmed and felt like spring—which was only a couple of days away. Puffy white clouds dotted the brilliant blue sky. The traffic rolled along beside her with horns blaring, but she ignored the noisy vehicles and slowed her pace, turning her face up to the sky. The sun’s warm rays on her skin felt like heaven. It was a shame to have to go back inside. Too soon, she reached her building. She had to hurry to meet her one o’clock appointment. With a prolonged sigh, she reached for the door handle. “Did you get my gift?” The disembodied male voice wafted over her like a bad odor. She spun, and spotted Jerry lounging against the wall in the shadows where the building curved. His baggy jeans and scruff T-shirt were a far cry from his usual suit and tie. Fear rocketed through her. She backed away. He laughed, the sound like fingernails scraping raw wood. “Don’t be shy. I killed him for you.” “Leave me alone,” she snapped. The words were bitter in her throat. She clutched her purse to her side. “Or I’ll call the police.” “You’ve already called them,” he said. “I saw them come here, and I saw them go. Then you met with the handsome one at the coffee shop.” Gracie gasped. He’d been following her, and he’d seen her with Nick. “You forget. I know everything about you,” Jerry said, pushing away from the wall. “Every place you go, what you like to eat and drink. That you wear a T-shirt and panties to bed.” Her knees wobbled, and her breathing grew ragged. How did he know that? She’d never slept with him. Their dates had consisted of dinner, movies, and a prim kiss here and there. She’d never encouraged him, had never even invited him into her home. Trying to hang on to what was left of her control, she edged toward the door. “Are you scared, honey?” He loomed over her. “I know you are.” She opened her purse and fished for her cell phone. It eluded her grasp. She cursed and backed up another step. Then she had it. It felt like gold in her hand. “Go ahead. Call him.” Jerry’s mouth curved in a wide, feral smile “I’ll kill him just like I killed that damned rat.” Gracie went still with the cell phone clenched in her hand. “I cut out his heart, you know. And ate it for breakfast.”

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Her stomach turned over. The man was sick, with a deep psychosis. He should be locked up. “You can run from me, but you can’t hide,” Jerry said sing-song. “I’ll find you, Gracie. We’re meant to be together.” “No, we aren’t. You need help.” “You’re a shrink.” He narrowed his eyes. “You can help me.” “I recommend the parish mental health center.” “You stupid, shallow bitch,” he snapped, lunging toward her with fire in his eyes. “I want you to help me.” She turned and jerked the glass door open. Jerry caught it, but she rushed inside and made a beeline for the security guard. Only, he wasn’t there. No one was. Oh God. Gracie’s heart fluttered as she frantically scanned the empty lobby. “Looking for someone?” Jerry asked from the open door. He laughed and started inside. Then the elevator doors behind Gracie opened and two men stepped out. Her body quaking with fear, Gracie turned and rushed up to them. “Please, help me.” They looked at her strangely, but the older of the two said, “What’s wrong, ma’am?” “That man is stalking me.” She turned and pointed at Jerry. He was gone. Her stomach dropped to her feet. “H-he was right there. I swear it.” The younger man raised his bushy eyebrows. “Who was he?” “J-Jerry Howard.” She swallowed, hard. “He’s following me.” “Okay,” the older man said, shooting the younger man a look that said she must be visiting one of the psychiatrists in the building. “We’d better hurry up, you know?” The younger man slapped his friend on the arm and glanced at his watch. “Yep. We have ten minutes to get to the bank for the meeting. Let’s go.” “Good luck, ma’am,” the white-haired man said. Without another word, the two of them ducked outside, leaving Gracie standing alone in the empty lobby. Her heart pounded and her palms felt clammy. She stepped into the elevator and lifted the phone to her ear. Her fingers shook as she dialed 911.

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Chapter Eleven “You must be thinking about your friend again.” “No, I’m not..” “Do you know how she died?” “We’re not here to talk about her.” “Sure we are.” “Tell me about your day.” “I want to talk about your friend.” “No. I won’t discuss her with you.” “You should.” “Why?” Silence. ***** Nick choked down a bite of his stale sandwich and chased it down with a mouthful of cold, bitter coffee. His eyes burned, and his stomach swirled. He’d gone over the list of recent parolees for what had to be the hundredth time, checked with Pal again, and gone back over all the evidence he’d gathered with a fine-toothed comb. So far, no bells had gone off. He’d learned absolutely nothing new. He set down his cup and shuffled the file on his desk. He was doing his best to concentrate, but his mind kept drifting to Gracie. Seeing her gorgeous green eyes had been the highlight of this hellacious day. After he’d left her at the coffee shop, he’d called his old friend Bob at AAA Security, and arranged for a guard to keep an eye on her. Between that and the alert he’d given the patrol division, she was safe. So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? He shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to analyze his feelings. He had to refocus his energy and go over every tidbit of information he could find about the men on the list. Maybe the killer was from somewhere other than New Orleans, but that wasn’t likely. Jasmine had died here, and so had the other four girls. With a deep sigh, Nick returned his gaze to the piece of paper in front of him. The top name was Butch O’Neill. Nick’s stomach tightened. The poor sap had spent six years in prison for murdering Nick’s sister, and he wasn’t guilty of the crime. Nick shrugged off a sharp stab of regret and let his eyes roam to the next name. Geoffrey Leonard had been in prison when Jasmine had been murdered, and Sammy Magee had gone down for stealing a dirty Lincoln Town Car. That was it. No arrests for assault, no rapes, and no murders. No way had he killed anyone.

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Jerry Nelson had raped a girl, but hadn’t killed her. Marcus Boudreaux had conspired to have his wife murdered, because he didn’t have the guts to do it himself. And Wayne Needles’ poor kid had choked to death while he was out having a beer. That sure as hell hadn’t been planned. Nick scrubbed his hands over his eyes. None of those guys had either the smarts or the desire to commit cold-blooded murder. That left one man on the roster of parolees worth checking out. David Elliot. The guy’s murder charge had been bumped down to manslaughter thanks to a timely plea bargain—and the fact that his stepfather had been a cop. Nick picked up the phone. He needed more info on Elliot. “Marconi!” Nick halted with the phone almost to his ear, and glanced up to see ADA Lang striding toward him through the maze of desks. The man’s face was mottled purple, and his eyes blazed like twin flames. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Nick put down the phone and came to his feet. “Trying to catch a murderer.” “You’re railroading my son.” Lang stepped closer, until he was nose to nose with Nick. “And I don’t like it one damned bit.” “We found Tommy’s DNA on a murder victim.” “My son did not rape that girl, and he sure as hell didn’t kill her.” Spittle flew from Lang’s mouth and landed on Nick’s cheek. Nick slowly and deliberately wiped it away. “Spit on me again, sir, and we’re gonna have words.” “We’re going to have a hell of a lot more than that.” Lang’s breath smelled like old onions. “You’re gonna find the real killer, and you’re gonna do it today. My boy will not spend one minute behind bars for a murder he didn’t commit.” “Mr. Lang,” Parker called from two desks away. “May I see you for a minute?” Lang ignored him and punched his finger at Nick’s chest. “I know what happened with Butch O’Neill. You’re not gonna do that to my son.” “I have no intention of doing that to Tommy.” “Who looks good for this?” “Right now, I don’t know.” The ADA’s face went from purple to maroon. “You’re not looking at anybody?” “I’ll let you know when I have a better handle on the case.” “Parker?” Lang turned and motioned to the Captain. Parker sighed deeply, and slowly wound his way between the desks. “Hassling my detective again, Paul?” “I want Marconi off this case.” Nick pinched the bridge of his nose to keep from slugging the guy. Parker shook his head. “No way. Nick’s my best detective.” “He’s trying to railroad my Tommy for that poor girl’s murder. My boy has problems, I’ll grant you that. But he didn’t kill anybody.” “We know he didn’t.”

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Nonplussed, Lang took a half-step back. “But Marconi just said—” He looked at Nick. “He has no suspects.” “Oh, he has someone in mind, all right,” Parker said, raising his chin. “Just no names we care to release right now. We want more evidence before we go public.” Nick suppressed a smile and stared down at his hands. Thank God for Parker. “But I’m the ADA,” Lang lifted his chin. “Yes, you are.” Parker nodded. “And you’ll be prosecuting this case, I’m sure.” “Of course I will,” Lang snapped. “And to do that, I need information.” “You’ll get it,” Nick said evenly. A phone rang off to his right, and he ignored it. “In due time.” “You told me you have Tommy’s DNA.” “We do.” Nick flexed his hands. “On the vic’s thighs. Doesn’t look good.” “But you just said—” “It appears that Tommy came upon the victim and became excited,” Parker said. “She was nude, you know. You visited the scene.” “He jerked off over her dead body.” Nick sent the ADA a knowing gaze. “Her neck had been cut, and her blood drained. Your kid got off on it.” “Now you’re saying Tommy’s a pervert.” “Which is worse?” Nick asked. “Having a pervert, or a murderer for a son?” Lang made a fist. “Paul, let’s finish this in my office.” Parker took the ADA’s arm and turned him around. “It’ll be easier to talk in there.” Nick started after them, but the Captain shook his head. Nick halted and met Parker’s eyes. “Okay. I’ll be out here if you need me.” The Captain raised a hand to shut him up, and kept on walking. He led the ADA into his office and shut the door. Nick raked both hands through his hair. Lang was such a damned prick. Thought he knew everything about police work, and he’d never spent a single day on the street. He’d gone to cushy law schools and spent his weekends debating the constitutionality of search and seizure laws, while Nick had been out on the street wrestling drunks and arresting rapists. He sat back down, consulted his list, and picked up the telephone. Time to find out more about the elusive David Elliot. ***** Billy Strahan glanced at the screen on his cell phone and saw that Captain Parker had called him again. He’d have to turn himself in soon, or Parker would send someone to look for him besides regular beat cops. Possibly Marconi. He didn’t want that. He pulled out his keys and entered his tiny French Quarter apartment. What a dump. The rest of the buildings on the block had been refurbished and restored to their former beauty after the hurricane, and though quaint, they made this part of New Orleans look good. He dumped his keys on the table and pulled off his coat. Then he dug his lock box from the top of the hall closet and shuffled through its contents. Tightly packed stacks of tens and twenties, just waiting to be spent. But they were running out fast.

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He would go to the well one last time, with the new information he had gathered today, and ask for more cash. Then he would sever all ties with his mentor. It was either that, or risk going to jail. Prison was a dangerous place for ex-law enforcement officers. He pulled a handful of twenties from one of the wrapped stacks, tucked the rest of the cash back inside, and returned the box to the closet. He had to get this over with and wipe his slate clean, or he could lose his badge. He was doing this to help himself climb the department’s slick promotional ladder. Once Marconi was out of the way, he’d have a much better chance to move up to head one of the District Investigative Units. Men in that position, like Parker, had all sorts of power. Strahan slid the bills into his wallet, stuck it back into his pocket, and put his coat back on. Marconi had been a burr in his backside since the academy, but that was about to come to an end. Nick thought he knew everything. But he didn’t know Strahan’s secret. ***** Gracie carefully locked her office door and followed Ashley out to the parking lot, accompanied by the brawny security guard Nick had sent. She’d at first resented the man’s stoic presence, but now she was glad he was here. Night was falling, and the idea that Jerry might be lurking in the shadows frightened her. She let her gaze play over the sidewalk and nearby stores, but didn’t see him. “See you tomorrow,” Ashley said once they reached the parking lot. “All right.” Gracie waved. “Be careful going home.” Ashley waved shyly at the buff young guard, then climbed into her small Chevy and drove away. He tore his eyes away from her car and followed Gracie to her Nissan. “Detective Marconi says you’re staying at the Sheraton tonight.” “Yes. That’s what I’d planned.” Gracie frowned. “Why do you need to know that?” “I’m supposed to keep watch for you until I’m relieved at eleven.” “I thought you were just standing guard here at the office.” “No, ma’am. We’re watching you around the clock, as per our instructions.” “I see.” Gracie stared at him a long moment. Nick Marconi had a lot of nerve. But down deep, she was glad he was taking control. Jerry had really scared her this afternoon. She turned away and pulled out her keys. “I’ll follow you to the hotel.” She halted. “I have to go by my house first, to get a few things.” “No, ma’am. Detective Marconi said you’re to go directly to the Sheraton.” “He did?” Irritation rose in her chest as she pulled out her cell phone and found his number. She stabbed the CALL button. “I need to talk to him.” Nick’s phone rang and rang, until she reached his voice mail. She was tempted to leave a snippy message, but at the last minute changed her mind and snapped the phone shut. He was only trying to keep her safe. Too bad she had to defy him. “He’s not answering. I’m going home.”

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The guard caught her arm. “Ma’am, I’ve been instructed to physically restrain you if you try to go there. Detective Marconi thinks the man who’s stalking you may be lying in wait for you.” “Jerry wouldn’t do that.” Or would he? He’d hidden in the shadows and waited for her this afternoon at the office. What was stopping him from doing that at home, too? And there she’d be more exposed, even if the guard did accompany her. She could be putting him in danger. She took a deep breath, and resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn’t be getting her clothes and make up tonight. But maybe— Gracie looked at the guard. “Can you at least take me by a store so I can buy some shampoo and something to sleep in?” He hesitated. “Jerry will have no idea we’re going shopping, so he can hardly accost me in the store.” “Okay, I guess.” The guard didn’t look too pleased, but at least he was going along. “As long as we go in my car.” “Fine.” She appreciated that. Jerry wouldn’t recognize the guard’s vehicle unless he was watching them now. She searched the shadows, but saw no one. Her mind clicked on ahead. “After we shop, we’ll come back here for my car, and you can follow me to the hotel.” He opened his mouth to refute her, but she didn’t give him a chance. She whirled and stepped into the parking lot. “Which car is yours?” He had no choice but to follow her. “What’s your name?” she asked as they pulled out into traffic. “Walt.” She gave him a weary smile. “Thanks, Walt.” After their shopping venture, Walt took her to retrieve her car and tailed her to the hotel. He waited in the lobby as she checked in under an assumed name, and rode up in the elevator with her. “Are you staying in my room with me?” she asked, bracing herself for his answer, because he hadn’t gotten a room for himself. She longed to be alone so she could finally relax. But if it would help for him to bunk in the next bed, she would endure. He shook his head. “I’m supposed to stand watch in the hall.” “That makes sense,” she said. “I hope you won’t be uncomfortable, but I do appreciate your help.” “Yes, ma’am. It’s my job. I’ll be fine.” She insisted he haul one of her chairs out in the hall, and then locked herself in her room and perched on the bed. Weariness rolled through her like the retreating tide. She rubbed her taut shoulders. At least now she had some clothes, a toothbrush, and a little makeup. She didn’t have to worry about Jerry showing up at her door or breaking into her bedroom. She was on the fifteenth floor. He couldn’t climb onto the balcony unless he had suddenly sprouted wings, and Walt would protect the door. She was safe and secure for the first time in days. After some of the tension leached from her tight muscles, she got up and headed for the bathroom. The telephone rang.

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She spun and stared at it. Could it be Jerry? The instrument’s annoying entreaty continued, but she decided against answering it. Instead, she grabbed her purse and the bag from the store and retreated into the bathroom. Once she closed the door, she couldn’t hear the ringing nearly as well, especially when she turned on the water to wash her face. She looked at herself in the mirror, and was surprised by how drawn and tired her face looked. Her nerves were as rigid as trip wires, and her heart thudded like a big bass drum. Jerry worried her. But the disturbed ex-con she’d counseled this afternoon frightened her on a deeper, more visceral level. His questions about Patti had gotten personal. He’d made Gracie’s skin crawl, and she’d finally gotten up and paced the room just to get away from him. He knew too much, as usual. And he had stared at her with those cunning brown eyes and deliberately asked questions he knew would rattle her. He wanted details about Patti’s death and how long it took her to die. A shiver rippled down Gracie’s spine. Eager for warmth, she stuck her hands in the stream of hot water and let it run over her trembling wrists. Its thick steam soon soothed her and helped her to refocus her thoughts. Until her cell phone abruptly shrilled inside her purse. Fear gripped her. She lifted her head and stared at the bag like it might reach out and grab her, until she remembered that her cell, unlike the hotel room telephone, was equipped with Caller ID. She snatched the device from her purse and stared down at the number. It was Nick. She’d programmed his number into the phone’s memory the day Ashley had given it to her, just in case. Now she was glad she had, but then it had seemed daring and silly. She’d never expected to actually call him, or to have him call her. She punched TALK. “Hello?” “Gracie, thank God.” Nick’s deep voice sounded relieved. “I was worried when you didn’t answer the phone in your room.” “How’d you know my room number?” she asked, a wave of concern sliding through her. She was glad he had been the one to call, but she’d asked the desk clerk not to give out her information. She turned off the water. “I didn’t register under my real name.” “Smart girl.” His voice carried a hint of admiration. Then he laughed. “I’m a cop. Remember? I know how to get the information I need.” “Of course you do.” Duh. She was tempted to slap her forehead, but she tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder instead and grabbed a towel off the rack. “Are you all right?” “Yes, I’m fine.” She dried her hands and tossed the towel on the counter. “I didn’t know Walt was coming with me.” “Who’s Walt?” Nick’s tone was wary. “My big, strapping security guard.” “Ah.” She could picture his grin. “He took me to the store so I could get a few things, because you wouldn’t let him take me by my house.” “You didn’t see Jerry anywhere, did you?”

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“No.” Slightly irritated, she shoved a lock of hair away from her face. “I didn’t tell him we were going by Macy’s.” “He could have followed you.” “Well, if he did, he did a good job of hiding.” “Where’s the guard? What’s his name? Walt? He’s supposed to be watching your room.” “He is.” She left the bathroom and walked over to the bed. The air in the room was cool. She pulled back the covers and sat down. “He’s out in the hall, in a chair I gave him. Now that I don’t have to worry about Jerry—” “You can finally get some rest.” “Yes. Thank you.” “Order in tonight and tomorrow morning, okay? Room service is expensive, but using it will be safer than going downstairs to eat.” “I will.” She’d never done that before in her life, but there was a first time for everything. Being followed by a stalker certainly seemed reason enough to be a little extravagant. “Thanks for lining up my security and calling to check on me.” “No problem. Stay safe.” “I will.” She clutched the phone. “And Nick—” “Yeah?” She started to tell him about her frightening patient, but decided against it. Revealing confidential information wasn’t ethical, and she couldn’t afford to do it unless she was sure he was a danger to himself or someone else. Right now, she wasn’t sure. So she bit her lip and switched gears. “I had a run in with Jerry at my office building this afternoon, before you sent Walt over.” “What do you mean by a ‘run in’?” Nick’s voice tightened. “You should have told me that right away.” “He was waiting for me outside my building when I came back from lunch.” “I knew I should have walked you back to your office.” Nick let loose a string of profanity that burned Gracie’s ears. “Damn that son of a bitch. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry—” “It’s not your fault.” “Come on, Gracie. You could have been injured, or worse.” “He didn’t hurt me.” “Did you call 911?” “I did, but I didn’t stay on the line. Jerry was gone by then, and I had a patient waiting.” “You should have called it in. Or better yet, called me. I would’ve come back.” “He left. What could you have done?” “I don’t know.” Nick swore another oath. “If you’d filed a complaint, we’d have probable cause to pick him up and search his place. As it is, we can only question him.” “What would you be looking for if you did a search?” A wave of fear rolled over her. “A weapon. A rope. Anything tying him to those murders.” “You really think he might have killed Patti?” “I can’t overlook him. But I do have another lead.”

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“Be careful, Nick.” Gracie didn’t want to let on just how terrified she was, but she had to let him know she was concerned for him. She was his psychiatrist. “Will I see you tomorrow?” “Unless the case breaks wide open.” “All right. Your appointment is at three o’clock.” Nick ended the call and leaned back in his chair. He had no business reveling in the genuine concern in Gracie’s voice. She was his psychiatrist, after all. But it gave him a buzz he hadn’t experienced in quite a while. He only hoped Bob’s security service would keep her safe. Jerry Howard was a dangerous man. Not wanting to pass up a possible lead, Nick added the bastard’s name to his list below David Elliot’s. The information he’d gotten on Elliot was sparse. But Nick had gotten his address and the name of his parole officer, who conveniently wasn’t in his office. Nick put down his pen, got up, and dragged on his coat. The air had warmed, but the nights in March were often unpredictable, even here in New Orleans. He picked up his keys. Time to roust Elliot from his newly leased lair in the French Quarter—if he was at home. “Nick,” Parker said, coming up behind him. “Where are you going?” “To find David Elliot. He’s the only one on the list besides O’Neill who looks good for this.” “Any word on Strahan?” “Nope. That APB hasn’t helped one bit.” Nick suppressed the urge to launch into an unflattering harangue about his former partner. “He’s gone to ground.” “He’ll lose his badge over this,” Parker said, his face grave. “It’s a damned shame.” “He did it for the money,” Nick said, wagging his keys at his boss. “Look, I gotta go. Elliot’s gonna be hard to pin down.” “Before you leave—you need to know they found Donna Jeffers’s car.” “Oh, yeah?” Nick rubbed his brow. He hated to hear what Parker had to say. “Where?” “In the parking lot beside the Arboretum nature trail in City Park.” “He must’ve grabbed her there.” Nick pictured the place, and cursed. “That parking lot is slag. No tire impressions, no footprints.” “It’s also a busy area in the evenings. A lot of people use that walkway for jogging. The whole place has been scoured and the car’s been towed to impound. SCID is going over it now.” “Was anything found at the scene?” “No. There was nothing in the parking lot, and too many footprints on the trail.” Parker slapped his arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll get him.” Maybe. But Nick was beginning to doubt it. *****

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He parked the compact at the entrance to an unused road in City Park. Billy had requested a meeting, and he had no idea why. He instinctively knew his friend wasn’t setting him up, but he was still wary. He’d learned a long time ago never to trust anyone. The day was waning. Bland white light filtered through the mass of trees behind him, and long shadows cloaked the car. Billy drove up and parked behind him. He got out of the compact and motioned for Billy to follow him into the trees. This part of the park wasn’t well traveled, but he didn’t want to take any chances about being recognized. He halted in the shadows. “Why did you want to meet here, in the park?” “I have some information for you.” Billy swallowed. “Didn’t figure you wanted to be seen.” “You’ve already given me a list of Marconi’s women. What other information could you possibly have?” “I need to add another name to your list.” “Meaning?” “Nick is seeing someone new.” “Now?” His stomach tightened, and anger stirred within him. “During the investigation?” “Yes. He’s seeing his shrink.” “That means my plan is working. I’m messing with his head.” “No. What I mean is, his psychiatrist is a woman. A young, beautiful, intelligent woman. Well, she can’t be all that bright, because she’s falling head over heels for him.” “For Marconi? How do you know?” “I’ve seen them together.” He lifted his brows. “You sat in on their sessions?” “No.” Billy shook his head. “I’ve seen them on the street, in a coffee shop. She wasn’t shrinking him then.” “Who is she?” “I thought you’d never ask.” Billy grinned. “Don’t be so damned cryptic,” he snapped, his fury growing. “I have the tools to take care of you any time I want.” “All right, all right. Don’t get your shorts in a twist.” Billy raised his hands and deliberately backed away. “She’s a friend of yours.” “Of mine?” He cocked his head. Who the hell could it be? Then it hit him. Gracie. She was a shrink, and she had mentioned she’d been counseling cops in addition to her ex-cons. He’d found it ironic. Until now. A loud roar began in his ears, the force of it rocking him back on his heels and sending his pulse into overdrive. A red haze fogged his vision. His own half-sister had betrayed him with Nick Marconi, the bastard who’d sent him to prison. His mother’s voice rang in his ears. You’re a no good boy, David. You’re nothing but trouble. You’ll hurt my Gracie.

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David rocked from foot to foot. Gracie. Always Gracie. She’d been perfect in his mother’s eyes, until their father had been sent to prison. Billy rubbed his hands together in glee. “See? I didn’t even have to tell you her name and you’ve reacted. That should be worth a few bucks. How much will you give me for the information? Huh? Another grand?” David exploded in rage. He grabbed Billy’s neck with both hands and dragged him deeper into the trees. Billy flailed his arms and tried to break free, but he couldn’t drag the strong hands away from his collapsing trachea. His eyes bugged out and his face turned bright red, and then an odd shade of blue. He made a strange gurgling noise. Then finally, Billy stopped fighting. He held on to him for a moment. Then, still breathing hard, he let go and watched his former friend crumple to the ground. His heart felt like it might burst from his chest. But he started moving anyway, putting space between himself and the man who’d brought him news of Gracie’s defection. She had turned to the enemy. And now, she had to die. His heart shattered.

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Chapter Twelve Nick unsnapped his pistol on the way up the rickety steps leading to David Elliot’s second floor dump on the edge of the Quarter. The French Market was only a few blocks away, but here the stench of urine and bad eggs made him want to gag. The wind had suddenly switched to the south and the air had warmed as the sun slipped below the horizon. The humid breeze made him sweat. He eyed the dark sky. According to the National Weather Service, storms were moving in. Not unusual for March in the Deep South. “Got the warrant?” Andretti asked as he scaled the steps behind him. Nick halted with his hand on the railing. His ribs ached from the beating he’d endured only a few days before. He rubbed them to offset the pain. “We don’t need one. He’s on parole.” “What about his parole officer?” Nick scanned the dark street below. A car rolled by, but didn’t stop. No sign of Roy Winston, Elliot’s PO. “He’s supposed to meet us here. He’s late.” “Are we gonna wait?” “Nope. We can’t afford to.” Nick started upwards again. “Don’t worry. Winston will show.” “I’ll take your word for it,” Andretti said, the ancient steps creaking beneath his feet. His anxious breaths carried through the night. Nick was glad the young cop was with him, even if he was nervous as a new kitten. Strahan was still on the lam. Parker had tried to chase him down with the help of patrol, and Nick had reluctantly gone by his place. He wasn’t there. A cloud slid over the moon. Reaching the landing, Nick fumed over Strahan’s arrogance and lack of professionalism. He’d finally made detective, and now he’d blown it over a handful of cash. Go figure. He turned to Andretti, who stood deep in shadow. “Ready?” “Yeah.” The uniformed officer pulled out his pistol and flipped off the safety. “Let’s go. I’ve got your six.” Nick rapped on the door. No answer. The echo of revelry on Decatur Street rose in the background. He blocked it out and concentrated on the swish of wind in the plants on the balcony next door. Other than that, all was quiet. Until in the next block, a cat yowled. He knocked again, this time harder. “New Orleans Police,” he said loudly. “Open up.”

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Nothing. A dog began to bark down the street. The hairs on the back of Nick’s neck stood up. He listened more intently, and muttered a sharp oath when a panel truck rattled down the street. “Bastard’s not here,” Andretti muttered. “Either that, or he’s hiding in there.” “That’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Nick said, deftly pulling on a pair of latex gloves. His heart in his throat, he drew his own weapon and tried the doorknob. Locked. “Back up,” he said. Andretti complied, halting just short of the rusty iron rail. Nick reared back and kicked the door hard with the heel of his shoe. The doorframe splintered and the door sailed open, slamming into the opposite wall and bouncing back at him. He deflected it with his knee and slipped inside, the Glock gripped tightly in both hands, its barrel pointed at the ceiling. He pressed his back to the wall and tried hard not to gag. The place reeked of cat. Andretti followed and took up a position on Nick’s left. He coughed, and Nick could tell he was trying hard not to vomit. Nick gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, and then carefully scanned the room. Mounds of what looked like dirty clothes and sheets littered the couch, old pizza boxes and beer cans covered the coffee table, and small dark lumps of something—probably cat crap—were scattered across the floor. The dog outside stopped barking, but the hairs on Nick’s neck stayed primed. He breathed through his mouth to keep from losing his supper. Andretti spoke softly into his shoulder mic, making sure the other uniforms were still in place below and behind them on the next block. Once they assured him they were, Nick felt better. Picking up parolees could be extremely dangerous. They needed all the help they could get, in case Elliot was hiding somewhere inside this dump and decided to make a run for it. He stepped past a crushed cardboard box, skirted the filthy couch, and entered the tiny kitchen. Empty. Except for stacks of dirty dishes and piles of half-eaten food on the counters, in the sink, even on the floor. Nausea swirled in his throat. He turned to go. A dark blur suddenly bolted toward him from the shadows near the stove, and he whipped the pistol toward it. “Freeze! Police!” The blur kept coming. He glimpsed black fur, bared teeth, and vicious yellow eyes. A cat. The animal lunged at him. “Holy shit!” Nick yelled, leaping out of the way just as the animal whizzed by, its claws extended. The cat hit the ground running and with a yowl, disappeared into the living room. “Incoming feline,” he shouted, hustling after it. “Otherwise, clear in here.” “Clear on the left.” Andretti’s voice echoed through the house. There was a loud crash, and a curse. “What the fuck?” “Cat.” Nick re-entered the living room just in time to see Andretti draw a bead on the hissing animal. “You didn’t hear me?” “No.” Andretti scowled as the cat darted around a fallen lamp and hunkered there, daring him to attack. He lowered his gun. “I oughta shoot the little bastard. He tried to bite me.”

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“Leave him alone.” Nick flipped on the light to see cat shit littering the floor. He turned up his nose. Eggshells, empty whiskey bottles, and piles of old newspapers fronted the couch. He kicked at one pile. “This place is a pigsty.” “It reeks.” Andretti holstered his gun, but kept his eye on the cat, who glared at him like it wanted to kill. Nick was glad he had on gloves. He tossed a pair to Andretti. “Put these on. You don’t wanna catch anything.” “Good idea.” Nick put him to work searching the kitchen, then started rifling through drawers. They were all full of junk. He looked under the bed and dug through two half empty closets, hoping to find something that would tie Elliot to the four murdered women. A length of rope, a bucket, a knife. Anything. He and Andretti both came up empty. “I give,” Andretti finally said, coming out of the kitchen rubbing his nose. “I gotta have some fresh air.” “Me, too,” Disappointment rolled through Nick as he picked up the last couch cushion and tossed it aside, uncovering a hamburger wrapper, several pennies, and a playing card. The ace of spades. He sneered. “Nothing here but garbage.” “The guy’s a pig. But did you notice he doesn’t have anything old?” “What’d you mean?” “Think about it. The guy just got out of prison.” Andretti used his hands to talk. “The furniture probably came with the place. He’s got clothes, a box or two of books, toiletries. The rest is disposable. Fast food bags, newspapers, milk cartons.” “No pictures, electronics, or personal items. What he would’ve had before he was locked up.” Nick met Andretti’s steely gray eyes. “He’s gotta have that stuff stored somewhere.” “Exactly.” “A storage unit.” Nick felt a surge of hope. “Damn, boy. You think like a detective.” Andretti grinned. “We have to find it.” Nick pulled off his gloves and turned toward the door, but halted when the cat suddenly rounded the couch and glared at him with hard, feral eyes. He took a step back. “Whoa, there. Easy, kitty.” “Want me to shoot it?” Andretti put hand on the butt of his Glock. Nick shook his head. “We’ll call animal services.” The cat growled and bared its teeth. Nick’s fingers closed around the sofa cushion, and he picked it up in case the animal leapt at him. “Careful.” Andretti muttered an oath. Nick’s skin prickled. “It’s probably just hungry,” he said. “But I’m not gonna be its next meal.” He waved the cushion at the cat. The steps outside creaked, and he halted mid-swing. “Somebody’s coming,” Andretti whispered, pulling his gun. He edged to the side of the door. Nick tossed down the cushion and followed suit. His heart pounded.

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The shattered door eased open with a soft squeak. He leapt in front of it, weapon drawn, and shouted, “Hold it right there. Police!” A burly, bearded man in an ill-fitting brown suit halted on the threshold, his hands in the air. “Don’t shoot, Marconi! It’s Roy Winston.” “Damn it, Roy. You know better than to sneak up on a detective.” Nick lowered his gun. “Christ. I almost shot your ass.” “Sorry. I tried to meet y’all here, but there was a bad wreck on I-10. Delayed me a full twenty minutes.” “Always an excuse,” Nick said. With a grin, he stuck out his hand. “Good to see you.” “You too, now that you’ve put that pistol away.” Andretti peeled himself away from the wall. “Tony Andretti,” he said, shaking Roy’s huge paw. “Glad to meet you.” “Sure thing, man,” Roy said. He looked from Andretti to Nick. “Any sign of Elliot?” “None whatsoever.” Nick kicked at a pile of moldy newspapers by his feet, and the cat hissed. “He sure doesn’t know how to keep house. Left that poor cat here all alone to fend for itself.” “Watch out,” Andretti said, glaring at it. “It bites.” “Elliot spent too many years behind bars to know how to act on the outside.” “Know where he might be?” Nick asked. Winston shook his bushy head. “Not a clue.” Nick sighed and eyed the cat. A flash of red in the corner of the sofa caught his eye. A bandana, jammed between the armrest and the frame. Hot damn. He jerked his gaze to Andretti. “Still got on your gloves?” “Yeah. Why?” The PO backed toward the door. “Look guys, if you don’t need me, I’m gonna cut a trail.” “All right. See you later,” Nick said, pulling out a plastic evidence bag. Winston nodded, and left. Nick motioned to Andretti. “Come here.” Andretti complied, giving the spitting cat a wide berth. He raked his gaze over the filthy couch. “What is it?” “The bandana,” Nick said, pointing at it. Andretti lifted his eyebrows. “That’s evidence?” “With any luck it is,” Nick said. His stomach clenched as he watched the young cop gingerly pick up the red cloth. A dog-eared business card was stuck to one corner. Nick pulled it off and opened the plastic bag. “The ME found fibers from a red bandana in three of the dead girls’ throats.” “Well, hell. You just struck gold,” Andretti said with a grin, dropping the folded cloth into the bag. “Hope it’s a match.” “Me, too.” That piece of fabric might just be the break they’d been looking for. Nick wiped his brow. Then he flipped the worn card over in his hand and read it. He blinked, and read it again: Grace P. Simmons, M.D. Psychotherapy, PTSD, Chemical Dependency

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Gracie? He frowned. What the hell? He reread the address and office telephone number a third time, just to be sure. They were hers. His throat closed up. What was Gracie’s business card doing in David Elliot’s apartment? ***** Gracie awakened the next morning more rested than she’d been in a long, long time. Knowing Walt or one of his coworkers stood watch outside her hotel room gave her a sense of peace she hadn’t felt since Jerry had begun his odd stalking campaign. She rose and went into the bathroom. The shower curtain was ragged and didn’t reach all the way across the tub, but she shrugged out of her oversized T-shirt and climbed into it anyway. Bracing her hands on the slick tile, she let the harsh spray wash away the haze of sleep still hanging over her. She had to go to work. She had no choice. Her patients needed her, especially Mrs. Applegate, who had a ten o’clock appointment. Gracie climbed out of the tub, dried herself off, and quickly donned her new black slacks and pink blouse. They were more casual than the clothes she usually wore to work, but they would have to do. She dabbed on some make up and checked her watch. Eight o’clock. Still plenty of time to order cereal and juice from room service. She made the call. Then her curiosity got the best of her, and she took a deep breath and unlocked the door, to see who was keeping watch. Nick Marconi sat in a chair across the hall. She blinked. “Nick? What are you doing here?” “Waiting for you,” he said, putting down the newspaper he’d been reading. His weary blue eyes were underscored with dark circles, and his jaw was tight. He slowly came to his feet. “Good morning.” “Hello,” she said, still stunned. “I was checking to see if a guard was here. I never expected to see you.” “I sent the kid to get some breakfast. He’ll meet us at your office later.” “I see.” “Any sign of Jerry?” Nick stepped closer, and his assessing gaze flicked over her like it had the day they’d first met. Reading, measuring. Judging. “No.” Suddenly feeling exposed, she folded her arms over her chest. He met her cautious gaze with an intense one of his own. “Good. Have you had breakfast?” “I just ordered room service. It should be up any minute.” He nodded. “I’ll join you.” And without another word, he pushed past her into the room and made a beeline for the telephone. She stared at his broad back in disbelief. “What are you doing?” “Ordering breakfast.” He picked up the phone and dialed room service. Her mouth dropped open when he added bacon, eggs, and coffee to her order of cereal and juice.

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“I can’t believe you just did that,” she said when he hung up. “What’s the problem? I’ll pay for it.” “That’s not the point.” “I’m keeping you safe,” he said, his flat gaze pinning her where she stood. “Don’t you want me to eat?” “Of course I do,” she said. “But you have a lot of nerve barging in like this. I didn’t even know you were in the hall. Now, you’re just making yourself at home.” “How do you know David Elliot?” “What?” Shock jolted through her at the mention of David’s name. Her mind whirled in confusion. “I don’t understand.” “David Elliot is an ex-con who was recently released from Angola.” Nick ambled around the bed. “I found your business card in his apartment.” “I know who he is. H-he’s my patient.” “Really.” “Yes.” Totally unnerved, she swallowed. “In addition to filling in for Dr. Myers with NOPD, I also provide counseling services for recent parolees. Some are required to attend, and some come in voluntarily to finish what they started in prison.” “What about Elliot?” “He came to me on his own.” “Why you?” Nick halted about a foot away from her and put his hands on his waist so that his badge and pistol stood out ominously. “Of all the psychiatrists in the Crescent City area, why’d he pick you?” “Because,” she began, finally daring to meet his flinty gaze. “He’s my half-brother. He trusts me.” Nick reeled as her words sank in. “David Elliot is your brother?” “My half-brother. My mother had him while she was still in high school, before she met my father. David is a good bit older than I am.” Her father, the cop. The man who’d helped Elliot secure a shorter sentence for his crimes. Simmons. That’s where Nick had heard that name. Half-brother meant they shared the same bloodline. Mitochondrial DNA, through their mother. Nick raked a hand through his hair as his heart grappled with the fact that Gracie was related to the man who’d killed Jasmine. He simply couldn’t grasp it. So he asked the first question that came to mind. “Is he mentally stable?” She gaped at him. “You know I can’t answer that.” “I need to know everything about him.” Desperation leaked into Nick’s tone, and he was powerless to stop it. It was all he could do not to grab Gracie and shake her. “I can’t tell you anything more. I’m sorry.” “This is a fucking murder investigation,” Nick said, anger percolating through his blood. “He’s a suspect. I have to find him before anybody else dies.” “You think David killed those women?” Gracie’s eyes widened. He tightened his jaw. “Yes, I do.” “Oh my God.” She pressed a hand to her throat.

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Nick began to pace. “We found a red bandana in his apartment. The ME’s trying to match it to cotton fibers found in three of the victims’ mouths.” “So you don’t know for sure he did it.” “I’m sure enough.” He halted and glared at her. “Do you know if David rented a storage unit before he was sent up this last time?” “No. We’re not that close.” “You just admitted that you’re counseling him.” “Admitted?” She jammed her arms over her chest. “Is it a crime to counsel an exconvict?” “No.” He couldn’t help scowling. “But if you’re covering for him in any way—” “I’m not,” she snapped. Fire flashed in those pretty green eyes. “I’m doing my job. David needed help, and he came to me. Just like you did.” “How many times have you seen him?” “Four.” She rubbed her arms. “Has he seemed angry? Upset? Nervous, maybe?” “I can’t tell you that.” “Forget about your precious doctor-patient privilege for one damned minute, and think about Patti. For God’s sake, Gracie. David might have murdered your best friend.” Gracie gasped and stumbled backwards. Her legs hit the edge of the bed and she sat down. Her eyes filled with tears. Nick felt like a heel. He was being hard on her, but he had to find Elliot. He didn’t want any more innocent women to die. He fisted his hands. “If David killed her, you can’t go on defending him.” “I’m not doing that. But you’re asking me to compromise my ethics.” She lifted her chin. “That’s something I won’t do. Not for Patti. And not for you.” Frustration blasted through Nick, but he had to admire Gracie’s sense of integrity. As long as she wasn’t trying to cover for her deranged half-brother. Gracie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I can say that David’s frightened me a couple of times.” “Tell me about it.” Nick walked over and sat down on the bed beside her. “What did he do?” “It was just his attitude. Questions he asked after Patti died.” Her eyes suddenly widened and filled with fresh tears. “Oh God. He asked them to rattle me, didn’t he? Because he killed her.” Nick hated hurting her, but he had to be honest. He took her hand. “It’s possible.” “That means—oh no.” She swallowed, hard. “That means he killed those other women, too.” “Including Jasmine.” Nick’s heart cracked a little more as he again relived finding his sister’s blood-covered body on the cold kitchen floor. That must have been David’s first kill. All the mess, the awkward slash across her neck. The anger. Gracie gripped his hand tightly. Her brimming eyes played over his face, the concern in them raking him like a physical touch. “I’m so sorry. If I had known—” “There’s no way you could have.”

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“We were never very close,” she said softly. “He’s ten years older than me. He left home when I was eight.” “He’s spent a lot of time in prison, beginning while I was on patrol.” “Are you saying you arrested him?” “Yeah, for slapping his girlfriend around. The first time. Then he killed a guy in a bar fight and claimed it was an accident. He got man two—manslaughter. I think that’s why he targeted Jasmine.” “For revenge.” He nodded. “That wasn’t the first time he was in trouble. His problems started when he was twelve, according to my mom. I was too young to remember.” Gracie shivered. “She said he killed a neighbor’s dog, stalked girls, and terrified younger kids. David went to juvenile detention for a while when he was fifteen.” “Wish I’d known that.” Nick scowled. “But juvie records are sealed.” “He threatened a girl with a knife once.” Gracie let go of his fingers. “I knew he was sick, even though I was little. He used to say things to me. Mean things.” “I’m glad he left before he hurt you.” “Me, too.” She scrubbed a hand over her eyes. “He’s why I went into psychiatry. To find out what makes him tick.” “Did you?” “I thought I had, but now I’m not so sure.” “He’s not your responsibility.” “Yes, he is. If I’d actually helped him, none of those women would be dead.” “He started planning this in prison,” Nick said. “He killed them because of me, not you. Because I locked him up twice and took away his freedom. It made him angry.” A lone tear dripped down her cheek. “I had no idea he’d gone over the edge. He did a great job of masking his psychosis.” “He’s damned good at covering his tracks, too. This is not your fault.” His heart in his throat, Nick reached out and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She was strong, gutsy, and smart, and that intrigued him. So did her vulnerability and her obvious concern for him and for David, even though he was a murderer. To Gracie, he was still a human being, with deepseated problems that terrified her. She put her hand on his arm, and met his gaze with worried eyes. “I don’t want to lose David, but I can’t let him hurt anyone else. I’ll do whatever I can to help you, as long as it doesn’t jeopardize his mental state. He needs help.” “Thank you.” Nick’s voice gruff with emotion. He reached out and caught a tear off her cheek with his finger. Her mouth opened in surprise. His gaze locked on her lips. He had to kiss her. She might bitch slap him, but he had to know if the same unbelievable yearning, the need to join together that was eating him alive, hummed through her veins. She was so beautiful. Vulnerable and sweet. “Nick?” she whispered. Her fingers tightened on his arm. He made a strangled sound. He should back away, get up and run for his life. He didn’t need this. Didn’t need her. He needed space to breathe.

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Damn it. He couldn’t hold back, couldn’t resist those soft pink lips. Those glistening green eyes. He leaned forward and brushed his mouth over hers in a feather-light touch that sent shockwaves of passion rippling through him. She gasped into his mouth, her breath melding with his. The force of it leveled him. “Gracie,” he said, the ache inside him growing to a fever pitch. He kissed her again, this time deeper, claiming her mouth and sliding his tongue against hers. It was the most sensual experience of his life. All the longing, all the need he’d stored up since Jasmine’s death came pouring out in that one kiss. Gracie understood him. She was good in the face of evil, a breath of fresh air in his world of death and destruction. She could heal his torn heart and make him whole. Her body shuddered. She let go of his arm and brought her hand to his cheek. It cooled his fevered skin, but only slightly. Her mouth was like wet silk. Caressing, giving, answering his passion with a searing heat that ate away what was left of his resistance. Nick’s pulse pounded in his ears and blood settled heavily in his groin. With a low moan, he edged closer to her and moved his hand to the small of her back. Gracie inhaled his delicious masculine scent. The taste of him overwhelmed her. His mouth was just as she’d imagined it would be. Hungry, slick, and uncompromising. And yes, she’d dreamed of kissing him. So many times, when she was alone in bed at night and the emptiness of her life slammed her with its terrifying silence. She leaned into him and allowed him to draw her into his world. To ignite her body and touch her soul. She wanted him. God, how she did. He sheltered her from Jerry’s insane stalking, from David, her murdering half-brother, and from her own torturous thoughts of winding up like her father. She put her hand on his hard chest and felt the steady whump-thump of his heart. Its quickening beat matched her own as Nick’s lips moved over hers, enticing her to open up even more, to bare herself to him, heart and soul. Then his warm hand slipped beneath her blouse in back, just above the waistband of her slacks. The shock of his cool fingertips against her heated flesh brought reality crashing back upon her in a tidal wave of pain. She jerked away from him and brought a hand to her mouth. Dismay filled her. What was she doing? Nick was her patient, not her lover. “Gracie?” he rasped, his voice raw with passion. He reached for her, but she leapt up and stared down at him in horror. “No! Don’t touch me!” The reality of what she’d done rocked her. She had compromised herself and her profession for a kiss. “I can’t do this. We can’t do this. You’re my patient!” His face tightened, and he came to his feet. “We both wanted it.” “I don’t care.” She dropped her face into her hands. “It was wrong. Please just . . . go.” “I can’t do that.” “Why not?” She raised her head. Fresh tears stung her eyes. “I’ll be just fine. Don’t worry about me.” “I won’t leave you here alone, damn it. Jerry’s stalking you. And David—”

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“Don’t say it.” She turned and began shoving things into the sack she’d gotten at Macy’s. The tubes of makeup, her toothbrush, her nightshirt, her extra clothes, her comb and brush. Trying her best to ignore Nick, willing him to leave. He stepped toward her and caught her arm. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” “You didn’t.” She jerked free. “I hurt myself by letting you in. I never get involved with my patients. Never.” He stabbed a hand through his hair. “Let me call Bob and arrange for another guard.” “No. I don’t need a keeper.” “Gracie, yes you do. Until Jerry is behind bars, you’re in danger.” “Forget it.” Frazzled to the core, she brought both hands to her face. “Please, just get out of here. I need to be alone.” “All right,” he said, the reluctance in his voice tugging at her heart. “If that’s what you want.” “I do.” She wouldn’t be swayed by the danger surrounding her, or by Nick’s smooth tongue. She needed time to lick her wounds and chastise herself for her gross lack of judgment. He started for the door. “I’ll arrange for you to see another therapist,” she called after him. She wouldn’t do anything else to compromise her ethics. Not ever. “Shouldn’t take me but a day or two.” “I don’t want another therapist.” He whipped around. “I want you.” “I can’t continue to counsel you. Not after what just happened between us. I don’t need to see you again. Not ever.” “You don’t mean that,” he said, his tone raw. “Nobody understands me like you do.” She backed away, the emotion on his face and in his voice threatening to undermine her resolve. Yes, she understood him. All too well. He was a cop to the core, tortured by the aura of death. His sisters, his parents, his partner, the women he’d dated, his friends—had all died on his watch. That tore at her soul. “I need you, Gracie,” he said, pain glittering in his weary blue eyes. “Please don’t shut me out.” “Stop it,” she snapped, struggling to erect a wall between them, when what she really wanted to do was wrap him in her arms and love his pain away. “I can’t talk to just anybody. I need to—” His cell phone cut him off. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, so hard a muscle jumped in his jaw. He snatched the device from his pocket and stared at her. “We’re not done yet.” Oh, yes we are. She matched his glare. His hot, determined gaze never wavered as he brought the phone to his ear. “Marconi,” he growled into it. She folded her arms. Her heart ached for him, and for herself. She’d never felt so empty and alone. Not even when her father had gone to prison and her mother had all but abandoned her. “Where?” His focus shifted to the call, and he turned away from her. “Shit.” He listened a while longer. “Yeah, Captain. I’m on it.” He snapped the phone shut.

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“Trouble?” Gracie asked, unable to ignore the huge knot that had suddenly formed in her stomach. He slowly turned back around, his eyes bleak. “We have another body. This one’s been dismembered.”

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Chapter Thirteen Nick hurried from the hotel and headed down Canal toward Rampart. Parker had said the body had been found in Louis Armstrong Park, located on the northern edge of the French Quarter. Traffic was light, considering the time of day, and litter from last night’s parties swirled in the strong southern breeze. Thunder boomed in the distance. He ignored it and let his thoughts return to that incredible kiss, which had left his body aching with unspent passion. Gracie had wanted him. No way could she hide the way her heart had pounded when their lips met. Her mouth had been soft, moist, and eager, and he had no trouble imagining it on other parts of his anatomy. Especially the part that was still hard as a rock. Braking for a red light, he shifted in his seat and adjusted his fly. He was going to embarrass himself if he didn’t get rid of this boner before he reached the park. The SCID boys would never let him hear the end of it. Yet that wasn’t what was most important. He’d hurt Gracie—and that fact sat like a rock in his gut. What the hell had he been thinking? Guilt washed over him as he remembered the agony in her eyes when she’d jerked away from him and leapt to her feet. Because of him, she’d compromised her ethics and put her practice in jeopardy. He spat an oath. He’d crossed a line. She was his shrink, for God’s sake. At least, she had been. Now, who knew? His heart clutched when he realized he might never see her again. A horn blasted behind him, and he suddenly realized the light had turned green. He stepped on the gas. He was sorry as hell he’d hurt her, but he wasn’t sorry for that kiss. It had soothed an ache inside him that had nothing at all to do with passion. And now, he’d left her alone in that hotel. He squeezed the wheel. Parker’s call had caught him off guard, and he hadn’t thought it through before dashing out. He should have arranged for a guard for Gracie first. Women who kissed him ended up dead. He couldn’t let that happen to her. His skin prickling, he pulled out his cell and called Bob, who promised to put a man on her immediately. Nick only hoped the guard would reach her soon enough. Lightning glimmered over the river, and he glared at the offending clouds. Rain would ruin their crime scene and make it difficult to collect evidence. Not good. He pulled the sedan to the curb and entered the park through the white arched Rampart Street gate bearing Louis Armstrong’s name. Pal and the SCID boys were gathered beneath an arbor about fifty feet away. The vines covering the arbor were just beginning to

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leaf out, leaving the area fairly open. He was surprised the perp had killed the girl so close to the fence. “Howdy, Nick,” Pal said. He was breathing hard and his forehead was beaded with sweat. He glanced at the darkening sky. “Trying to finish before the storm hits.” “Hope you can,” Nick said gravely, as the smell of death slid over him. He watched one of the SCID men photograph the scene. “We don’t want to lose evidence. We’ve gotta get this guy.” “This one may not help you.” Nick raised his eyebrows. “Why not?” “Different signature.” “The dismemberment?” “It’s more than that.” Pal wiped his face. “Her blood wasn’t drained. There’s no note, no vial in her throat, and a helluva lot more violence.” Nick’s eyes riveted to the woman’s bloody torso, which lay in the center of the arbor surrounded by its severed arms and legs. Bile surged up his throat. “Son of a bitch.” “Can’t find anything that tells me she was strung up, either. No burns or bruises on her wrists or ankles, no bucket mark, no paint scraped off the arch.” He pointed straight up. Nick followed his hand and examined the unmarred green metal, before meeting the ME’s solemn gaze. “But her throat was cut, like all the others.” “Yeah, and she was raped. The dismemberment appears to have been conducted postmortem.” “Thank God for that,” Nick murmured, staring at the huge pool of garnet red blood covering the ground around her. If her arms and legs had been cut off while she was still alive—he didn’t even wanna think about it. Pal’s sharp eyes zeroed in on Nick’s face. “You can say that again. Poor woman endured enough hell while she was alive.” “At least he didn’t decapitate her.” “That is a plus, although he came pretty close. That cut to her throat is deep,” Pal said. He ran his hands down his thighs. “Take a look at her face. It would help to know if you recognize this one. Might help us eliminate your guy, once and for all.” Nick cursed himself for forgetting the menthol salve as he stepped around Pal and crouched beside the mutilated body. The white-rimmed wound to the woman’s throat gaped wide. She had blond hair, blunt features, and sallow skin. Recognition hit him like a blow. Hell. It was Delia Bates—Butch O’Neill’s crank-addicted lady friend. Nick had certainly never dated her. He took another look at the blood caked in her stringy hair, and his stomach bucked. He took a shaky breath and pushed himself to his feet. “Well?” Pal rubbed his thick chest. Nick thinned his lips. “It’s Delia Bates. Butch O’Neill’s old lady.” “No shit.” The ME frowned down at the woman’s body. “You think O’Neill did this?” “It’s possible,” Nick said, his stomach churning at the thought. “They let him walk yesterday. If Delia crossed him or he believed she’d turned him in—” The thought of what the woman had endured made him sick. To distract himself, he pulled out his pad, noted the body’s position, and jotted down some information. Delia

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Bates—single white female, mid-upper thirties. Average height and weight, with pale skin and stringy blond hair. Throat slit to the spine, arms and legs severed. Raped. Butch O’Neill’s girlfriend. He looked at Pal. “Any fluids?” “Can’t tell. There’s too much blood.” He sighed deeply. “You’ll have to wait ‘til I have time to do a kit. You people are keeping me mighty busy.” “Hey, I didn’t kill her.” Pal laughed. “I know that. Geez. It’s just that you and I keep meeting over dead bodies. It’s not healthy.” “Isn’t that the truth?” Nick shook his head. Then a thought hit him. “You have any luck matching those fibers to that bandana we found over at Elliot’s place?” “Oh, yeah.” Pal nodded. “I meant to call you about that. It’s the same cloth. Doesn’t mean they came from the same bandana, but they had to have come from the same dye run.” “Really?” Elated, Nick blinked. That meant they were one step closer to nailing Elliot, provided they could find him. “You’re sure?” “Yep. Wish all matches were that easy. If you want to see for yourself, come by the lab.” “I’ll take your word for it.” And so would the courts, but the information was circumstantial at best. Without a match to the exact bandana Elliot had used, his defense would shoot enough holes in the prosecution to drive a truck through. Irked, Nick slowly circled Delia’s torn body, studying it from every angle. Blood was caked on nearly every inch of her pale skin, and her limbs appeared to have been hacked off, making this kill vastly different from the other four. In addition, the cut across her throat was jagged, not sliced methodically like the others, even if it was deep. Pal was right. They now had two murderers on the loose—and one of them just might be Butch O’Neill. ***** Gracie’s heart finally calmed down after Nick left. At least, it stopped beating so erratically. But it didn’t slow down much, thanks to that fiery kiss. She’d known Nick was trouble the first time he’d walked into her office looking so sad and rumpled. She just hadn’t known her heart would be in danger. She called Ashley and asked her to reschedule the morning’s appointments, including Mrs. Applegate, then sat down on the bed and dropped her head into her hands. What in the world had she been thinking when she’d kissed him? She’d just endangered her practice and her license to practice psychiatry, with a cop, of all people. She couldn’t trust Nick. He might turn out to be dirty, like her father. Though instinctively, she knew he wouldn’t. Still, she had to find him another therapist, and fast—before she did something else she would regret. A knock rattled the door. Gracie caught her breath. Had Nick come back? She swallowed. Please God, no. Or even worse, had Jerry found her? She rose on shaky legs. Should she answer the door?

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Another knock rang out, and her heartbeat grew erratic once again. “Who is it?” she asked, crossing the room. “It’s Jeff,” a male voice said. “You ordered room service?” “Oh, yes.” Relief coursed through Gracie. She opened the door to reveal a young man pushing a wheeled cart. He rolled it into the room, and the delicious odor of bacon and scrambled eggs wafted over her. Nick’s breakfast. A lump rose in her throat. She tipped the waiter and locked herself in again. But she couldn’t eat. Instead, eager to get out of there, she began to pack. It was already mid-morning and she had patients to see after lunch. Taking a last look around, she gathered her things and checked out of the hotel. She couldn’t stay cooped up inside a moment longer. The weather was warm and balmy, but she decided against walking the six blocks to her office for safety’s sake. Jerry could be hiding anywhere, waiting for her. So she called a cab and waited for it in the lobby. She couldn’t sit still without her mind fixing on Nick, so she bought a paper and scanned the headlines. Try as she might, she couldn’t get his handsome face out of her head. His kiss had rocked her to the core and ignited passions she’d never even known she possessed. Her fear and loathing for her father had made her cautious about men, and she’d never allowed anyone to slip past her defenses. Sure, she’d had relationships, but she’d always kept them shallow and hadn’t allowed her heart to get involved. Until now. “Dr. Simmons?” a deep male voice called behind her. She closed the paper and whipped around. “Yes?” Walt stood at attention beside a potted plant, his face dour. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” “It’s okay,” she said, coming to her feet. Her stomach clenched. “What are you doing here?” “Detective Marconi called my boss. I’m supposed to watch out for you again today.” Surprised, Gracie could only stare at him as warmth flared to life within her. Nick must really care if he’d arranged for her security after what had happened between them. “Ready to go?” Walt asked. “It’s after eleven.” She peered toward the street, which was visible through the double glass doors. “Yes. But I called a cab, so I could stay off the sidewalk.” “Cancel it. We’ll take my car.” She nodded, and notified the concierge. Walt led her out the back of the hotel to the attached parking garage. “Any sign of the creep who’s been following you?” “Not this morning.” She pictured Jerry as he’d looked the day before at her office, all anger and crazy eyes, and she shivered. His psychosis had to be worsening, which led to his obvious obsession with her. He wouldn’t give up easily. The parking garage was empty, except for one older man who climbed into a shiny black Mercedes and drove away. She scanned the area after he disappeared down the ramp. Jerry had to be lurking somewhere, but more than likely he’d staked out either her office or her home. At least now, she had protection.

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She followed Walt to his non-descript blue sedan and climbed inside. He didn’t say anything on the way to her building’s tiny parking lot. He simply wheeled into her reserved parking space and unlocked the doors. She climbed out into the humid air and looked around. No sign of Jerry. Even so, her heart pounded. She picked up her purse and hurried toward the side entrance. Walt followed on her heels. No Jerry inside the lobby, or upstairs. She entered her office and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Ashley looked up from her desk. “Dr. Simmons, thank goodness you’re here.” Her gaze fell on Walt, who hovered behind Gracie like a Secret Service Agent, and she came to her feet. “You didn’t think I’d show up at all today?” Gracie asked. “I wasn’t sure. You sounded upset when you asked me to cancel those two appointments.” Ashley frowned at her, and then looked at Walt. Her face brightened. “Hi. You were with Dr. Simmons yesterday.” “Yes, ma’am. I’m Walt.” “I’m Ashley.” The girl smiled shyly. “Nice to meet you.” Walt grinned. Gracie shook her head and continued into her office. She took one step inside, and screamed bloody murder. ***** Nick folded his arms and looked at Pal, who had just outlined the trace evidence found on Delia Bates’ dismembered body. The odor of formaldehyde in the lab turned his stomach. “Why in the hell didn’t you tell me about the hairs at the scene?” “I wanted to make sure they hadn’t come from the victim.” “Yeah, well—” With a frustrated sigh, Nick shook his head. “I can’t believe this. Two perps, five dead women, and no real evidence except those two hairs, some anonymous white terrycloth, and those red bandana fibers, which are circumstantial at best.” “Might as well forget the Bates woman and concentrate on our serial killer. He’s your biggest problem, unless this guy kills again.” “That would be ballsy.” Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. Pal was right. He had to concentrate on finding Elliot. The man hadn’t turned up at home, and his PO had run into nothing but dead ends in his quest for the guy. Nick’s cell phone rang. It was Parker. Maybe he had some news on the bastard. Nick brought the phone to his ear. “What have you got, Captain?” “Another dead body.” “Oh my God. So soon?” Ice water filtered through Nick’s veins. He looked at Pal, who lifted his thick eyebrows. “Where?” “City Park. A man, this time.” “Jesus.” Nick rubbed the tight muscles at the back of his neck. What the hell was going on? He frowned. “That’s not our district. Why’d you call me?”

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“You’re at the ME’s office. I told dispatch I’d get word to Pal about this one.” “I’ll tell him,” Nick said. His stomach rumbled, and he realized he’d left Gracie’s room before he’d eaten breakfast. No wonder he was so damned hungry. He scowled. “Look, Captain. I’m gonna go grab an early lunch.” “Not so fast,” Parker said, his voice sounding strange. He hesitated, and then he cleared his throat. “You may not want to eat when you hear this.” “Tell me.” Nick steeled himself. Blood, guts, what? Parker hesitated, and finally said, “The body they just found—it’s Billy Strahan.” Nick’s hand stilled. He looked at Pal. “Son of a bitch. Are you sure?” “Yeah,” Parker said grimly. “Near the nature trail.” “A dead cop.” Nick shook his head. Strahan had been a sad excuse for a detective, but for him to be murdered? What in heaven’s name had he been involved with? Nick frowned. “How’d he buy it?” “Strangulation.” Nick digested that. “Pretty odd, for someone in law enforcement.” “That’s not all. The first officer on scene saw a suspicious car in the area. A little red compact.” Papers crackled. “Here it is—a Kia Rio. He didn’t get the tag, though. The car was going too fast.” “Maria’s father mentioned seeing a little red car on their street the day she was snatched.” “Check with local Kia dealerships.” “Will do.” Nick pulled out his pad and made a note to call Andretti and put him on it. “After we finish up here, I’ll head over to the park with Pal.” “Thanks. And Marconi, I have a meeting with the chief today.” Parker sighed deeply. “Please tell me you’re still seeing that shrink.” Nick hesitated. He couldn’t tell Parker about that unbelievable kiss, or that Gracie had vowed to assign him to another therapist. Not in the middle of a complex investigation. So he hedged, “Yeah, I’m still seeing her.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. He did intend to see her, just not in a professional capacity. Whether she wanted to see him, or not. He massaged his neck. Hell, somebody had to keep an eye on her. Parker mulled over Nick’s words. Hoping to send his boss’s thoughts in a different direction, Nick changed the subject. “Want me to call you from the scene?” “No, I’ll contact you after my meeting.” “Yes, sir.” “I want a full report.” “Sure thing,” Nick said, relieved Parker hadn’t pushed the issue with Gracie. He hung up and dropped the phone into his pocket. Pal looked at him. “There’s another body?” “One of our own.” “A cop?” Pal’s eyes widened. “Yeah, my new partner.” Nick stabbed a hand through his hair. “Billy Strahan.”

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“I’ll be damned. I met him at Patti Warren’s crime scene. What the hell happened to him?” “Not sure. He went AWOL a couple of days ago after we discovered he leaked the vials to the press, and now he’s turned up strangled in City Park.” Pal’s face took on a sour look. “So he was the culprit. I knew it wasn’t anyone in this office.” “You seem pretty sure of that.” Nick quirked his mouth. “Let’s go.” Clouds moved in as they drove north toward the park. Nick scowled at the women clustered around the tennis courts. A couple of them walked toward their cars alone. He wanted to stop and warn them that a murderer was on the loose, but he didn’t. He just kept driving. Soon they reached the section containing the nature trail. The area was lush, green, and overgrown. The perfect place to hide a body. “There’s the scene,” Pal said, pointing ahead as they rounded a curve. “Damn. It’s pretty far off the road.” He was right. Yellow crime scene tape wound through the trees to cordon off approximately a half acre about fifty feet from the blacktop. Crime scene techs prowled the area, taking pictures and scouring the high grass for evidence. Nick blew out a frustrated breath. “Place looks like a zoo.” “Sure does.” Pal barked a laugh. “What do you reckon Strahan was doing way out here?” “Could be drugs. Lots of gangs use the park for a drop. District Three has tried to clean it up, but it’s a lot of ground to cover.” Pal raised his eyebrows as Nick pulled the sedan to a stop in the high grass. “You think Billy was dealing?” “Who knows?” Nick shut off the ignition and popped his door. “He squealed to the press for cold, hard cash.” Pal was silent as they trekked through the weeds toward the crime scene. The area was jarringly quiet in contrast with the rest of New Orleans, despite the constant murmur of those at the scene. Nick spoke to a member of SCID as he and the ME ducked beneath the bright yellow tape. “Find anything?” “So far, a partial footprint,” the tech said. He eyed Pal. “And we may have fingerprints on Strahan’s throat. You can help us with that, boss.” Pal nodded and made a beeline for Strahan’s sprawled body, which was now visible just inside the trees. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Nick eyed the darkening sky. The thick air was oppressive, and the hairs rose on his nape. He felt uneasy. “We need to rush this up before the weather moves in.” “You got it.” Nick left the tech on his knees picking up a cigarette butt with a giant set of tweezers, and walked over to where Pal stood.

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“What do you have?” he asked, looking down at Strahan’s rigid form. His former partner’s eyes were wide with surprise, and one arm was cocked awkwardly beneath him. Seeing him like that made him seem small and human. Pal crouched down and studied Billy’s neck, which was ringed with deep purple bruises. He glanced up at Nick. “We have thumb prints.” “Thank God,” Nick said, relieved. They needed to get to the bottom of this before the press ran roughshod over the department. He could see the headlines now: Dirty cop, found dead in City Park. He pressed his lips together. “Better bag him and get him into the van. Rain’s moving in.” The ME came to his feet and ordered one of his men to bring him a body bag. Nick pulled out his pad and noted the position of Strahan’s body, its surroundings, and the distance from the road. The crime scene was isolated. It had an eeriness about it—but he forced himself to concentrate on the facts. “Approximate time of death?” “He’s in full rigor. I’d say about eighteen to twenty hours ago, sometime between five and eight p.m. yesterday” Pal rubbed his chest. “When did you last see him?” “Middle of the afternoon two days ago, in front of the district station.” The ME raised his bushy eyebrows. “He made somebody unhappy.” “Me,” Nick said, remembering how angry he’d been when he’d first learned Strahan had leaked that information. “But I sure as hell didn’t strangle him.” A dark sedan roared up and jerked to a halt behind Nick’s vehicle. Pal thinned his lips. “Don’t say that too loud. That’s Lang.” With a dark scowl, Nick watched the ADA exit the car and march toward them through the high grass. His eyes blazed with anger. Pompous ass. “Marconi,” he said, his icy, assessing gaze falling on Nick as he approached. “What the hell happened here?” “My partner was murdered.” Lang quickly closed the gap between them. “Strahan?” “Yeah.” “He just moved up from patrol.” “That’s right.” Nick squared his shoulders. He could guess where Lang was going with his assumptions. The ADA didn’t disappoint. “You were supposed to train him.” “I did what I could. Billy had his own way of doing things.” “If he’d been properly supervised—” “He was, until he was found to have leaked critical information to the press. He left the station on his own accord, and didn’t return. Parker put an APB out on him, but no one saw him.” “You didn’t try to stop him?” “Of course I tried.” Nick grew rigid. “He eluded me.” “From what I’ve heard, that’s not very hard to do.” Thunder boomed as a wave of fury poured over Nick. He fisted his hands at his sides. “Easy now,” Pal said, putting his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Don’t make things worse.” Nick shook him off. “Lang’s the one with the big mouth.” “Am I pushing your buttons, Marconi?”

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A soft rain began to patter down through the trees. Nick tamped down the rush of anger boiling in his gut and faced the loathsome ADA. “You’re pretty damned good at it, Lang. Why don’t you concentrate on your own dysfunctional family and leave me the hell alone?” “Why you—” Lang’s face turned bright red, and he started toward Nick. Pal stepped between them and held up his hands. “Storm’s moving in, boys. We don’t have time for this. We gotta get Strahan’s body out of here.” Nick knew Pal was right. He forced himself to relax, even though Lang glared at him like he wanted to kill him. Yeah, he’d been out of line—but then, so had the ADA. Lucky for them, Pal’s subordinate approached the scene with a body bag. Nick was ready to put ADA Lang into it. ***** Her legs wobbly, Gracie lowered herself into a chair in the waiting room and took a series of deep, cleansing breaths. She couldn’t go back into her office until it was cleaned. Not unless she wanted to be sick. Nausea swirled inside her whenever she remembered what she’d seen when she’d opened the door. Blood. Poured over her desk, dripping down its sides, congealing on the floor. Its sharp, rusty scent overwhelmed her. Thank goodness she hadn’t eaten breakfast. “Are you all right, Dr. Simmons?” Officer Andretti asked, squatting down beside her. She nodded, although in reality, she really wasn’t okay. She didn’t want to let on just how shaken she really was. Andretti might call Nick. “The security officer said—” “Walt,” she interrupted. “His name is Walt.” “Right. Walt said you stayed at a hotel last night.” She nodded. “The Sheraton, about six blocks down.” “Because of the rat?” “Not just because of that.” She met Andretti’s kind eyes. “Because Jerry showed up here, right after lunch yesterday. He threatened me.” “That’s why Detective Marconi arranged for the security detail.” “Yes,” she whispered. Please don’t mention his name again. Don’t talk to me about him, and for heaven’s sake, don’t contact him. She feared that if she saw Nick right now, she just might throw herself into his strong arms. Andretti frowned and pulled out his cell phone. “What are you doing?” she asked sharply, knowing she sounded over the top. She zeroed in on the telephone in his hand. He sent her a blank look. “Calling Nick. He arranged for your security.” “Don’t worry about that.” She reached for the phone. “Leave him out of this. Please.” “He’ll want to know about the blood.” “What blood?” Nick’s worried baritone rang through the waiting room, startling Gracie.

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She spun just in time to see him bowl over a crime scene tech in his effort to get to her. His dark hair was mussed. His coat looked like it had been wadded in a knot, and his azure eyes flashed with panic. She wanted to crawl under her chair and hide. “What blood?” he boomed again, his alarmed gaze raking over her like a physical touch. He shooed Andretti away, sat down next to her, and gripped her arm. “Are you hurt?” “No.” She tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn’t let her. “Nick, let go. I’m fine.” “What blood are you talking about?” He lowered his voice and stared intently into her eyes. She took a deep breath. She had to tell him, or he’d never leave her alone. “In my office. Someone poured blood on my desk. It’s on the blotter, on my files, on the floor—” Her voice fell away as she recalled the chilling scene. Her stomach fluttered. His jaw taut, Nick came to his feet and motioned to Andretti. “Show me.” The two of them entered her office and closed the door. Gracie’s head pounded. This day had started out with Nick’s unexpected kiss, she’d canceled her appointments this morning, and now she had to turn away more fragile patients. Half her files were ruined, and poor Ashley was such a basket case she was lying down in the dental office across the hall. Gracie rubbed her temples. When would Jerry’s siege of weirdness end? Nick burst from her office and called to a crime scene technician. One ambled over and the two of them conversed quietly. Once the tech left, and Nick returned to her side. His face was solemn. “When was the last time you counseled David Elliot?” “Why?” Jolted to hear her half-brother’s name from Nick’s lips, she frowned. What did he have to do with this? Nick’s face darkened. “Don’t cover for him, damn it. He’s taken blood from at least five women. That poured in your office could have come from any one of them.” “Oh my God,” she said, tears of dismay rushing into her eyes. “Patti.” “What do you mean?” “David kept asking about her. How long I’d known her, how she died, how I felt when she—” She wiped away a tear. “He was getting off on it.” “Was he?” “I thought he’d changed. That my therapy was actually doing him some good.” “I’m sure it did,” Nick said, interlacing their fingers. “If you hadn’t worked with him, there’s no telling how many people he might have slaughtered.” She pulled her hand free. “Even one is too many.” He didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, his expression carefully blank. “The ME is a friend of mine. He’ll rush the DNA on the blood. With any luck, we’ll know something in a couple of days.” “A couple of days?” Her mouth dropped open. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime? I can’t close my practice.” “You have to, at least for a while. My God, Gracie!” Nick snapped, his expression incredulous. “Next time it could be your blood in there.”

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A shiver tiptoed up her spine, but she pushed it aside. She was too irked with Nick to let fear engulf her. He was reacting because he was worried, but she didn’t need to be coddled and she could not—would not—abandon her patients out of fear. She met his irritated gaze. “It had to be Jerry, not David. He’s been trying so hard to scare me.” “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s been working,” Nick snapped. “Did you forget the dead rat? The fact that he tried to break into your house? The way he’s been stalking you?” “All right, yes. He frightened me,” she admitted, trying to keep her voice even. “The blood did, too. But I refuse to be intimidated. Not by you, or David. And certainly not Jerry Howard.” “This is a crime scene. It can’t be disturbed.” “For how long?” she asked. “Nobody died in here.” “No, they didn’t. But DNA evidence that could affect five open murder cases was dumped in your office. It’ll be a couple of days before we’ll free up the scene.” “Are you serious?” Her mouth dropped open, and she started to rebut him. He held up his hand. “Save it. You’re going back to the hotel. I’m going to line up another guard to watch you, so I’ll know you’ll be safe. Case closed.” “Fine.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll arrange to see my patients there.” Like her grandmother had often said, there was more than one way to skin a cat. Nick slid agitated fingers through his hair. Gracie was one stubborn woman. He narrowed his eyes and tried again. “Jerry might follow one of them and find you.” “If you use Walt, he’ll protect me. He did a good job last night.” Her green eyes flashed with angry lights. “So you can stop worrying about me.” “That’s not gonna happen,” he said, perturbed that she was erecting a wall between them. She made a show of straightening her blouse. “How did you learn I’d called this in? Officer Andretti was going to call you, but I wouldn’t let him.” Nick raised his eyebrows at Andretti, who shrugged. “Don’t look at me. She freaked out.” “I did not.” Gracie’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. She met his eyes. “How did you know?” “I have my ways.” Better to keep some things close to the vest. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he was immediately reminded of that searing kiss they’d shared back at the hotel. Her cheeks went from pink to red. Nick suddenly realized Andretti was staring at them. He leaned back on his haunches and cleared his throat. “Got anything else, officer?” “Not right now,” the young cop said. He looked embarrassed. “We’ve pretty much got it covered, unless you see something we’ve missed.” “No. I put out another APB on Jerry Howard and one on David Elliot on the way over here from City Park. If you get word on either one of them, call my cell immediately.” Nick handed Andretti his card. “Understand?” “You’ve got it.” He pocketed the card. “Will do.” Nick locked eyes with Gracie. “I’ll give you a lift to the hotel, and then I have to go. The case has just taken a strange turn.”

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She shot him a perturbed look, but she didn’t question him. Not this time. “I need my purse and bag of clothes. They’re in the bottom drawer of Ashley’s desk.” Andretti went to get them. Nick took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. “You can’t go out alone for any reason. Not until we find out who’s responsible for this.” “Okay.” He was surprised she didn’t argue with him. Andretti returned with her things and shoved them at her. “I have to go. Got a call over on Rampart Street.” “All right,” Nick said as he turned away. “Take it easy, and don’t forget to keep me posted. Oh, and Tony—” The young cop halted. “Yeah, detective?” Nick pulled out his pad and tore off the page containing the info about the red Kia Rio. “Contact local dealerships about this vehicle. Get names and info on anyone who’s purchased one in the last two years.” “Yes, sir,” Andretti said, studying the paper. He tucked it into his shirt pocket. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” Nick nodded, and Andretti disappeared out the door. His nerves on edge, he turned back to Gracie. She sat very still, cradling her purse and bag of clothes on her lap. He longed to touch her and tell her everything would be okay, but he didn’t dare. Instead, he crouched down beside her and met her cautious gaze. “Ready to go?” “Not yet. Ashley was really upset. I need to check on her before we leave.” “When I came in, she was in the hall talking with one of Bob’s security guards.” “Walt?” Her tone cautious, Gracie rose and started for the door. Nick followed her, and was relieved to see her receptionist and the guard deep in conversation. The girl’s face glowed with interest. She certainly didn’t look scared now. “Ashley, are you all right?” Gracie asked, scurrying toward her. The girl nervously edged away from Walt. “I’m fine, Dr. Simmons. I just had to get away from that smell. And my nerves—” “I understand.” Gracie nodded. “Detective Marconi says I have to close the office for a day or two. I need you to contact our patients and let them know. Reschedule their appointments—you know what to do.” Ashley bobbed her head. “If anyone insists on seeing me before their next appointment, jot down his or her name and number and I’ll arrange to meet them at another location.” “Yes, ma’am.” Nick pulled Walt aside, and instructed him to see Ashley home and stay with her as long as necessary to make sure she was safe. Walt smiled broadly. “No problem, detective.” “I didn’t think it would be,” Nick said. He clapped Walt on the shoulder. He turned away and his cell phone rang. He checked Caller ID. It was Pal. Nick brought the phone to his ear. “Hey, friend. That was fast. What have you got for me?” he asked, without even saying hello.

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Pal didn’t seem to mind. “You’re gonna love it. I got a ten point match on the prints on Strahan’s neck.” “A cold hit?” Disbelief coursed through Nick. “Already?” “Yep. It’s your guy, David Elliot.” “Son of a bitch.” Nick’s gut clenched. “How in the hell did Strahan get mixed up with him?” “What you should be asking is why.” “Damned right.” Nick’s mind filled with all sorts of grisly possibilities. Had Strahan been working with Elliot? Was that why he’d leaked the information to the media? To derail the case? Or had he just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? “I’m still working to match the hairs found on Delia Bates’s body. They’re not hers, and they don’t match O’Neill’s DNA.” “What about Elliot’s?” “Nope. He’s not a match.” Nick swallowed that disturbing tidbit, and turned to see Ashley and Walt disappear into Gracie’s office. Gracie fixed him with a curious gaze. He asked Pal to get back with him on the hairs, and re-pocketed the phone. “Let’s go,” he said, taking her arm. She shook off his hand and marched ahead of him. He set his jaw. So that’s the way it would be. With a heartfelt sigh, Nick told himself the raw ache in his chest was from the beating he’d endured only days before. Yeah, right. ***** David sat in the red compact and stared hard at Gracie’s building. In plain sight. Wasn’t that the best hiding place? All of NOPD was looking for his vehicle, and here he was sitting in downtown New Orleans without a care in the world. Of course, he’d replaced his license plate with one stolen off a brand new Volvo, just in case. But you’d think that at least one cop would have stopped to see what he was doing sitting here in broad daylight. He rubbed his eyes. He’d been up all night, filled with a rage that refused to let him rest. And as a result, for the first time, he’d acted rashly. He’d stalked Ann Royster, a woman Marconi had dated just last year, broken into her apartment, and taken her at knifepoint. She was in the trunk right now, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey with a gag in her mouth. He’d driven by Gracie’s building on his way to his storage unit, where he’d planned to play with Ann, and his anticipation had waned. She could wait. The building’s glass doors opened and Marconi stepped out, followed closely by Gracie. David jerked. Seeing them together was like being hit with an electrical current. Marconi looked both ways, his trained eyes touching everything on the street except the compact. That filled David with pride. Yet he still felt like he’d taken a blow to the heart.

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Gracie looked up at the detective with an admiring gaze and spoke to him, and a lump of fury filled David’s throat. He sat up. Gracie was beautiful, like always, but her face was tired and drawn. She obviously wasn’t sleeping. The way she stared at Marconi made him ill. He thought of the tools in the trunk with Ann. The rope, the knife, his extra bandana, the tiny cooler of blood, the bucket—all waiting just for Gracie. Soon, with a little help from him, she would sleep forever. And all because of Nick Marconi. He’d ruined both their lives. Watching them walk toward Marconi’s non-descript gray sedan, David began to shake. Sweat popped out across his brow. He was ready to act. But he knew that to inflict the most pain, he had to wait. So he numbly watched his sister leave with the man who had put him in prison not once, but twice. His vision clouded and he fisted his hands around the steering wheel. Die, he chanted like a mantra in his brain. Rage boiled inside him. Die, Marconi. A horn blared behind David, and he jumped. Marconi’s head jerked around. He hesitated with his hand on the small of Gracie’s back and his keen gaze raked the area. David sat very still. He didn’t breathe, didn’t blink, didn’t so much as twitch. If Marconi saw him now, David would have to snatch Gracie right here in broad daylight, and all hell would break loose. Gracie looked up at Nick, and said something. He zeroed in on the compact just as a bus trundled by, blocking his view. Terrified he’d been seen, David lay down on the seat. He counted to ten as the roar of the vehicle’s engine faded. Diesel fumes tickled his nose. Did he dare raise his head? Was Marconi still staring, or even worse, running toward him? He counted slowly to ten. Then he partially sat up, careful to keep his head low. Gracie and the detective were gone. Shit. He scanned the street and spotted the sedan sitting at the light. He’d finally caught a break. Settling into his seat, he cranked the engine and pulled out into traffic, making sure several cars were between them. The light changed. He kept the sedan in view, but stayed back. A horn honked, and a white Toyota zipped past him. Its driver gave him the finger. He muttered a curse. All at once, a loud thump emanated from the rear of the car. He squeezed the wheel. It was Ann. In the trunk, and wide awake. If she got her hands on the knife, she might be able to cut herself free. He spat another expletive. Time to cut his losses and take care of her. Then he’d look for Gracie, who should be easy enough to track down. All he had to do was find Marconi.

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Chapter Fourteen Nick scanned the street as he wheeled the sedan into the Sheraton’s shadowy parking garage and started up the ramp. No David, no Jerry. No sign of anyone suspicious. He kept going, looking for a space. The place was more crowded than it had been earlier in the day. Finally, he found a slot on the third level near the elevator. He parked and turned to Gracie. “Lots of folks are coming into New Orleans for the jazz festival. You might not get a room.” “They moved it to March this year.” A worried smile ghosted across her lips. “I’d forgotten.” “You’ve had a lot on your mind.” “Too much.” “Look, Gracie—” Nick unbuckled his seatbelt, and took a deep breath. They couldn’t keep pretending that kiss hadn’t happened. They needed to talk about it and clear the air. Otherwise, it would remain like a wall between them. “About earlier, when we kissed.” “No.” She raised her hands. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “We have to.” “Not now, Nick.” Her eyes glistened with moisture. “Please. I just want to get somewhere safe, so I can forget all about Jerry and David and the rest of this awful nightmare, at least for a little while. Maybe by then you’ll have put them both behind bars and we can all rest easier. Then we can talk.” He considered that. He didn’t want to push her. So he nodded. “Okay, we’ll wait. But not forever.” She looked away. “Stay here,” he said, popping his door. He hopped out and quickly surveyed the garage. Nothing stood out. He walked around the car and opened her door. “Looks safe enough to me. Get out, and stay beside me.” Still refusing to look at him, Gracie did as he asked. Nick took her elbow as they started for the elevator, and she held herself rigid. She obviously regretted that kiss. But there was no denying the chemistry that continued to flow between them. His body ached with the need for release. “If they don’t have a room, it’s likely no other hotels in the area will either,” Nick said, that fact eating at his gut. “We’ll have to find an alternative.” “Maybe I should just go home.” “No.” He pressed his lips together. “You can’t. It’s too dangerous.” They reached the elevator, and he punched the DOWN button.

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Gracie pulled her arm free. “You don’t have to stay with me, you know. Walt will be here after he sees Ashley home.” “No, he won’t. I told him to stay with her for a while, just in case.” She looked at him. “Are you playing matchmaker?” “Maybe I am.” He quirked up a corner of his mouth. “You won’t have anything to do with me. At least maybe they can be happy.” “That’s not fair.” The elevator doors slid open, and he urged Gracie inside. Then the doors shut and they were trapped in the tiny space all alone. Nick raised his hand to touch Gracie’s cheek. She jerked away from him. He dropped his hand. “Come on, Gracie. You can’t deny what’s happening between us.” She folded her arms. “Nothing is happening, detective. I won’t let it.” “What if you assign me to another therapist, like you said? I won’t be your patient anymore. Then we can see what—” He halted in mid-sentence and mentally kicked himself. Women who dated him died, and he was supposed to be keeping her safe. He gritted his teeth. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” “No, you shouldn’t have.” The elevator doors opened to reveal two middle-aged women waiting for their car, and Gracie snapped her mouth shut. Saved by strangers. She had no business talking relationships with Nick, or anyone else. She needed to put that kiss behind her and focus on her practice. Unable to dodge his firm hand at the small of her back, she stepped into the lobby—and immediately spotted Jerry lolling against the wall near the front desk. Adrenaline shot through her, and she halted. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God!” “What is it?” Nick went still. “Gracie?” “It’s J-Jerry,” she whispered, hoping he hadn’t noticed her. “Beside the registration desk. How did he know to come here?” “I don’t know, but this is gonna stop right now.” Fire sparked in Nick’s blue eyes. He pulled his pistol and checked its magazine. “Wait here.” She grabbed his arm. “Don’t you need backup?” “There isn’t time.” He started off, staying close to the wall. Gracie covered her mouth. If he were hurt because of her, she’d never forgive herself. Jerry turned and spotted Nick. His eyes widened, and the smile left his face. He bolted for the door. “Freeze!” Nick shouted, aiming his gun at Jerry’s retreating back. “Police!” The clerk and a guest dropped to the floor. A girl screamed. Jerry didn’t slow down. He sidestepped an old woman pulling a rickety suitcase and made a beeline through the lobby. His tennis shoes slapped the shiny marble. With a sharp curse, Nick pointed the pistol’s barrel at the ceiling and sprinted after him. “Be careful, Nick!” Gracie shouted. Her heart rose into her throat as he leapt over a couch, hit the door with his shoulder, and disappeared outside.

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The guest on the floor pulled out a cell phone. Gracie halted beside her. “Are you calling 911?” “Yes, dear.” The woman appeared to be in her mid-70’s, with neat blue helmet hair. “Give it to me.” Gracie snatched the phone from her. “I know who to call.” The woman muttered something under her breath and gingerly pushed herself off the floor. Gracie got dispatch on the line and explained the situation. “Officer Tony Andretti of the First District is familiar with this case. Yes.” The dispatcher promised to radio Andretti. Gracie looked up to see Nick stride back inside. Sweat dripped from his chin. He met her eyes and shook his head. Gracie’s pulse skipped a beat. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said into the phone. She ended the call and handed the device back to the woman, who gaped at both her and Nick. He holstered his pistol, and wiped his face on his sleeve. “He got away.” Fear rippled down Gracie’s spine. “How did he know to come here?” “I don’t know.” Nick’s jaw was taut. “But you can’t stay here now. It’s too dangerous.” “Not even with a guard outside my room?” Despair washed over her. Where would she go if he wouldn’t let her go home? How would she see patients who had to have help? “I won’t leave you here by yourself.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I need to call this in.” “I already did.” He raised his eyebrows. She pointed at the irate older woman. “She let me use her cell phone. I told the dispatcher to call Officer Andretti, that he’s familiar with the case.” “Good for you.” Nick said, surprise registering in his eyes. He lifted his phone to his ear anyway. “I’m gonna get with vice and try to line up a safe house for you.” Gracie bit her lip as he turned away. A safe house. The idea both terrified and intrigued her. Where she really wanted to go was home. Too bad Nick wouldn’t hear of it. She edged closer to him, trying to listen in on his conversation, but it seemed mostly one-sided, with Nick simply nodding his head. “All right, thanks for trying,” he said, his words carrying the bite of frustration. He snapped his phone shut and looked at her. “No dice.” “Meaning what?” “There are no safe houses available.” “How many does NOPD have?” “I don’t know, but this puts us in a bind.” Gracie hugged her purse and sack of clothes. Her stomach churned. “I could just go home.” “Forget it.” He pinned her with those expressive blue eyes. “You’ll have to come with me.” “Where are you going?” Caution filtered through her. He was a cop, and she had no intention of getting in any deeper with him. He quirked his mouth. “Back to the district station. You can sit at my desk.”

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“And do what?” she asked, interrupting him. “I might have patients to see. I can’t very well set up shop at your cop shop.” “Cop shop?” The planes of his face softened and she could have sworn his eyes twinkled. But the amused look disappeared as quickly as it came. “No, I can’t recommend that you treat folks there. Though you could probably find a whole new batch of patients if you hung around long enough.” “Come on, Nick.” “Don’t argue with me. Let’s go.” He caught her arm and propelled her toward the other end of the lobby. Gracie wanted to scream, but she tamped down the urge and went along. What else could she do? Jerry was following her. Her office was off limits, and David lurked out there somewhere, doing God knew what. Her stomach clutched. He had an appointment with her tomorrow. Would he still want to see her? ***** Nick settled Gracie in a chair beside his desk and headed for Captain Parker’s office. As soon as he walked in and closed the door, Parker cocked an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?” “What do you mean?” “You brought your shrink to work with you.” Astonishment filled Nick. “You know Gracie?” “Not personally.” Parker sat back and studied him. “So that’s Gracie Simmons, M.D.” “Yeah. So?” Nick’s hackles rose. Parker raised both hands as if to fend him off. “Whoa, there. Take it easy. I don’t mean anything by that. It’s just that you don’t usually bring women to the station.” “Her life’s in danger. She has no place else to go.” “I see.” Parker frowned. “So you’ve taken her under your wing. For protection.” “Is anything wrong with that?” “No.” Eager to change the subject, Nick sat down in one of the two chairs across from Parker’s desk. “Any word on O’Neill?” “No sign of him since you put out that APB. Or that Jerry fellow, or David Elliot. They’ve all gone to ground.” He snorted. “Rodents tend to do that.” “Not Jerry.” Anger flared in Nick’s gut. “We just saw him at the Sheraton over on Canal. He made me, and bolted like a rat out of a trap. I tried to catch him, but—” “He got away.” “Yeah. He’s a quick bastard.” Nick scowled. “I couldn’t leave Gracie at the hotel with that freak on the loose. He’s already tried to break into her house, he’s terrorized her. Hell, he might have poured that blood all over her office.” “SCID says Elliot might have pulled that one.” “It’s possible. Pal’s running the blood.” Nick met Parker’s intense gaze. “He got a cold hit on the prints on Strahan’s neck.”

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“Elliot.” “Yeah. My question is, why?” Nick leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. Parker scrubbed a hand over his face. “Strahan was working for Elliot. Think about it. How did he know which women to kill?” “Girls I’ve dated,” Nick murmured, working hard to grasp that one. He cradled his head, and stared at the floor. Then all at once, he understood. He bolted up. “Son of a bitch. Strahan and I were tight at the academy. We talked every night. I told him about the women I’d seen, starting in school.” “He used that information against you.” “The bastard must’ve hated my fucking guts.” “You made the fast track to detective.” Parker’s gaze sharpened, as if he’d suddenly grasped where Nick was going. “While all that time, he was stuck in patrol.” “He’d just made detective.” “Yeah, he did.” Parker crooked his mouth. “But think about the timeline.” Nick went still. “He got his promotion after the murders began.” “And knowing the prick, I’d say his success went to his head.” “Which, of course, didn’t sit well with Elliot.” Nick sprang to his feet and began to pace. “It’s all about control with him. I locked him up, putting him at the mercy of others.” “So he struck back at you by controlling those women.” “It was the ultimate power play.” “How do you explain Jasmine’s blood in their throats?” “He did that to rub it in that he’d killed her, and I sent the wrong man to prison for her murder.” Pain sliced through Nick, so strong it almost brought him to his knees. The memories of finding his sister’s bloody body were still so damned fresh they brought tears to his eyes. Parker looked away. Nick took a second to get a grip on his emotions, and then finally said grimly, “That was after the first time I arrested him. He got two years that time.” “And he got even with you by murdering Jasmine.” “The bastard probably laughed his ass off when I put O’Neill away for her death. Unless it made him angry, because I didn’t give him credit for it.” Nick halted and massaged his sore ribs, which ached almost as much as his heart. He gritted his teeth. “The others would be alive today if I’d only looked beyond O’Neill.” “You couldn’t have known.” Nick closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. A knock at the door startled him. He opened his eyes to see Gracie standing just outside Parker’s window, staring in at him with concern. Parker rose. “Let her in.” Although he really didn’t want to, Nick did as he asked. “Hey,” she said softly, meeting his irked gaze when he opened the door. She turned to Parker. “You must be Nick’s Captain.” “Rod Parker,” he said, rounding his desk with his hand outstretched. She shook it briefly, then released it and eyed Nick. “Is everything all right?” “Just peachy.”

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“You don’t have to be sarcastic.” “We were discussing the case,” Parker said. Gracie’s eyes never left Nick’s face. “I take it the dialogue isn’t going well.” “Shit.” He looked away. “It’s getting late,” she said, wetting her lips. He clenched his teeth. “Yes, it is.” Parker stuck his hands in his pockets and studied Nick, as if trying to burn his message home. “You’ve been working almost forty-eight hours without a break. Go home. Get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.” “Captain, I can’t just leave. I have to call Pal. Write up a report.” “I’ll take care of it while you’re gone. Consider it an order, son.” Nick jutted his chin. Gracie stared at him in disapproval. She thought he needed a break, too. Her mere presence seemed to suck the air from the room. She was the reason he didn’t want to give in. Because what the hell would he do with her at his house? “Do you want me to stay here, Captain?” Gracie asked. “No.” He turned to her. “I want you to go home with Nick.” ***** Jerry’s stomach clenched as he watched Gracie leave the district station with Nick Marconi. He’d tried to show her that he cared. Then he’d tried to scare her. Nothing had worked. Anger filled him. He would show her. He ran to his truck and followed Nick and Gracie down North Rampart Street. Luckily, he made the next two lights. Then Nick whipped his sedan onto Bienville. A tiny red car sped in front of Jerry, cutting him off. He slammed on his brakes. Missed the light. Cursing loudly, he raised his fist. Then he stomped the gas and zipped between two delivery vans, causing one to skid sideways. “Too damned bad,” he muttered, glimpsing Nick and Gracie not far up ahead. They pulled to the curb. His pulse rate increased. He rolled his truck into an alley and killed the engine. Climbing out, he slipped down the sidewalk toward the gray sedan and halted in the shadows beside a small coffee shop. Nick got out and rounded the vehicle. Gracie shot him a disgruntled look. Jerry smiled. She wasn’t happy to be with him after all. He shouldn’t have worried. He rubbed his hands together. Don’t worry, Gracie. I’m going to rescue you. He sidled up to a tall hedge in a courtyard nearby. His heart pounded as he watched the two of them enter the narrow brick house. Gracie fired Nick another angry look just as the door closed, and Jerry shook with glee. ***** “Just so you know, I don’t want to be here.”

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“Those words sound awfully familiar,” Nick said, his mouth twisting in derision. “If I remember correctly, I said them to you the first time we met.” “I was being sarcastic.” “No kidding.” He tossed his keys on the kitchen table. “Believe me, I don’t like this any more than you do.” “I know it wasn’t your idea.” “Damned straight.” She clammed up, and her gaze played over his soft leather couch, the ancient recliner he wouldn’t part with for any amount of money, and the pile of brightly colored quilts stacked on the ottoman in front of the couch, all of which filled his tiny living room. He tried to see the place through her eyes, and realized how small and cluttered it must look. He was never home long enough to clean up the way he should, and he had absolutely no interest in decorating. He snatched one of his jackets off the recliner. “It’s not fancy, but it works for me.” She nodded. “You have eclectic taste. I like it.” Eclectic? He raised his eyebrows. “Thank you, I think.” “You’re welcome.” “Bedrooms are upstairs. I’ll set you up across the hall from me.” He didn’t want to think about her being so close, when he couldn’t touch her. He ran his hands down his thighs. She looked at him. “What about supper?” “I don’t have much here,” he said, suddenly realizing he was starving. He’d been too busy to eat lunch. “How about we order in Mexican or Chinese?” “Chinese sounds good.” “Great.” He felt better. “Come on. I’ll show you where you’ll sleep, and then we’ll order.” Gracie’s heart swelled as she followed him up the narrow staircase. He knew she hadn’t wanted to come here, yet he was doing his best to make her feel welcome. Which she did, even though the house wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Instead of being decorated in stark bachelor pad chic, it screamed comfort. And except for a little clutter, it was extremely clean. Nick probably wasn’t at home long enough to make much of a mess. He halted on the landing, and she bumped into him. “Careful,” he said, reaching out to steady her. His forearm brushed her breast, and electricity streaked through her. Her cheeks flamed. To her embarrassment, the corners of his mouth twitched. She jerked away from him before he could speak and stammered, “H-have you lived here long? “About a year,” he said, a smile playing over his lips. “I used to live out near the mall in a fancy apartment complex, but it wasn’t a good fit for me.” “This place is perfect.” “It’s not much, but it’s where I live.” A weary smile arched his lips. “I like the French Quarter.” “Doesn’t it get noisy sometimes?”

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“Yeah, especially during Mardi Gras. But I’m usually working 24/7 then anyway,” he said. “I lock the place up and stay away until the parades are over.” He started down the hall and motioned for her to follow him. “This way.” He led her to a small bedroom containing a pair of twin beds, both of which were covered with colorful faded quilts, a beautiful armoire, and an antique dresser with an oval beveled mirror. The room soothed her. She smiled. “This is nice.” “I’ll be right across the hall.” “That’s your room?” “Yeah.” He looked at her. “Wanna see it?” “Sure.” She was curious. She watched as he opened the door. Then she stepped inside. His room was larger than the guestroom, with creamy white walls and a worn braided rug. A heavy weight bench and a stack of weights sat in the corner. An unmade king-sized bed, a matching dresser, a chest of drawers, an overstuffed chair, and an ancient cedar chest took up the rest of the space. A 20-inch TV was perched on the chest of drawers, and a sleek silver sound system claimed one end of the cedar chest. The quilt on the bed was masculine, and coordinated with the curtains. Pillows were tossed helter-skelter. “It looks comfortable, too,” she said, picturing Nick sprawled beneath the covers. Naked. Her face grew hot, and she turned away. “We’d better order that food.” “All right.” He met her eyes. “I can do it if you want to freshen up.” “Okay. Sure.” Craving some time alone, she backed from the room. “I like sesame chicken.” “You’ve got it.” He smiled. “See you downstairs.” He slipped past her and disappeared down the hall. She halted in the doorway and shook her head. Staying here was a big mistake. She might be safe from Jerry and David hidden away in Nick Marconi’s house, but her heart was in grave danger. ***** The time yet hadn’t changed to Daylight Savings Time, so the darkness was growing thick by the time David left the compact on Bourbon Street and hiked the five blocks to Bienville. He’d already cased Nick’s residence, so he knew where to go. Raucous music blared from a joint on the corner and patrons with beers in hand loitered at tables on the sidewalk. He scoffed at them. Peons. He kept close to the wall, trying to blend into the shadows so no one would remember seeing him pass. The sheathed knife at the small of his back burned like a brand. He felt like passersby could see it, and would know everything he planned to do. His palms grew sweaty. He halted down the street from Nick’s house and lounged against the wall of a voodoo shop, thankful it had closed for the day. Heat radiated off the brown plaster to warm his back. Too bad it couldn’t thaw his icy heart. The picture of Gracie with Nick Marconi flashed into his mind’s eye, and anger rocketed through him. His sister had betrayed him. So now she had to die.

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He reached beneath his coat and felt for the small .22 caliber pistol and holster he’d strapped to his belt, just in case. The knife secured to his waist by a taut strap. Death encased in leather. He could already smell Gracie’s blood on his hands. Yet this kill was different, because it was so personal. Gracie was his half-sister. She’d stood by him through his years in prison and both times he had been released. She’d counseled him and tried her best to soothe the savage beast that raged within his soul. It hadn’t worked. The only catharsis for his pain was blood. Jasmine’s, Maria’s, and Sierra’s. Then there had been Patti, Donna, and Ann. All bled out by his hand. Their blood had been iced down and stored for later use. Sometimes he even took a sip of it, to calm his raging bloodlust. A light blinked on in Marconi’s place. David’s heart thudded against his ribs. He took a long breath and crept closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of Gracie through the curtains. No luck. He suppressed a growl of rage. His vision grew red and hazy, and his head hurt. His hands flew to his temples. Not now. Please. He squeezed his head and wished he could shake it hard enough to clear his muddled thoughts. He had to stay lucid, so he could keep watch. All night, if necessary. He looked up and blinked as a car roared by. Unnerved, he slipped deeper into the shadows. Across the way, Marconi’s house was quiet as death. An ink-black cat skulked along the fence beside it, not making a sound. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a fleeting movement. He narrowed his gaze. A cold shiver rolled over his skin. Yes. It was a man, lurking in the shadows on the other side of the street just south of Marconi’s small abode. Watching the house. David held his breath and unsheathed the knife. Its sleek bone handle was warm from contact with his clammy skin. His heart in his throat, he crept sideways along the wall, careful to stay hidden deep in the shadows. The man never moved. His eyes were riveted to the house. David’s skin grew slick with sweat as he moved through the night, intent on his prey. Cars came and went. He ignored them. Then all at once, a laughing couple emerged from an apartment down the street, their echoing giggles sending ripples of disgust up his spine. The Watcher turned and focused on them. They looked David’s way. He flattened himself to the wall and went still. His pulse pounded in his ears. If he was seen now, this close to Marconi’s place, the result would not be good. Seconds passed. Finally, the laughing couple turned and disappeared around the corner, and The Watcher returned his rapt gaze to Marconi’s double front doors. David breathed a silent sigh of relief. Perspiration dripped to soak his waistband. He pretended his skin wasn’t chafed and turned the filet knife over in his hand. The handle fit his palm perfectly. One swipe across The Watcher’s exposed throat would send him straight to hell. A tremor of satisfaction slid over David’s taut skin as he crossed the street.

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Just as he reached the sidewalk, the man turned and scurried toward the tiny courtyard beside the house next door. David cursed. He waited a beat, and tailed The Watcher through the open gate and into a shadowy communal area. The man disappeared around the back of the house. The knife hot in his hand, David spat another expletive. Then he followed The Watcher into the darkness.

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Chapter Fifteen Nick paid the deliveryman and closed the front door. He turned toward the stairs and yelled, “Food’s here.” “Okay. I’ll be right down,” Gracie called. A lump rose in Nick’s throat. He halted and stared up at the landing. Hearing her musical voice drift down the stairs in his home was a balm to that place inside him that hadn’t stopped aching since Jasmine died. It also reminded him of everything he couldn’t have. He tightened his jaw and turned away. Her footsteps sounded on the steps. “Did you get wontons?” “Wontons?” He put the food on the table along with two bottles of cold water, and turned to see her stride down the hall. She’d changed into faded jeans and a soft pink T-shirt, and had her hair pulled back in a pony tail. She looked like a teenager. He met those gorgeous green eyes, and couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I got ‘em.” “Good.” Her lips tilted, and he felt like a kid himself. He shook off the urge to grab her and pull her into his arms. “Let’s eat.” Food was the last thing on his mind, but he pulled out a chair for her. Once she was seated, he sat down. “I can’t believe Jerry’s so hard to find.” She dished rice, sesame chicken, and broccoli onto her plate. “Seems like he’s everywhere.” “He knows we’re looking for him.” “Do you think he knows I’m here?” Her eyes searched his face. Nick filled his plate and forked up some rice. “Probably. He knew where you were staying before, and he saw you with me. Hell, it won’t take him long to put two and two together.” “What about David?” Nick chewed the rice, swallowed, and washed it down with a slug of water. “He’s a question mark.” “A dangerous one.” She plucked two wontons from their box and put them on her plate. “If I’d only known he’d crossed a line, maybe I could have stopped him.” “Like I said before, you couldn’t possibly have known. But you can help us now.” His fork in one hand, Nick crunched on a wonton. “Share your diagnosis with me.” “I can’t do that. Doctor-patient privilege.” “The man has killed five women that we know about.” Nick put down his fork. Gracie picked up a wonton and snapped it in two. “Including Jasmine?” “Yeah. He killed my sister, and I put the wrong man away for his crime. Now O’Neill may have really murdered someone.” He shook his head. “That makes it my fault.” “Why is it your fault a psychopath commits murder?”

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“I put O’Neill behind bars for six years, for nothing. He’s angry.” “Angry enough to kill?” Nick stared down at his plate as a vision of Delia Bates’ mutilated body sprang into his mind. He quickly lost his appetite. Fighting the pain roiling within him, he pushed his plate away and looked at Gracie. “We found his girlfriend dead, with her arms and legs hacked off.” “Oh my God.” Gracie tossed half of the uneaten wonton on her napkin. Her face turned an odd shade of green. He cursed himself. “Damn it, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, especially while you were eating.” “I’m tired,” she said, abruptly jerking away from the table. Tears glistened in her eyes as she stood and dropped her napkin beside her plate. “I’m going to bed.” “I didn’t mean to upset you.” “You didn’t.” A wisp of a smile ghosted across her lips. “It’s just . . . been a really long day. Guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.” “If you’re ready to turn in, I’ll walk you upstairs.” He started to rise. She held up her hand. “No. Don’t get up. I’m fine by myself. Goodnight.” Before he could stop her, she fled the room. Nick’s description of the murdered woman had made her nauseous, but it hadn’t upset her as much as his constant questioning. As a detective, it was his nature. He needed to solve this case. He thought nothing about hammering away at her resistance, trying his best to get her to talk about what had been revealed in David’s sessions. She couldn’t do it. So instead of breaking the sacred bonds of doctor-patient confidentiality, she climbed the stairs to Nick’s lonely guestroom. Alone. The thought of him sleeping across the hall from her unnerved her, but she would endure. She had no choice. Turning to him in her despair was out of the question. Gracie kept her eyes averted from his door as she entered the guestroom. She truly was tired. She hadn’t lied to him about that. What she needed was a long, hot shower and to curl up in one of those narrow beds all by herself. She grabbed the sack containing her meager collection of clothing and toiletries and hurried into the tiny bathroom. The fixtures were old, but the water shooting from the bathtub faucet scalded her hand. She adjusted it until it was just right, and shucked her clothes. The spray pummeling her back felt wonderful to her weary muscles. She took her time washing her hair and shaving her legs. Yet as much as she wanted to linger beneath the water’s soothing warmth, she knew she needed to get out before she fell asleep standing up. She patted herself dry, slathered moisturizer on her arms and legs, and dragged on her nightshirt. After brushing her teeth, she was ready for sleep. The clock on the table between the twin beds read only eight o’clock, but she pulled back the covers and slipped between the sheets anyway, and her tired body began to relax for the first time in days. Yes, knowing Nick would sleep across the hall was disturbing, but it also made her feel safe. He was a cop, like her father, and although that fact disturbed her, she found it also drew her to him. She longed to help him chase away the thick cloud of grief that had

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shrouded his life since Jasmine’s death, and to ease his guilt over putting O’Neill away for David’s crime. But she knew she had to keep her distance, or she risked losing her heart. ***** Nick sat at the table a long time after Gracie went upstairs. He wanted to kick himself for describing Delia’s mutilated body. How could he have been so cruel? Yet he knew that, deep inside, he hadn’t been trying to hurt Gracie. He had been trying to protect her. To construct an impenetrable wall between them, so he wouldn’t do what he wanted most To seduce her. Hearing her turn on the shower, he tried desperately to keep his thoughts on the case, but he couldn’t help imagining her standing naked beneath the biting spray as water and suds sluiced over her pert breasts and rolled down between her sleek thighs. Her nipples would grow hard, just like he was. And she would wash herself all over, her washcloth delving into crevices he longed to explore. Stop it. He gritted his teeth. His jeans had become unbearably tight. He had to get his mind back on the case. So he leapt to his feet and began putting away the food with short, jerky movements. He dumped their half-eaten plates in the garbage and hurriedly rinsed them before stowing them in the dishwasher. Then he put away their water bottles and wiped the table. Finally, the noise from the shower ceased. Nick took a series of slow, even breaths and raked his hands through his cropped hair. Don’t think about her, he told himself. But he couldn’t get those gorgeous green eyes out of his head. Tonight they’d mirrored a sadness brought on by his attempt to distance her. His ploy had worked too well. Angry with himself, he turned out the light and started upstairs. ***** David rounded the corner of the house and halted in the shadows, trying desperately to find The Watcher in the growing darkness before the man spotted him. He wasn’t there. His knife gripped tightly in his right hand, David crept along the narrow alley. A dark sports car was parked about twenty feet away, its passenger door nearly kissing the far wall. No sign of movement, no place for The Watcher to hide. Where had he gone? The warm, humid breeze buffeted David’s face. A fleck of sand hit his cheek. He brushed it away. Took another step, and more grains rained down on him. With a murmured curse, he looked up. The fire escape. Of course. A spear of anger stabbed his pride when he spotted The Watcher standing on the second floor landing peering into the house through a window. He should have checked there first. But the ladder wasn’t down, so he had dismissed it.

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Eager to stay hidden, he melted into the shadows near the car and considered his options. Clouds had begun rolling in over the moon, and thunder rumbled on the other side of the river. He shifted the knife to his left hand and wiped his brow. His eyes locked on the man high above him. A blitz attack. Death would come quickly, and blood would flow. Leaving the path clear for David to reach his half-sister. Gracie was waiting for him. All he had to do then was get past Marconi. ***** Nick resisted the urge to look in on Gracie, for fear he wouldn’t leave her room. She was lonely and beautiful, and she understood him like no woman ever had. But he didn’t want to compromise her integrity, so he fisted his hands and turned away from her door. His body throbbed as he went into his dark bedroom and closed the door. It hurt to know she was across the hall and he couldn’t have her. But that was out of the question. She was his shrink. Or rather, she had been until he’d kissed her. And he couldn’t put her in more danger by making her his. These days, that was a death sentence. But he couldn’t help it. He allowed himself a few seconds to relive their delicious kiss. Her mouth had been like warm silk, and her hands had roamed all over him. Damn it. He strode into the bathroom and turned the shower on COLD, ripped off his clothes, and climbed in. The icy water had an immediate effect on his body, and he clenched his jaw as he stared down at his shriveling manhood. Served him right. Once he finished showering, he pulled on a pair of briefs and dug through his box of case files until he found the one marked Jasmine. His fingers shook as he opened it and relived that horrible day when he’d entered his sister’s apartment and found her bloody body sprawled on the kitchen floor. He read and reread the pages of evidence like he had so many times before, only this time he put David Elliot’s name everywhere he had written Butch O’Neill. Elliot had been a stranger to Jasmine, but not to Nick. He’d put the scumbag in jail two years before, and that had obviously eaten away at Elliot the entire time he was behind bars. Because as soon as he was paroled, he found Nick’s little sister. A potent combination of guilt and disgust swirled inside Nick’s chest. It was his fault Jasmine was dead, because he’d arrested Elliot. But if he hadn’t— He shook his head. It was a Catch-22. Any way he moved, he lost. By the time he put away the file and climbed into bed, he was bone tired and had driven all thoughts of sex and Gracie from his mind. The darkness in the room was complete, except for the alarm clock’s eerie blue light. Ten o’clock. He’d wasted almost two hours going over Jasmine’s file, and he’d learned nothing new. Nick closed his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep, but his mind refused to rest. Dead women, covered in blood and sliced to the bone, danced past him in a macabre limbo line of pain. Their terrified expressions taunted him.

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He tossed and turned, trying to banish their faces from his mind. But he kept returning to Jasmine. She was dead because of him. His little sister. Lying alone on the icy linoleum, her arms splayed out in a pugilistic pose like a prizefighter preparing to make a punch, which told him she had fought back. Only she hadn’t been strong enough. None of them had. Blood. Sliced flesh. The stench of death. Maria, Sierra, Patti, Donna, Strahan, his partner, Danny. The march of the dead was never ending. Nick cried out and sat up, cold sweat drenching his taut body. Darkness swirled around him. His chest ached. Struggling to breathe, he gasped for air. The door flew open. “Nick?” Gracie’s soft voice penetrated his shroud of pain. “Nick, are you all right?” He tried to speak, but his throat closed up. She rushed to his side and sat down on the edge of the bed. “What’s the matter? Did you have a nightmare?” “Yeah,” he finally rasped, his throat scratchy. His heart ached. “Jasmine—” “Does this happen often?” Gracie asked. She cupped his taut jaw with her hand, and her fingers were cool against his fiery skin. Although he knew he shouldn’t, he leaned into her hand. But he didn’t speak. He couldn’t. It hurt too much. She lowered her voice. “Every night?” He closed his eyes and curled in on himself. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said quietly. She stroked her thumb across his cheek. “I’m so sorry.” Her sincere words soothed him like nothing else ever had. He longed to see her eyes, but he had to be satisfied with the nearness of her scantily clad body and the solace of her heady feminine scent. Clean and crisp, with just the barest hint of vanilla. She dropped her hand from his face and took his hand. “Do you want to talk about it?” “You’re not my therapist any more, remember?” he said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. She stiffened, and tried to pull her hand free. “I’m only trying to help you.” “Wait. I know.” He held fast to her fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” “Yes, you did. You’re angry with me.” “Not angry,” he said, his voice growing raspy with need. “Frustrated. Because I want—” Knowing he shouldn’t say anything else, he halted. “Never mind. You should go back to your room.” “Nick, please don’t shut me out. Tell me. What is it you want?” her voice was brittle, like she was frightened. Hell, he was probably scaring her to death. They were alone in his bedroom, and he wouldn’t let go of her hand. She smelled like heaven. He wanted to eat her alive. At least she didn’t know he was rock hard. The darkness shielded him, but still he shifted to camouflage the bulge he knew had to be tenting the sheets. Gracie slid closer to him. He was hurting, and she wanted to ease his pain. Yet the crack in his voice told her pain wasn’t all he was feeling. He wanted her.

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Damn it, she wanted him too. She could no longer deny it. He was a haven of strength, a place for her to hide from the world. He would keep her safe. And it didn’t hurt that he smelled like soap and virile man, a delicious combination. She found herself wanting to kiss his warm skin to see if it tasted sweet or salty. A fine tremor slid through her as she squeezed his fingers. “Nick?” “What is it?” he asked her, his voice rough with suppressed passion. Her ravenous eyes searched his face. It was dark, but she could tell that he stared at her too, his gaze pouring over her like he could never see enough. She brought her free hand back to his cheek, and whispered, “Tell me what you want.” He swallowed, but didn’t speak. His stubbled cheek burned with a heat that went more than skin deep. She longed to press her lips there, to taste his prickly beard with the tip of her tongue. “I want you, Gracie,” he finally rasped. “I’ve tried not to say it, but I can’t help it. God, you’re so beautiful.” “Oh, Nick,” she breathed, relief skittering through her veins. “So are you.” She leaned forward and kissed him full on the mouth, catching his startled breath and throwing herself into his hard arms. His chest was like a granite wall. He tasted like mint toothpaste, cool and hot at the same time. Nick moaned and pulled her against him. She was soft and firm and curvy in all the right places. His body throbbed with need. He wanted her closer. “Come here,” he murmured, scooping his hands beneath her and tugging her onto his lap. Her bare thigh met his searing erection, and both of them gasped. “Are you happy to see me?” she whispered, clasping her hands around his neck and pressing her shirt-draped breasts to his hairy chest. “Or is that your duty piece?” He laughed sharply. “You mean my Glock?” “Call it whatever you want,” Gracie said. Then she giggled. The tension was broken. She shifted on his lap, making him moan. “Kiss me, Nick. Kiss me hard.” He did. A long, slow, deep, wet kiss that curled her toes and made her thighs quiver. She writhed against him. “Slow down, baby,” he whispered. His body was on fire. He gripped her hips and held her still. “You’re gonna make me lose control.” “That’s what I want,” she said in his ear. She kissed him there, and cupped him through his briefs. Then her hand went around him and squeezed his burning flesh. He almost came right then. “Gracie, stop,” he choked out, grabbing her wrist. He peeled her hand off his leaping flesh. “My God. Don’t do that!” She abruptly slid off his lap and stood up, her body bathed in the soft glow of the nightlight beside his bed. “Where are you going?” Desperate to stay in contact, he slid his legs off the bed and reached for her. “Come here.” “Not yet.” She dodged him and pulled her nightshirt off over her head. He swallowed, hard. She was absolutely gorgeous. All creamy white skin, pert breasts, and smooth muscle, except for that caramel patch of hair marking the V of her thighs.

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He reached out again, and this time she didn’t move. He ran both hands up her firm thighs and over her buttocks. The softness of her skin made him want to weep. Moisture pooled between her legs. “Touch me,” she breathed, desperate to rub herself against her drenched flesh. He slipped his hand between her legs and found her damp center. The earthy smell of her core rocked him. He slid one, then two fingers inside her, pumping them in and out slowly, groaning as her body melted around his hand. She cried out his name and began to move with him. After a few more delicious moments he pulled his hand free, dragged her close, and buried his face between her legs. The musky warmth of her filled his mouth. “Oh, Nick!” she cried, fisting her hands in his hair. She lost track of time as he hungrily nipped and suckled her, his tongue delving into her most secret places. In what seemed like seconds she came, her body convulsing in a wild dance of passion that threw her out into space and spun her in circles. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t let go of him. Not until she finally came down to earth, her body trembling uncontrollably. Never before had she felt so wanton, or so free. So much like a woman. His mouth and chin glistening, Nick looked up at her and grinned. “I like that. Kiss me.” She knelt down, and he pulled her to him. She tasted herself on his lips. It was sexy and wicked, and it empowered her. She looked up at him shyly and cupped his balls through his briefs. He let out a slow, aching breath, and caught her arm. “Wh-what are you doing?” “Returning the favor?” Her eyes searched his. She wanted more than anything to soothe the savage beast writhing inside him, only she didn’t know how. “That is, if you want me to.” “Are you sure?” he asked. “Yes,” she said softly. “I want to taste you.” He moaned, and leaned back on his elbows. Her hands shook as she peeled off his white briefs and watched his thick erection leap to attention. She smiled. He’d been right about not being sexually dysfunctional. He was hard as stone. He held himself rigid, steeling himself for the silken touch of her mouth. Then her tongue flicked over him, tentatively at first, and he growled low in his throat. Satisfaction filled her. He liked this. Wanting to please him, she let her mouth tell him everything her heart was afraid to say. That she loved him. His eyes rolled back, and he moaned her name. ***** Filthy whore. White-hot anger rocketed through Jerry as he peered in through the only window he could reach from the rickety fire escape. Detective Marconi’s bedroom.

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Jerry had thought Gracie was virginal. Pure. But she’d just dropped to her knees like a porn star and was happily sucking the detective dry. With a vicious snarl, Jerry fisted his hands. He wanted to grab Gracie’s neck and squeeze it until her eyes popped. She didn’t deserve to live. Not after betraying him in such a disgusting way. All he’d wanted was to be her friend. Her lover. He’d never had a girlfriend, and he’d thought she liked him. And she had, until she’d met Marconi. Jerry reached in his pocket and pulled out the glasscutter he’d brought with him, just in case. He looked around. He could reach the window in the room next to Marconi’s if he leaned over the railing. Perfect. He braced himself and pressed the center of the cutter about six inches below the window’s ancient lock. Then he began pushing the diamond-tipped cutting tip around it. Slowly and carefully, trying not to make any noise. Soon, very soon, he would be inside. And he would kill them both.

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Chapter Sixteen “Gracie, my God. Stop!” Nick growled, tugging hard at her hair. “You don’t have to keep—” His voice broke off as she inhaled him once again. The hard drawing of her lips, mouth, and tongue pulled at his soul and sent him spinning over the edge. He tried to hold back, but her body was hot on his, her hands stroked his balls, and tears glittered on her cheeks. She was so beautiful. She understood him. And despite all his flaws, she still wanted him. “Gracie!” he cried, his body bucking off the bed. “My beautiful Gracie.” He came in a violent rush, his hips convulsing again and again. His body was a fountain. She drank him in. Finally, his climax wound down. He stared in amazement at Gracie and struggled to breathe. He hadn’t meant to taint her pretty mouth. He expected her to jerk away and spit out the liquid that had come from his body. He released her, so she could. But instead, she closed her eyes, licked her lips, and swallowed. His heart turned over. “Gracie?” Without saying a word, she wiped her lips on the sheet and climbed on top of him. Her body was slim and cool and fit him like a glove. He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight. No one had ever done that for him. No one had ever cared so much, had ever understood him, heart and soul. He held on to Gracie for what seemed like hours, alternately stroking her back and kissing her cheek. Then he eased her head up and kissed her mouth, reveling in the hot, salty taste of himself on her lips. He was instantly hard again. He started to speak, but Gracie pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Love me,” she said softly. “Please.” Lord, help him. Unable to stop himself, he rolled her over and obliged her. Her body was slick and ready and as he entered her, she sank her fingernails into his back. “God, Nick,” she cried, her heart pounding in perfect rhythm with his. “Yes!” His thickness filled her with exquisite pain, which swiftly turned to pleasure. Then he began to move, slowly at first, then faster and faster, daring her to keep up. Which she did. He growled her name in admiration, and a shiver coursed through her. She’d never felt so close to anyone. Not ever. Was this what love was like? Hoping so, she smiled up into his eyes, which seared clear through to her hungry soul. Nick lost himself in her. All the pain, all the grief, all the heart-wrenching loneliness of the past five years dropped away with the look of adoration in Gracie’s gorgeous green eyes and her sweet, lithe body arching beneath his. His heart swelled, and he knew that at that very moment, he began to heal.

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***** David pressed himself to the wall across from the house and peered up at The Watcher, who now hung precariously off the end of the second floor landing on the fire escape. He had something dark in his hand. With a deep frown, David slipped to the edge of the car parked in the alley. What the hell was he up to? The man pressed the object to the window past the landing and began maneuvering it in a slow circle. David’s eyes widened. He was cutting the glass, so he could go inside the house after Gracie. No fucking way. Adrenaline flashed through David. He looked around, and an idea popped into his head. He eyed the building next door. It had no ladder, at least not back here. He needed to check the rest of the house. He edged back into the shadows and crept silently past the parked car. The Watcher was glued to his task, and David began to breathe a little easier. He quickly rounded the corner into another alley, which led back to Bienville Street. He looked up. Yes. Another fire escape, this one leading to the roof. Perfect. He wiped his slick palms on his pants, reached up, and grasped the rusty black ladder with both hands. It screeched as he pulled it free, and he held his breath. A dog barked a few streets over. Sweat cascaded down David’s spine. He glanced around as fear pummeled him, swallowing as a dark car rushed by on Bienville, its tires sending trash flying into the air. The humid breeze carried the disgusting odors of eggs, old grease, and stale cigarettes. His nose twitched. Yet to his great relief, nobody appeared. Another minute passed, and he slowly lowered the ladder, moving it only an inch at a time in case it screeched again. It didn’t. Finally, after a few more tugs, it was in place. He glanced around again, saw no one, and scurried up the ladder like a monkey. The ancient iron rungs creaked softly with his weight. He drew in a sharp breath as he reached the first landing. Waited a beat. The wind ruffled his hair. He touched the knife at the small of his back and peered down the alley. A pair of taxis passed each other on the street. He wiped his face and began climbing once again. This building was taller than Marconi’s, a full three stories to the detective’s two. So David had to clamber up a third ladder to reach the roof. By the time he’d made it, his shirt was stuck to his back and he was breathing hard. Thick clouds tumbled above him as he tiptoed through the darkness to the other side of the building. The roof of Marconi’s house was at least fifteen feet below. David searched for a way down. There was none. He would have to jump, and pray he didn’t break his legs. Another surge of adrenaline fired through him as he trained his fierce gaze into the darkness. He had

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to hurry, before The Watcher broke into the house. Damn him for interfering with David’s plans. One. David rubbed his hands together. He wouldn’t think about it. Two. The breeze kicked up another notch, bringing the fetid odor of mud up from the river. He glanced up briefly, and gritted his teeth. Three. He held his breath and leapt down into the abyss. ***** The house shimmied. Nick opened his eyes and looked around. The darkness in the room was complete. Nothing seemed amiss. Still, his nerves were on edge and he lay awake for a long time, listening. Gracie’s head rested on his shoulder, and she was wrapped around him like a second skin. He registered her soft, even breathing, the muffled sound of traffic, and the low whir of the five-blade ceiling fan. He rubbed her back. “Gracie, did you feel that?” “Um-hmm? Yes. The earth moved. Three times,” she said sleepily. She kissed his shoulder and snuggled closer. “But I need to rest now. Go back to sleep.” “I don’t mean the sex,” he said, smiling as he remembered. Yeah. The earth had definitely moved. “I’m talking about the house moving. It was weird.” He drew in a deep breath. Maybe he’d only imagined that it had shuddered. He shook his head. “Never mind.” “Are you sure?” she asked, her hand drifting through the hairs on his chest. “Yeah.” He caught her fingers and brought them to his lips, and then turned his head and kissed her mouth, its silky warmth making him want her all over again. But he knew she needed to sleep. So he stroked his hand down her spine and urged her head back onto his shoulder. “Get some rest, Gracie. Everything’s okay.” “Good.” she murmured. “I love you.” His heart flip-flopped. She loved him? Was that sleep talking, or did she really mean it? Either way, no one had said those three words to him since his sister died. Moisture filled his eyes, and he tightened his hold on Gracie. He didn’t like being so connected to her that he didn’t feel whole unless he was with her. It scared the hell out of him. Because…what would he do tomorrow? And the next day, and the next, after he told her he couldn’t see her any more? Nick dashed his free hand over his eyes. He loved her too, damn it. But he had to let her go. Women who loved him always died. His sisters, his mother, all the women he’d ever dated—not that all of them had loved him, but every one of them had been connected with him in some distant way, until David Elliot had severed that connection with their brutal deaths. Besides, Gracie didn’t trust cops. Every day she’d wake up and wonder if that was the day he would betray her like her father had. He couldn’t let her live like that. So he held her tight against him, wishing like hell things could be different, that he was different. That he and Gracie could actually have a life together. “I love you, too,” he whispered to her softly, his breath stirring her hair. She never moved.

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Nick cried himself to sleep. ***** David hit the gravel-covered roof of Marconi’s house and rolled, popping up on the balls of his feet beside a sharp-edged metal vent. Thank God he hadn’t hit that damned thing when he’d jumped. His breath whooshed out in relief. He crouched down and scrubbed his hands over his sweat-covered face. His legs trembled, and his pulse pounded wildly in his ears. To ease his taut nerves, he reached behind his back for the knife. It was still there. He plucked it from its worn leather sheath and tested the razor sharp blade with his thumb. Pain seared him and blood beaded on his skin. He smiled. Just right. He sucked the blood from his thumb and tiptoed across the roof until he stood just above where he imagined The Watcher to be. His heart in his throat, David peeked over the edge. Sure enough, the other man was right below him, his gaze intent on the metal and plastic gadget fastened to the window. Another few minutes, and he would pull the circle of glass free, unlock the window, and wriggle inside. David gauged the distance to the fire escape. Not quite as far from him as where he’d just jumped. The Watcher’s attention was still trained on the window. David edged to the other end of the landing. To get to Gracie he had to do this, and he had to do it right. He would have only one chance to drop, rush the guy, and slice his throat. The wind whipped over David’s sweat-slicked skin as The Watcher suddenly stopped what he was doing and murmured softly to himself. Then, using both hands, he tugged hard on the gadget attached to the glass, and a neat circle popped free. David swallowed. Time to move. He put the knife in his teeth, grasped the edge of the roof, and silently lowered himself over it, sliding down until his full length dangled flat against the side of the old red brick building. He glanced sideways at The Watcher, who now had his arm inside the window and was struggling to unlock it. David looked down. The drop to the landing was only about four feet. He counted down from three, and then let go. His feet hit the weathered metal with a soft whang. The Watcher dropped the circle of glass, which bounced off the railing below and crashed to the ground. Ripping the knife from his teeth, David rushed him, catching him as he turned in fright. One quick sweep of the knife across The Watcher’s neck severed his carotid artery and sent blood spurting through the hole in the window. The man gurgled for a moment, and then went still. David let him go. He flipped over the railing in eerie slow motion, falling two stories to land flat on his back in the empty alley, with one leg twisted clumsily beneath him. Satisfaction flooded through David. Then he sobered. Gracie was still inside the house, with Marconi. That would never do. He stared intently at the hole in the window. And he smiled. This entry point was his now.

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***** The house shuddered again. Nick’s eyes flew open, and he glanced at the alarm clock. Ten o’clock. It wasn’t late. What the hell was going on outside? Gracie was sound asleep. Instead of waking her up, he wiped his gritty eyes and slipped from beneath her. Then he gently settled her onto his pillow and covered her with the sheet and quilt. She wallowed deeper beneath the covers and curled into a ball. He smiled sadly and kissed her temple. The soft tinkle of glass shattering sent his heart into overdrive. He jerked upright and dove for his clothes. In only seconds he had pulled on jeans and a black T-shirt, grabbed the Glock, and checked its magazine. He peeked out the back window. Nothing moved. His nerves thrummed as he started for the door. Just as he started into the hall, his cell phone rang. With a sharp curse, he bolted back inside. The device sat on the bedside table, its tiny screen shining bright blue in the darkness as it vibrated against the worn wood. “What’s the matter?” Gracie asked, blinking at him owlishly as she turned over. Her hair stood straight up. He shook his head and snatched up the phone. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.” Nick pressed the device to his ear and turned away. “Marconi.” “Nick, we need you over in Kenner.” Parker’s anxious voice met his ear. “Pronto. I’ve lined up a uniform to keep watch at Dr. Simmons’s place.” He went ice cold inside. Dread filtered through him as he gritted his teeth. “Another body? Do you have an ID on this one?” “It’s not that.” Hope speared him. “No body?” “Not this time.” Satisfaction filled Parker’s tone. “Andretti’s unearthed David Elliot’s hidey hole. We got a storage unit filled with frozen and refrigerated blood. That boy’s gonna make one hell of a detective some day.” “Son of a bitch.” “What is it?” Gracie’s hoarse voice echoed in the quiet room. She slid her legs over the side of the bed and pulled the sheet and quilt tightly around her. Nick held up his hand to keep her quiet as the Captain rattled off the address. He grabbed a pad and pen from the nightstand and jotted it down. Then he tossed the pen back on the nightstand. “Thanks, Captain. I’ll be there soon as the uni arrives.” Nick ended the call and looked at Gracie. “Andretti found the bastard’s storage unit. We’ve got the blood.” “You have to go?” “Yeah.” Too damned soon. He’d hoped they’d have the whole night to enjoy each other. To love. But it wasn’t to be. He raked a frustrated hand through his hair. “Parker’s sending a uniformed officer over to keep watch on the house.” “That’s not necessary,” she said, blinking up at him. He frowned. “Yes, it is. I’ve been hearing noises. I’m not leaving you here all alone.”

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“All right.” She stood up with the sheet draped around her like a toga. With her hair in sexy disarray and the roses from their ardent lovemaking on her cheeks, she was so beautiful. A smile crept over his face. If only he could stay and love her one last time. He reached out and stroked his thumb over her kiss-bruised lips. “Thank you for the most wonderful night of my life.” “You say that like it’s the only time we’ll ever be together.” Her cautious gaze flicked over him. To keep from responding, he kissed her. Her mouth was warm and wet, and it tasted like both of them. He lingered as long as he dared. A loud knock on the front door broke them apart. “That’s gotta be the cop Parker sent,” he rasped, feathering his fingers down her cheek. He kissed her soundly one last time, and let her go. “Go back to sleep. I’ll let the officer know where you are. He’ll keep you safe.” “Okay,” she said, her green eyes glistening with tears. She clung to him. “Tell me I’ll see you in the morning. Please.” “We’ll talk later,” he said. He tightened his jaw to keep from saying more. His heart was breaking, but he didn’t want her to know that. Not just yet. ***** David pushed the window open and levered himself onto the railing’s middle rung. His breath slid out in long, deep pants. Calm down, he told himself. He leaned against the warm bricks and briefly closed his eyes. Vertigo threatened to topple him, but he shook it off and concentrated on his goal. Gracie. His half-sister, but still a traitor. The knife burned the small of David’s back. He’d wiped The Watcher’s blood off the blade with the inside of his shirt, and slipped it back into its leather sheath. Its presence was a constant reminder that Gracie had to die. He gripped the window ledge with both hands and took a deep breath. His nerves jangling, he put one foot on the top rail, slipped, and caught himself. Before he could try again, a pair of bright lights lanced down the alley, followed by the deep growl of an engine. A car. David held his breath. He was totally exposed, hanging here on the rusty railing like a damned monkey. Then another light, more brilliant than the headlights, raked the back of the house next door. A spotlight. Shit. He made out a light bar on top of the car, saw its obvious markings. It was the fucking cops. Sweat dripped down his back. Had someone seen him and called them? Or maybe they’d seen Jerry fall. David cringed when he thought about the man’s body lying down below. The cops would see it at any moment. He had to move. His pulse pounding, he looked up. If he stood on the top railing, he might just have a chance to go back the way he’d come. Otherwise, he was going to jail.

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Without looking down, he levered himself onto the thin metal bar and grabbed the edge of the roof. The gravel bit into his fingers, but he ignored the pain and pulled himself straight up using only the wiry strength of his arms. Thank goodness he wasn’t overweight. His breath shot out and the sting of sweat filled his eyes. He landed on the roof on his right shoulder and wriggled forward, face down, until he could get one knee over the top. Then he rolled over on his back and jerked his other leg up. The light swept the landing and ground below him, and a muffled shout echoed off the bricks. They’d found the body. Breathing hard, he considered his situation. The area around the house would soon be swarming with cops. He had to stay put, and pray they didn’t look on the roof. His blood raced as he sat up and pulled out the prepaid cell he’d bought just two days ago, in case he got in a predicament like this. The device was untraceable. He keyed up the number of Gracie’s service and stared at it long and hard. Then he smiled an evil smile. In just a little while, it would be time for one of her most disturbed patients to have a mental health emergency. After he grabbed the woman, of course.

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Chapter Seventeen Gracie poured a cup of coffee for Patrolman Joe Keller, the officer Nick’s boss had sent over to guard her. Her nerves rattled, she’d thrown on her clothes the second Nick had left and had busied herself bustling about the kitchen. “You’re sure another car is out back?” She met Officer Keller’s hazel eyes as she handed him the steaming cup. He was dark and tall, a younger, rangier version of Nick. He wrapped both large hands around the mug, and nodded. “Captain Parker wanted to make sure you’re covered, since Detective Marconi had to leave. We won’t let you down.” “That makes me feel better.” Keller raised the cup. “Thanks for the brew.” “You’re welcome. Would you like something to eat? I don’t know what Nick has around here, but there is some Chinese food left over from supper. I could fix you a plate.” “No thank you, ma’am. I’m not hungry.” His radio cackled, and he turned it down. “I’m going to take a look around the house, to make sure all windows and doors are secure. Just in case.” “Thank you,” Gracie said, relieved. She swallowed the last of her coffee and put her cup in the sink. As she headed back upstairs, Keller spoke into his radio in a concerned voice. His words didn’t register with her. It was after eleven o’clock, and she was exhausted. Good sex had its drawbacks. She thought of Nick and the things they’d done to each other with their mouths, and her cheeks grew hot. A warm tingle spread throughout her body. She’d never done any of that with a man before, but with Nick it had seemed perfectly natural, both ways. They were like two matching puzzle pieces that had found each other at last. Two halves of the same whole. Then she remembered how oddly he’d acted when he left. Sure, he’d held her and kissed her, but he’d also pulled away emotionally, like he was trying to distance himself. So it wouldn’t hurt so much when he said goodbye. Hot tears filled her eyes. Damn it. She was going to cry. She hurried down the hall and entered the guest room. The room was quiet. Too quiet. She spotted her purse on the dresser and checked her beeper. Nothing. A lone tear slipped down her cheek. She couldn’t stay here, in this tomb-like room. She wanted to be with Nick. He wasn’t in the house, but she could do the next best thing. A trembling smile arced her lips as she snatched up her purse and crossed the hall to Nick’s bedroom. The bed was a tangle of sheets, pillows, and his worn quilt, and the air still carried the musky scent of sex. Satisfied, she closed the door and wiped her eyes.

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Maybe returning to this room was a mistake, but she couldn’t help it. His bed beckoned. She pushed away from the door, dropped her purse on the floor and stripped off her clothes, then lay down on his pillow. The bedclothes smelled like him. She buried her face in them and inhaled. She loved him. There was no use denying it. Besides, she’d already told him how she felt. A knot formed in the center of her chest when she remembered his response. A kiss. That was it. No second hug, no warm smile, no loving words from his mouth. Gracie pulled the covers away from her face and bit down hard on her lip. Either he didn’t love her, or he was afraid to say it. An ache slid through her. She wouldn’t have guessed Nick Marconi was afraid of anything, except maybe someone else close to him dying. Suddenly, like a tidal wave, it hit her. That was it. He was afraid she would die. All the other women in his life had left him that way, so why should she be any different? Oh, Nick. Moisture filled her eyes. Wanting desperately to assure him that everything would be okay, she turned over and hugged his pillow. It was a poor substitute for his hard body. ***** Nick drove all the way to Kenner in silence, his thoughts on Gracie. He couldn’t get the picture of her on her knees in front of him out of his head. She was so beautiful, and she had tried so hard to please him. Hell, she had pleased him—more than any woman ever had. He clenched his teeth. Walking away from her tonight had ripped apart his fragile heart, and he knew he would never be the same again. Even now, so soon after leaving her, he felt like he was missing half of himself. If this was what love was like, he didn’t want it. He gripped the wheel and swore. Hell yes, he did want it. He wanted it, and Gracie, more than anything else in the world. But he couldn’t have her. Not if he wanted to keep her safe. And that hurt more than he ever could have imagined. He took the next exit onto Veteran’s Boulevard and aimed the sedan south toward the address Parker had given him. The light ahead abruptly turned red, and he stomped the brake. Nick shook his head and scowled. It was late, and he was driving on autopilot. He opened the window to help him clear his head. Cool air chilled his damp face and he blinked. Ten minutes later, he pulled into the narrow driveway at Boudreaux’s Pack It Up, flashed his badge at the attendant on duty at the gate, and drove around back. The SCID van, a marked cruiser, and Parker’s ugly blue ride took up most of the parking spaces. Nick pulled in down the way and walked back to the unit that was lit up like a baseball field on opening night. Parker met him beside the SCID van. The Captain’s dark eyes narrowed on his face. “How’s Dr. Simmons?” “Fine,” Nick snapped. He didn’t want to talk about Gracie. It hurt too damned much. He looked past Parker at the men busy stowing frost-covered buckets in the back of the vehicle. His eyes widened. “That’s the blood?” “Five big containers and several smaller ones were in the deep freeze,” Andretti said, walking up with a wide grin on his face. He indicated a twelve-foot chest freezer that claimed

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nearly the entire back wall of the storage unit. A squatty refrigerator stood to its left, along with a couple of cardboard boxes. “There were only a couple of pints in the fridge. We’ve got a package of bandanas too, and a box of clear glass vials.” Elliot was prepared. Nick walked around to the back of the van. Steeling himself, his let his gaze roam over the steaming containers lined up inside. One of them held Jasmine’s blood. His heart clutched. Parker walked up and put his hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” “No.” Nick shook his head as a wave of sorrow washed over him. He missed his sister so much. And now he missed Gracie, too. His eyes burned with unshed tears. Parker looked away. “Maybe I shouldn’t have called you down here.” Nick bowed up. “Think I can’t handle it?” “I didn’t say that.” “I can do my fucking job.” “I know.” “Then help me do it.” Nick turned back toward the bright lights and Andretti, and tightened his jaw. “Did they get any prints off the appliances?” “No.” Andretti’s smile faded. “Not a one. He must have either worn gloves or wiped ‘em clean. I’m betting on the latter.” “Probably so.” Nick jerked his gaze to Parker. “Well?” “You’re wondering what we have tying Elliot to this place,” his boss said. He smiled wryly. “Get this. The idiot used his real name on the lease. Gave the guy his social security number.” Nick barked a laugh. “Are you serious?” “Yeah.” Andretti wiped his face. Parker smiled. “Aren’t you glad crooks are stupid?” “He finally screwed up.” Nick felt like a ten ton weight had been lifted off him. They had Elliot, if they could just find the conniving bastard. “Any word on his whereabouts?” “No.” Parker’s expression darkened. “It’s like he’s vanished into thin air.” “He’d like us think that,” Andretti said. “Yeah.” Nick peered up at the roiling black sky. “He’s out there somewhere tonight. Working.” “I hope to hell not,” Parker snapped. “He’s left another body for me.” The moist wind sent an icy shiver skittering over Nick’s skin. The air smelled of fish and copper. The blood. He turned and stared into the van. “I can feel it.” Parker opened his mouth to speak, but right then one of the SCID boys rushed over and cut him off. “Captain, we just got another call. We’ll run the blood by the lab—but we gotta take off. The day unit will come back tomorrow and finish processing the scene.” “What have you got?” Parker asked. “A homicide.” The tech punched Nick’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s over by your place. Some dark alley off Bienville Street.” Cold fear flashed through Nick. His house was on Bienville. He’d left Gracie there alone, with one cop to guard her. He looked at Parker.

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“Go,” Parker said, nodding toward the sedan. “Take Andretti with you. And for God’s sake, be careful.” His heart in his throat, Nick sprinted for his car with Andretti on his heels. ***** David wiped his face as he sat at a stoplight across town from Nick Marconi’s apartment. He’d waited on the roof for a long time, but after cops stopped arriving in the alley, he’d scurried down the fire escape and jogged the six blocks back to his car. He looked at his watch. One-fifteen. It was late. Shouldn’t be hard to trick a sleepy old lady. Squinting in the meager light from the dash, he reread the directions he’d scribbled on an index card and realized he was only a block away from Webby Applegate’s refurbished apartment building. He slowed the compact, made a right into the complex’s narrow parking lot, and pulled to a stop in a space two doors down from the woman’s first floor digs. His eyes flicked over the area as he killed the engine. No one was about, and the front of the building was in shadow, with only one rickety security light spilling an oval pool of yellow light at the corner. He grinned. Excellent. He’d first met Mrs. Applegate in Gracie’s waiting room the day he’d started therapy. The woman had a curious habit of opening and closing her purse, and he’d asked her to stop. She hadn’t. Her refusal had gotten under his skin. So he’d noted her name and address on the file on the receptionist’s desk—in case one day he decided to exact revenge. That time was now. He would enjoy retribution for the purse incident, and grab Gracie in the process. He laughed. Funny how these things worked out. David climbed from the car and sauntered up to Mrs. Applegate’s apartment door. The sidewalk was dark. He reached up and unscrewed the bulb beside the door. No sense taking any chances. Then he pulled the red bandana from his pocket and wadded it up in his hand. His knock echoed in the night, and he cringed, half expecting lights all over the complex to blink on. They didn’t. A thump sounded inside the apartment. He knocked again. “Mrs. Applegate? I need to talk to you.” “Wh-who is it?” Her voice was shaky. “I’m a friend of Dr. Simmons.” The door opened a tiny crack. “Who?” “Dr. Gracie Simmons. She said you’re her patient.” “Why, yes. Yes, I am.” The door opened another two inches, and David glimpsed the woman’s wrinkled face and curly gray hair. She smiled tentatively. “You’re her friend?” “Yes, ma’am. She said she needs to see you.” The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “This time of night?” “Yes, ma’am. It’s something about your therapy. Because she had to cancel your appointment this week.” “I see.” Mrs. Applegate’s voice wobbled. She frowned. “Are you sure?”

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“Absolutely.” David stood back from the door. For once, he was glad of his clean cut appearance. The old bag would never know he had a knife strapped to his belt. Her hands fluttered to her chest. “Let me get dressed. You wait here, young man.” “Yes, ma’am.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and surveyed the area again. No one was around. Everyone in the place had to be old and gray, or somebody would be coming in after a night on the town. The whir of traffic from two streets over filtered through the night. A few minutes later, Mrs. Applegate returned to the door dressed in a pair of blue knit pants and a frilly white blouse. Her hands were fisted around the handle of that damned purse. David jerked his gaze off it and up to her eyes. “Ready?” “Yes.” She locked the door and followed him to the car. He let her in the passenger side, then hopped in and started the engine. She buckled up as he pulled out onto the street and headed for City Park. “I need you to do something for me, Webby,” he said, looking at her intently. “May I call you Webby?” “Why, yes.” Her eyes twinkled, and she blushed. “What is it you need, young man?” “I need you to call Gracie—Dr. Simmons, and give her a message.” Webby frowned. “I thought you said she just called you.” “She did. But she wants to hear from you on the way.” That seemed to pacify her. David turned in at the entrance to the park and pulled to a stop near the empty tennis courts. This time of night the lights were out, and the place was deep in shadow. He pulled out his cell phone, keyed up Gracie’s service, and held his finger over the TALK button. “I want you to tell the woman you need to talk to Dr. Simmons right away. That it’s an emergency.” Webby looked puzzled. “But it isn’t.” He pulled out his knife and snarled, “For you it is, you old bitch.” She gasped. “Now.” He stuck the shiny blade beneath her trembling chin. “You’ll do exactly as I say, or I’ll slit your windpipe. Got that?” Terror filled her eyes, and she nodded gravely. He lowered the knife and handed her the phone. “Punch TALK, and tell the woman you need to speak with Dr. Simmons right away, or you’re gonna kill yourself.” Tears filled Webby’s eyes, and she looked down at the phone clutched in her shaking hand. He growled, “Do it!” She punched the button. ***** Gracie’s eyes had been shut for only a little while when her beeper shrilled inside her purse. She bolted up in bed. Her eyes flew to the clock. One-thirty a.m.

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Once her heart stopped racing, she frowned. An emergency call this time of night could be serious. It might be the police saying one of her patients had been arrested, a call from one of the area hospitals, or maybe even a patient contemplating suicide. With a weary sigh, she threw off the covers and switched on the lamp. Then she dragged her purse closer and dug out her pager. Sure enough, it was her service. She dressed quickly, in case she had to leave the house, then picked up Nick’s phone and called the operator. “This is Dr. Grace Simmons. I was just paged.” “Yes, doctor.” The woman cleared her throat. “One of your patients called, saying she’s in distress. She needs to see you tonight. It’s an emergency.” Gracie’s stomach clenched. She perched on the edge of the bed and rubbed a hand over her brow. “Who is it?” “Webby Applegate.” A picture of the nervous bird-like woman rose in Gracie’s mind. She frowned. Mrs. Applegate was obsessive compulsive, not delusional. “Did she say what she needed?” “Only that she’s desperate. She mentioned cutting her wrists.” “Oh my God.” Gracie ran her hand over her thigh. She couldn’t take a chance the woman wasn’t serious. She grabbed the pen and pad Nick had used earlier off the nightstand and turned her attention back to the phone. “Give me her number.” The operator reeled it off, and Gracie wrote it down. Sounded like a cell phone number. She shrugged. It didn’t matter. She had to call. She ended her conversation with the operator and dialed Mrs. Applegate’s number. The woman answered on the fourth ring. “H-hello?” “Webby?” Gracie furrowed her brow. The woman’s voice sounded strange. Agitated. “This is Dr. Simmons. Are you all right?” “No, dear.” The woman broke off and began counting. She sounded distracted. Gracie rubbed her forehead. “Mrs. Applegate, focus on me, please. Where are you?” The counting continued. “Webby?” Gracie raised her voice. “Webby, focus on my words. Where are you?” “Oh my.” The counting stopped, and a deep-pitched murmur carried over the phone. It sounded like a man’s voice. Gracie frowned. “Webby, are you by yourself?” Webby hesitated. “Y-yes.” “Are you at home?” “No. I-I went for a little ride. To the park.” “This time of night?” Gracie’s pulse tripped. If the woman was out alone this late with her mental state slipping, she needed help. Fast. Webby was silent. Finally, she said, “Yes. I-I just needed some fresh air, dear.” “Which park are you in?” The woman hesitated again. “City Park. I see a street sign.” “What does it say?” Gracie held the pen poised over the pad. “Mrs. Applegate?” “It says Wisner Boulevard.” The woman began murmuring to herself again. Numbers. Finally, she said, “And Harrison. Harrison Avenue. Just outside the park.”

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“I know exactly where that is. Stay there.” Resolve lodged in Gracie’s throat. “I’m coming to get you. Okay?” The woman didn’t answer her. “Did you hear me, Webby?” Gracie waited a beat. “I’m on my way there right now, I promise. Don’t leave that spot.” “Oh. Well then, all right. I’ll be here.” Her voice broke off. Gracie frowned as she hung up the phone. Webby had never had an episode like this before. How odd. After running her brush through her hair, Gracie put on her shoes, grabbed her purse, and abruptly realized she had no car. She had come here with Nick. Fuming in silence, she hurried down the stairs and searched for Officer Keller. From the living room, she spotted him standing in the kitchen beside the back door, peering outside. Bright strobe lights sent a carousel of brilliant blues across the cream-colored cabinets. Gracie’s blood chilled. She dropped her purse on the couch, crossed her arms, and entered the kitchen. “What’s going on out there?” “They found a body in the alley. Probably a transient.” She swallowed. “Are you sure?” “No. But with me here, there’s nothing to worry about.” He eyed her clothes. “What’s the matter? Can’t sleep?” “No. I don’t sleep well in unfamiliar places.” Never mind the fact that Nick had left to go to yet another gruesome crime scene—at least, that’s where she guessed he’d gone. She fended off a shiver. “Officer Keller—” His radio crackled, and he held up his hand. She bit her lip as he answered the call. She was going to ask him to drive her to meet Webby, but she had to hurry. He ended his conversation and met her eyes. “I have to go outside and talk with the other men for a few minutes. You should stay here, in the kitchen.” “How long will it take you?” Apprehension dogged her. He opened the door. “I don’t know exactly. Shout if you need me.” “Wait, Officer Keller—” She started after him. A dark-skinned cop met him on the steps and pulled him aside. They put their heads together. Gracie fisted her hands. She couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Webby Applegate was in trouble. She would call a cab. Since she’d have a driver, she wouldn’t technically be alone, and she should be safe enough. Shouldn’t she? She stuffed her misgivings into the back of her mind and raced back upstairs. Her hands trembled as she called Yellow Cab. They promised to send a car within minutes. She tiptoed back downstairs and peeked out the front window. The street was deserted. No sign of Jerry, or the cops. They must all be out back, where the body had been found. She waited a few moments, and slipped outside. The wind was warm and sultry, and its dampness made her skin moist. The cab pulled up to the curb. Her heart thudding, she started down the shadowy steps, her purse clutched beneath her arm like a football. “Dr. Simmons!” Officer Keller’s booming voice stopped her with her hand on the cab door. “Where are you going?”

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A jolt of dismay shot through her, and she whipped around. He stood just inside the open door, glaring down at her like a father who had spotted his child misbehaving. “Marconi will have my ass if you leave.” “One of my patients has an emergency,” she said, kicking herself. She should have been more patient and asked him to drive her. “It’s a matter of life and death.” “I can’t let you go anywhere.” He stepped outside, his hard gaze raking the street. “Call your patient and ask him or her to come here to talk to you.” “I can’t do that. The woman has threatened suicide, and she’s in a very fragile condition. I have to go to her.” “Where is she?” “In City Park.” He gaped at her. “You can’t go there alone this time of night. Are you crazy?” “I won’t be alone.” She indicated the cab. “I have a driver.” He frowned down at her and pulled out his keys. “That’s not good enough. I’ll take you.” She looked around. She didn’t see a police car. “Where did you park?” “Around back.” “You’re probably blocked in. I can’t wait.” She turned away and opened the cab. With a sharp curse, he jogged down the steps. “Damn it, doctor, then let me go with you.” She spun around and looked at him. His face brooked no argument. She drew in a deep breath. “All right. But we have to hurry.” They climbed into the cab together without another word. He keyed up his mic. “Who are you calling?” Gracie stared at him. “Dispatch. I have to give ‘em my location.” Hoping they wouldn’t tell Nick, at least not right away, Gracie directed the driver to the east Harrison Avenue entrance to City Park. As the taxi pulled away from the curb, she prayed she and Officer Keller were doing the right thing by leaving the house. Yes, they were. Her resolve hardened. Webby Applegate was in trouble, and Gracie would help her. Her patients deserved nothing less. ***** Nick and Andretti raced down Canal Street. His blood pumping wildly, Nick whipped the sedan left onto Dauphine. Two blocks later, he was at Bienville. He made a right and slid the sedan to a stop beside the curb in front of his house. Blue lights whirled through the alley beside the place next door, giving its brick façade a wild, futuristic look. He and Andretti jogged down the alley, took a left onto the one that ran behind his house, and bypassed three cruisers and a white SCID van. Pal stood next to a high-powered lamp brought in for the occasion, not twenty feet from Nick’s back door. Nick halted next to him and studied the dead body sprawled at the ME’s feet. To his relief it was a man, with neat brown hair and coal black eyes that appeared to stare up at the cloud filled night sky. His throat had been slit from ear to ear. Andretti halted nearby, his breath sawing out.

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“Why are you guys here?” Pal asked, raising his eyebrows. “Heard you were over in Kenner, working that storage unit.” “We were.” Nick frowned down at the corpse. He looked eerily familiar. “Got any ID?” “Yeah, as a matter of fact—” Pal’s thick face brightened. He walked over to his car, grabbed a sealed plastic bag off the hood, and held it out. “He was carrying a wallet. Name’s Jerry Allen Howard, from Metairie. He’s thirty-four.” Jerry Howard. Nick’s gut tightened. Gracie’s stalker. Son of a bitch. He raked a hand through his hair and looked at Pal. “Time of death?” “Two or three hours ago, tops.” “Meaning, he’s still warm,” Andretti said. Worry filled Nick. He jabbed his thumb toward the house. “This is my place. Any idea what happened out here?” “That’s your house?” Pal said, looking surprised. He pointed up. “Boys think he was killed on the fire escape. Would say it was an accident, because he fell down a couple of floors. But his throat was slit and there’s a perfect hole in one of those windows up there. A glass cutter was found beneath his body. Somebody must’ve caught him breaking in. Either he was murdered, or he fell on the circle of glass in such a way to cut his neck like that. And I just don’t see that happening.” Son of a bitch. Nick backed toward the door. A hole in the window. Jerry was dead, his throat slit ear to ear, just like all those women. Gracie. He turned and bolted for his back door. Andretti gave chase. “Nick, hold on just a minute!” Pal yelled, his urgent tone crawling across Nick’s worn nerves. “There’s something else.” Nick whipped around in time to nearly bowl over Andretti. The young cop jumped out of the way. Nick watched Pal pick up another plastic bag off his hood. He lumbered over with it. “Found this beside the body. It’s a vial, just like the one’s containing the blood in the dead girls’ throats.” A vial. Nick’s heart skipped a beat as he stared down at the empty glass tube glinting inside the plastic bag. It contained no blood, but it conveyed a world of information. David Elliot had killed Jerry. Nick’s blood curdled as the ramifications of that hit home. If it was true, Gracie was in mortal danger. He looked at Pal. “What was Howard’s COD?” “Hell, boy. Can’t you see that for yourself?” Pal had incredulous look on his face. “His throat was slit all the way to his spine. It was done with an extremely sharp blade by someone who knew what he was doing. I just said the glass couldn’t have done that.” Had to be Elliot, without a doubt. Fear threatened to consume Nick as he handed the bag containing the empty vial back to the ME. Pal cocked his head. “Are you all right?” “No,” Nick said, hoping the ME wouldn’t read the terror in his eyes. “I’ve gotta go.” He burst the through the back door of his house with a single twist of his key, almost running over the young African-American officer who stood just inside.

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The officer cursed and pulled his weapon. “Take it easy,” Nick said, nervously flashing his badge. “You can put it up. I live here.” He jerked his thumb at Andretti. “He’s one of ours, too.” “Sorry, detective. I didn’t recognize you,” the officer said, holstering the Glock. He nodded at Andretti. “Hi, Tony. You should’ve knocked.” “There wasn’t time. Have you seen Gracie—Dr. Simmons?” “No, but Keller told me she couldn’t sleep.” He shrugged. “I think she went back upstairs.” “You think?” Nick roared. He shot the cop a hot glare and sprinted for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Andretti followed closely behind him. Nick stormed into his bedroom. It was empty. Terror gripped his heart. “Gracie?” he called, darting into the bathroom. Empty. His heart pounded. Andretti opened the closet door. Nothing. Nick ran for the hall and opened the guestroom door. No Gracie. Fear sent him reeling. He dashed back into the bedroom and looked around. Her purse and shoes were gone. Would Elliot have made her take them? Andretti looked under the bed, and came up shaking his head. The young cop from downstairs suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Detective, is everything okay?” Nick whirled. “Hell no. Gracie’s gone.”

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Chapter Eighteen “What do you mean, she’s gone?” The officer’s face changed. “She was just up here, with Joe Keller. You know him—he usually works the midnight shift.” “Yeah, I know him,” Nick snapped, as alarm stabbed through him. “He was watching her?” “Yes, sir.” “Well, they’re both gone now. Where’s Keller’s car?” “Out back, blocked in by SCID. I don’t know where they might’ve gone.” “Has she gotten a call? Talked to anybody outside the house?” The cop shrugged. “Keller would know. But I don’t.” “Let me use your radio.” He unhooked his shoulder mic and handed the device to Nick, who called dispatch. “Detective, go to channel six,” the dispatcher said. Grateful they could speak in private, Nick looked at the young cop. “What’s Keller’s handle tonight?” “Charlie Fifteen.” Nick nodded, and switched channels. Once the dispatcher acknowledged him, he asked, “Do you have Charlie Fifteen’s current location?” “En route to City Park in a Yellow Cab. The doctor he’s guarding received a call from her service and had an emergency.” “City Park?” Nick asked. Fuck. Terror flooded through him. That was Elliot’s favorite killing ground. “You’re sure?” “Yes, sir. The east side, off Harrison Avenue.” He signed off. Gracie had been contacted by her service. He hurried to the telephone and dialed *69 for the last number called on the off chance she had used the landline. The number he got was unfamiliar. After hanging up, he called it—and discovered that it was indeed her service. “Yes, I paged Dr. Simmons,” the woman said, after he’d identified himself as a police officer. “One of her patients called in with an emergency. The doctor called me back right away.” “Who was the patient?” “I’m not authorized to give out that information. Let me connect you with my supervisor.” Nick held his breath while she got the other woman on the line. “Officer, I’m afraid I can’t give you the patient’s name without a warrant, due to privacy concerns. I’m sorry.”

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With a sharp curse, Nick went through his spiel again. “I have to have a name, damn it. This is a matter of life and death.” “Detective—” “Look, I’ll deal with the repercussions tomorrow. Give me the patient’s name.” The woman hesitated a long moment, and then she sighed. This time, Nick was rewarded with a name. “Webby Applegate,” the supervisor said. “She was threatening suicide.” “Where does she live?” “She wasn’t at home. She was calling from a cell phone.” “Do you have that number?” “Yes, sir. Just a minute.” There was a sharp click. Nick stabbed a hand through his hair and prayed this information would lead him to Gracie. The woman came back on the phone. “Okay, sir.” Nick held his pen poised. “Go.” She rattled it off. He hung up without thanking her and tore the page off the pad. His nerves thrummed as he marched over to the young cop. “Call this in while I get Parker on the line,” he said, handing Andretti the number. “Get a name and or address to go with it, and make it fast. I need an exact location if the phone has GPS. Gracie’s life might depend on it.” Andretti nodded and pulled out his cell phone. Nick ran back across the room and picked up the landline. Parker answered on the second ring. “Gracie’s gone.” It was all Nick could get out. His eyes burned. Parker cursed. “Elliot?” “Don’t know. She left to help a patient, but she went to City Park.” He eyed the young cop, who was watching Andretti on the phone. “I have someone working on the number her service gave me now. If it has GPS, we’re in business.” “Anyone with her?” “Joe Keller, a uniform who works midnight.” “I know him. He’s a good man.” Maybe so, but was he any match for David Elliot? The man was a cold blooded murderer. Nick swallowed back a violent surge of anxiety. “They found Jerry Howard’s body behind my place. His throat was slit.” “I heard. I was about to call you.” “Captain—” “Let me know what you learn about that number. I’ll help you any way I can.” “Yes, sir.” Nick hung up and began to pace back and forth across the room as the terror inside him ate away at the hard shell he’d built around his heart, leaving it raw and bleeding. Gracie. He had to find her. She’d taught him how to be again. How to love. And yes, damn it, he had fallen in love with her. Once he found her this time, he was never going to let her go. *****

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Gracie directed the cabbie, who appeared to be of Indian descent, to the lonely intersection where Webby was supposed to be. No one was there. “Maybe you got the address wrong,” Keller said. She shook her head. “No. I’m positive this is it.” The streetlights gave off an eerie yellowish glow, and the giant oak trees near the park entrance swayed like lurching ghouls. There was virtually no traffic. That added to the area’s spine-chilling emptiness. Her heart in turmoil, Gracie knew she had to look for the poor woman no matter how secluded the place might be. She edged forward on the grungy seat. “Turn in here. Please.” The cabbie obeyed, pulling the cab to a halt beside a large tree about a quarter mile inside the park. He sent them a sidelong glance, but didn’t speak. Gracie gulped and looked at Keller. “I need to look around. Will you stay here?” “Not on your life,” he said, reaching for the door handle. I’m coming with you.” She opened her door. The cabbie turned. “Lady, you owe me $10.75.” “I’ll pay you when I get back.” “No way.” He wagged his head and gave her an angry look. “You want me to hang around, you gotta me pay now.” She started to argue with him, but Keller reached for his wallet. “That’s not necessary,” she said, snatching a twenty from her purse and handing it to the cab driver. “I’ve got it covered.” Keller nodded and shut his door. The cabbie stuffed the bill into his bag. Gracie shot him a glare. “I expect you to wait for us.” “That’s why I’m keeping your whole twenty.” He grinned wickedly. The wind whipped her hair into her face as she climbed from the taxi. The odor of the vehicle’s exhaust filled her nose. She coughed, and eyed the neat row of yellow daffodils planted along the fence. Their slim beauty didn’t jibe with terrifying thoughts swirling around in her head. With reservations, she stepped away from the cab and started down the sidewalk. Keller jogged around the hood and caught up with her. “Where could she be?” “I don’t know,” she said. “Webby?” she called out, her eyes searching the shadows beneath the trees. “Are you here?” Silence. Until a dark car with throbbing speakers passed by. She waited until it was gone, and called again, “Webby Applegate? It’s Dr. Simmons. Where are you?” “Over here, dear.” The fragile voice came from a dark area beyond one of the oaks. The limbs of the tree whipped back and forth like reaching hands. Keller caught her arm. “Let me go first.” “No.” She shook him off. “You might frighten her.” “Too bad.” He marched on ahead. “Detective Marconi will never forgive me if I let something happen to you.”

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Gracie had to admit he was right. Her heart thumping, she stalked along behind him. Webby was in trouble, and Gracie had to get to her, cop or no cop. Perspiration trickled down her spine as she peered over her shoulder at the waiting cab. Hopefully, he wouldn’t go anywhere. “Doctor?” Webby called out, her voice shaky. “Hurry. Please.” “What’s wrong, Webby? Are you hurt?” Gracie picked up her pace behind Keller, who was stepping high to avoid the tall weeds. She didn’t see the woman anywhere. A sharp screech echoed through the muggy air. Keller halted and pulled out his pistol. She ran into him. His face solemn, he steadied her. “Wait here. I’ll go see what happened.” “Please don’t frighten her,” Gracie said. With a curt nod, he walked away. Her throat constricted as she watched him disappear into the deep shadows beneath the trees. “Webby?” she called out. “Where are you? What’s the matter?” A shot rang out. Fear lanced through Gracie. She raced toward the sound, and tripped over something lying in the grass. A scream escaped her lips as she tumbled forward, only to be caught by a pair of strong arms. “Take it easy, Sis. You don’t wanna hurt yourself.” David’s low voice raked Gracie’s ears. David, her murdering half-brother. Terror streaked through her, and she fought against his pincer-like grip. “Let go of me! What have you done?” He laughed wildly and held her arms pinned to her sides. “You’re not going anywhere.” His spittle landed on her cheek. She fought the urge to gag. “Wh-where’s Webby?” “Bitch should’ve been more careful.” He shook his head. “Out here all alone, at this time of night. It’s a damned shame what can happen to an old lady.” Gracie peered at the object over which she’d tripped, and gasped down at it in disbelief. The shadows were thick, but it looked like a person. Webby? “Yep. She’s dead,” David said evenly. “So is the poor bastard you brought with you.” He nodded to his right. “Some protection.” He laughed again. She jerked around and spotted Keller sprawled awkwardly in the grass. He wasn’t moving. Bitter acid boiled in her stomach. “You killed them,” she shrieked, bucking in his arms. “You bastard!” “Is that any way to talk to your dear, sweet half-brother?” He hung on tight. “And we’ve been getting along so well.” “That was before I knew what you did.” “Thanks to that damned Marconi,” David snapped. His voice was hard as flint. She tried in vain to see the sharp planes of his face. He squeezed her tighter. “Be still.” “Or what?” she asked, anger rushing in to join her fear. “You’ll kill me, too?” “That’s a given, honey bunch.”

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A chill slid over her at the sound of her father’s pet name for her coming from David.” “You didn’t think I’d let your relationship with that rat bastard detective go unpunished, did you?” David’s tone grew more menacing with each syllable. “He put me in prison. Not once, but twice. Twice!” “You deserved it,” she bit out. “You killed that man in that bar—” “It was an accident!” he shouted. His words rang in her ears. “I had no business doing time.” She clenched her teeth and tried to angle her head away from him. “I’m gonna kill you just like I did Marconi’s other whores. The bastard gets around, I’ll give him that. But he’s gonna pay dearly for what he did to me.” Gracie’s blood turned cold. He was going to hurt Nick. “Don’t fight me. We’re about to go deeper into the trees. Be still.” His tone was tempered now, almost calm. Gracie took a long, shaky breath and forced herself to recall the notes she’d jotted in his file. He was intelligent, socially adept, and he suffered from an extreme form of antisocial personality disorder. Sweat popped out on her brow. In truth, he was her half-brother, and she had once loved him. But he was now a psychopath. A cold-blooded killer, who showed absolutely no remorse.. Tears filled Gracie’s eyes. Poor Mrs. Applegate. And Officer Keller—he’d only been trying to protect her. Neither of them had stood a chance. They’d died because of David’s hatred for Nick, and his inability to accept that Nick and Gracie were friends. No, not friends. Lovers. David relaxed his hold on her for a brief moment, and whipped a knife out of nowhere. Its sharp blade glistened beneath her nose. “Don’t try to escape. Move!” He gave her a hard shove. She stumbled on a root, and caught herself. “You won’t get away with this. Our cab’s waiting.” David laughed sharply, the sound ripping across her nerves like a saw on flesh. “Not any more. He drove away when I shot that fucking cop.” She whipped around. Sure enough, the cab was gone. Terror stole over her like a dark cloak, so heavy it weighed her down. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her feet refused to work. “Get going,” David ordered, shoving her with his taut body. And all at once, she knew without a doubt that she was going to die. ***** “The number’s been traced to a prepaid cell phone. There’s no way to know who bought it, or where it is.” Andretti’s ominous words tore through what was left of Nick’s composure. Panic seized him, and he fisted his hands. He couldn’t stand still. Andretti frowned. “Detective—” “David Elliot’s got her,” Nick rasped, jamming a hand through his hair. “I can feel it.”

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“But her service said—” “I don’t give a damn what they said. Elliot’s been systematically killing the women I’ve dated, and now he’s gone after her. I should have known better. I should have stayed away.” Anguish built inside him like lava inside a volcano. He felt opened up and raw, as if his heart sat over an open flame. If Gracie died because of him, he couldn’t live with himself. Andretti cocked his head. “You think the call was a lure.” “I know it was.” Nick struggled to concentrate on the facts. Focus, he told himself. Gracie’s life was in danger, and he had to save her. “At least you know Keller’s with her.” That was some consolation. He met Andretti’s eyes. “How well do you know him?” “Pretty well. We went through the academy together.” Nick shook his head. Just like him and Strahan. That was a frightening thought. He picked up the phone book and looked up Yellow Cab. Drawing on his last sliver of hope, he put the phone to his ear and dialed. He explained the situation to the yawning dispatcher, fully expecting to be blown off. To his surprise, the young lady said, “Sure. I sent someone to the park. Rahki Mukku. He picked up his fares, dropped ‘em off, and then radioed back in at two o’clock. He’s on the other side of the Quarter now.” Nick’s gaze flew to the clock. Two-fifteen. His blood curdled. “Where’d he leave ‘em?” “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.” “Radio him.” “He’s with another fare.” “I don’t give a damn. A woman’s life is in danger. Where did he take ‘em?” “Just a minute.” Nick squeezed the phone so hard its plastic case popped. He blew out a harsh breath and loosened his hold. Finally the girl came back on the line, suppressing an audible yawn. He barely resisted flinging another curse at her. “All right. I’ve got it.” She carefully enunciated each syllable, as if trying to inject even more drama into a crisis situation. Nick clenched his teeth. “Come on, don’t keep me waiting. Where was she taken?” “Corner of Wisner and Harrison. The entrance to City Park.” His heart in overdrive, Nick slammed down the phone and bolted for the door, calling back over his shoulder. “Come on, Andretti. She’s at the corner at Wisner and Harrison. Notify dispatch.” Andretti spat an expletive and followed. On the way down the stairs, he keyed up his shoulder mic and called in Gracie and Keller’s possible location. Nick wasn’t about to wait for backup. If Gracie and Joe Keller were about to face off with Elliot, their lives hung by a thread. He jumped into the sedan, slapped his blue light up on the dash, and started the engine. Andretti barely made it inside the vehicle before Nick squealed away from the curb. Fear dampened his palms and made his stomach buck. He couldn’t lose Gracie. From their very first meeting, he’d been hyper-aware of the electricity between them. Now he knew with dead certainty that she was his soul mate.

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Damn it, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. If she’d have him, that is. Tears clouded his vision, and his hands grew slick on the wheel. Time slowed to a crawl as they sped through the French Quarter and continued on toward Esplanade, rolling through red light after red light. Thank God there was no traffic. ***** Gracie stumbled in the darkness, and went down on one knee. Pain stabbed her kneecap, and she felt the hot trickle of blood down her leg as David jerked her back upright. “Why are you doing this to me?” she asked, working hard to keep her voice even. “Even when we were kids you didn’t treat me like this.” “Shut up,” he growled, tightening his punishing grip on her arm. “We’re not gonna talk about the past.” “Why not? You won’t let go of it. Nick put you in jail, and you can’t get away from that.” He halted and yanked her forward, so hard she crashed into him. His elbow hit her solar plexus and she lost her breath. He slapped her cheek, and she reeled backwards. The sound of the slap carried through the night. Her ears rang. “When I say shut up, I mean it,” he snarled, starting off and jerking her forward once again. Gracie gasped for air and lurched along behind him, helpless to fight back. Nick. Surely by now he’d learned that she and Keller had left the house. But would he find her in time to save her? She shook her head in an attempt to stop the buzzing in her head that continued to dog her. She would have to escape on her own, and to do so she had to play it smart. She wouldn’t challenge David again. Instead, she would try to shrink him. Psychiatry was her specialty. She’d been counseling him for weeks now, so maybe it would work He halted at the edge of the trees, and she careened into him again. Her breath shot out in a startled blast. Up ahead was a playground, surrounded by a low wooden fence. Her heart clutched. News reports had made it clear that her half-brother used children’s play areas as his killing fields. Fear iced her blood. He was planning to murder her. “Let’s go,” he said, pulling her forward. She dug in heels. “No. I won’t die here. Not like this, and not with you. I’m your sister.” ***** As he and Andretti neared the park, Nick pulled out his cell phone to call Parker. He needed to know his boss’s ETA. He punched Parker’s number, and realized the phone was dead. “Damn it,” he snapped, throwing it onto the seat. Andretti’s radio crackled to life. “Go ahead,” he said, punching it up.

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“Be advised that we are unable to contact Officer Keller via radio.” The dispatcher paused. “Also, 10-11 has been reported in City Park near the Arboretum. Captain Parker wants Detective Marconi to meet him there.” Nick’s stomach dropped to his feet. A dead body. God, no. He blasted through an intersection without braking, and a white delivery truck squealed sideways to avoid him. Andretti cursed and grabbed the dashboard. “Watch out, Nick! You’re gonna get us killed.” The truck driver sat on his horn. To Nick, it was all a blur. “Two-ninety-nine,” Andretti’s radio blared. “Be advised the body is that of a white female, approximately thirty years of age.” Bile surged up Nick’s throat. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. Couldn’t react. Hot tears stung his eyes. He was too late. Gracie was dead. He slammed on the brakes in the middle of the street. “What the fuck are you doing?” Andretti jerked around and gaped at him. “There’s not much traffic, but we’re gonna get hit out here. We gotta meet Parker.” Nick opened his door. He had to have air. The humid breeze smacked him in the face, and he gulped back the urge to vomit. “It may not be her,” Andretti said. The officer’s words rang in Nick’s ears. He was right. He looked at Andretti. “If it’s not, she’s still out there somewhere.” “Yeah. She might need my help.” Nick’s voice cracked. He slammed his door. He had to go on, for Gracie. He had to be there for her, either way. His body numb, Nick shoved the car into gear and stomped on the gas. The sedan squealed off. He and Andretti blasted down Esplanade at seventy miles per hour. Gracie. The ache inside him became a yawning chasm. He longed to curl into a fetal position and wail her name, over and over, until the pain stopped, but he couldn’t give in to self-pity. He had to find out if she was still alive. He swung the car onto Wisner Boulevard and headed north along Bayou St. John. To their left was the park, its spreading oaks taunting Nick with their swaying, leafy branches. The entire area was deep in shadow, just right for inviting the criminal element inside. Braking hard, he turned left onto Harrison Avenue. A roundabout was just up ahead, and the Arboretum wasn’t far past that. Nick drew in a shaky breath and rubbed a hand over his burning eyes, which felt like they’d been stabbed with hot coals. For the first time in years he offered up a prayer, the only meager hope he had that the body wasn’t Gracie’s. They flew through the roundabout. He cut the car to the right and braked slightly. Soon the sedan’s bright lights reflected off the taillights of the SCID van and Parker’s dark blue ride, parked at the dark entrance to the Arboretum. Nick steeled himself, but it wasn’t enough. Nausea rose up to choke him. Settle down, he told himself. Be strong, for Gracie. He pulled off the road behind Parker’s car and shoved the gearshift into PARK. Andretti keyed up his mic and radioed in their location.

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Nick popped his door and started to get out, but his legs wouldn’t work. His heart felt like it weighed two tons. He clenched his teeth. “Son of a bitch.” He finally gave up and just sat there a moment, trying to catch his breath. Then he levered himself out of the car and surveyed the scene. Lang stood at the entrance to the Arboretum, but where was Parker? Lang looked at him, and said something to one of the SCID techs. The man laughed. Nick spat a curse and slammed the car door, the sound echoing through the night like a gunshot. The last thing he needed was to have to deal with that prick. Gravel crunched beneath his shoes as he crossed the road and left the asphalt. The thick night air felt like warm syrup. Fireflies flickered beneath the trees, and clouds roiled across the pitch-black sky like boiling smoke. Techs were busy hooking up a series of halogen lights that would soon make the Arboretum trail bright as day. Then the wind shifted, and the rusty scent of blood wafted over Nick. He battled another surge of nausea. Lang walked up to him. “You look a little green around the gills, Marconi,” he said, his lips quirking. “You sick or something?” Nick didn’t answer. He wouldn’t take the man’s bait tonight, no matter what he said. Gracie deserved his respect. “Parker’s in his car, talking on the phone.” Lang crossed his arms. “Said for you to make the ID. If you can handle it.” “I can,” Nick said, dredging up what was left of his resolve. Bile bubbled like acid in his stomach. He glared at the ADA. “Get the fuck out of my way.” One last time. If the body was Gracie’s, this was his last chance to tell her that he loved her. The night seemed to darken further with every step he took along the trail. Lang tagged along behind him, as if expecting him to turn tail and run. Nick wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Where is she?” he finally asked, the tension eating away at his frayed nerves. They’d already walked a good fifty yards into the trees. “Go about another forty yards, and take a right.” “Who found her?” “A couple of underage kids from UNO using the place to party.” Lang’s voice slid over him from behind. “Drinking, necking, you know the drill.” A tech approached them through the shadows. Nick halted. The tech’s stoic face was pale. He looked at Nick. “Bastard used a tree this time, to bleed her out. Left the bucket here, half full—” Nick took a deep breath and drew in the rich, coppery tang of blood, which was more pronounced here, just like at the other crime scenes. Bile stung the back of his tongue. He left the tech talking to Lang and marched on, putting one foot in front of the other like an automaton. He sealed off is heart. He didn’t want to feel, didn’t want to know. But he had no choice.

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Lang’s footsteps crunched behind him as he rounded a bend and spotted another tech up ahead, silhouetted by his own flashlight. The woman lay sprawled on the ground at his feet. Her hair was the color of ripe wheat, just like Gracie’s. Acid filled Nick’s mouth. He halted and took a deep breath. Big mistake. More blood odor. Lang walked up beside him. “You okay?” Nick nodded numbly and stepped forward, his knees like jelly. The light seemed ultra bright in the syrupy darkness. A moth circled its brilliant white beam, the creature’s tiny wings beating in time with Nick’s frantic heart. He closed his eyes briefly, then sucked in another batch of warm air and forced himself to look. She lay on her side, facing away from him. She was slim, like Gracie. Blood had caked on her shoulder and ran in a rivulet down the back of her neck from the gash to her throat. Tears filled his eyes as he edged around her, suddenly unable to tear his gaze from her mutilated body. Her knees and breasts were familiar. Her face— It wasn’t Gracie. Her eyebrows were too thick, and she had a dark mole on her left cheek. Nick’s heart expanded, until recognition hit him like a blow. It was Ann Royster, a girl he’d dated just last year. They’d met at a crawfish boil in the French Quarter on the Fourth of July. Even so, he couldn’t keep the relief out of his voice. “It’s not Gracie.” He met Lang’s skeptical gaze. “It’s Ann Royster. I’ll fill everyone in about her later, but for now—” “Are you sure?” Lang’s eyebrows shot up. He seemed almost disappointed. Nick narrowed his eyes. “Of course I’m sure. I dated her last summer.” Lang turned away and struck up a conversation with the nearest tech. Nick rocked back on his heels as the shakes hit him, and he realized he was covered in sweat. His ears rang and his teeth hurt from being clenched so tightly. He was sorry Ann had died, but thank God it wasn’t Gracie. He put his hand on the trunk of a live oak tree and took a deep breath. He needed to get the hell out of there and get some fresh air. To breathe, without drawing in the cloying scent of blood. A shaft of guilt slid through him. Poor Ann had died, which meant Gracie was still alive. If he was lucky. Terror swept through Nick. He dropped his hand and walked over to Lang. “I have to go.” He started backing away. Lang stepped toward him. “No. You can’t. We need a detective on scene.” “There’s one on the way.” Captain Parker’s voice echoed down the trail. He halted beside Nick. “You okay?” “Yeah.” Nick let his shoulders sag, if only briefly. “It’s not Gracie. It’s another girl I dated. I’ll fill you in later. Captain—” “Fine. We have to find the doctor,” Parker said. He looked at the techs. “You boys got this one ‘til my other man gets here?”

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“Yes, sir,” one of them said. “No problem.” “Now, Captain—” Lang began. Parker ignored him and turned to Nick. “I’m coming with you. Let’s go.” Andretti met them at the edge of the trees. His eyes flicked to Nick’s, and held there. Nick shook his head. Andretti’s mouth curved. “Thank God.” “You said it.” Still weak with relief, Nick wiped a hand over his face. “Thanks for your support on the way over here, and for kicking my ass. I owe you one, big time.” Andretti bobbed his head. “I’ll remember that when I go for my gold shield.” “You do that,” Nick said. He meant it. But right now, he had to focus on finding Gracie. “Parker and I have to go.” “Here.” Parker tossed the young cop his keys. “Take my car back to the station. It’s the ugly dark blue one.” Surprise on his face, Andretti nodded. “Sure thing. Yes sir.” Nick and Parker took off for the sedan. “Parker!” Lang called after them. “Wait just a damned minute.” Parker groaned and slowed his pace, then stopped. “We don’t have time for that prick,” Nick muttered, halting beside him. He shoved a hand through his hair. Parker grimaced. “Be quiet. Let me handle this.” Lang closed the gap quickly. “Captain Parker. You left before I could talk to you. Why hasn’t this serial murderer been found?” “Because Nick and I have been jerking off in the woods,” Parker said with a deep scowl. Lang’s eyebrows flew up. “That was a joke, Paul.” Parker thinned his lips. “We’ve got it under control. Now, if you don’t mind, we have an urgent matter to take care of.” “Time for doughnuts, Parker?” Nick opened his mouth to retort, but Parker threw up his hand to silence him. Anger built behind Nick’s breastbone. If Gracie died because Lang delayed them— Parker stepped closer to the ADA, so close their noses almost touched. “Get out of our way, Lang, and quit interfering in this case. We have a job to do—and by God, we’re gonna do it. With or without your interference.” “It’s about damned time,” Lang said quietly, his lips curling back in a wicked snarl. Nick advanced on him, but Parker blocked him with his body and jerked him toward the car. “Ignore him. He’s not worth it. Let’s go.” Yeah. Go. Find Gracie. Nick’s heart pounded out her name.

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Chapter Nineteen “What did you just say to me?” “I said ‘no.’” “You don’t tell me no.” “Like hell I don’t.” “You stupid haughty bitch.” “Ow!” “Shut up! You think you’re all superior with your fancy psychiatry degree, shrinking people’s heads like you know what they’re thinking. You don’t know me.” “I-I’d like to.” “Lying slut. You don’t want to know anything about me. When you were born, Mama shut me out. She doted on you. I was forgotten. You never gave a damn.” “You never gave me the chance. I was so young when you left—” “I didn’t leave. Mama sent me away. She was afraid I’d hurt you. Her precious little girl.” “I didn’t know.” “Yes, you did. Get over here.” “Ow! Let go! You’re hurting me!” “Too fucking bad.” ***** Nick put Lang out of his mind, slapped the sedan into gear, and whipped it around in a tight circle. The vehicle’s lights swept the side of the SCID van parked at the Arboretum entrance as he and Parker roared past it. “The cab let Gracie and Keller out at the corner of Wisner and Harrison,” Nick said, tightening his jaw. He’d been told that over twenty minutes ago. Parker cursed. “That part of the park is really dark. Nothing’s close by.” “Except a playground.” Nick’s blood turned icy as the full import of that hit home. “Holy shit.” “Don’t get ahead of yourself, son.” “You know what he’s gonna do, if he has her.” Pain arced through Nick as he pictured his sweet Gracie tied hand and foot and hung upside down. Once David had her there, she’d have no way to defend herself. He’d pull out his knife and— Parker shook his head. “I told you, son, don’t go there.” “He’s her half-brother,” Nick croaked. “How can he do that to her?” “Quit speculating. We’ll find her.” Nick squeezed the wheel as they breezed through the roundabout. The sedan’s headlights pierced the incredible darkness like twin flames. Up ahead, he spotted a large oak

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near the road, not far from the intersection, and the hairs stood up on his nape. Gracie was nearby. He was sure of it. His heart in his throat, he abruptly pulled to the curb and popped his door. “What the hell are you doing?” Parker asked, unbuckling his seat belt. “The intersection’s farther down.” “She’s here.” Nick’s sense of urgency grew stronger. Sweat trickled down his back as he climbed from the car and peered into the darkness beneath the tree. Parker got out and rounded the hood, a large flashlight clutched in his hand. He handed it to Nick. “You forgot this.” “Thanks.” Nick flicked it on. The night was still, until a burst of wind rolled over the landscape and stirred the leaves on the trees. A cold chill washed over Nick. He crossed the road and stepped into the high grass with the flashlight held high. Goosebumps rose on his skin. His body numb, he examined the ground. The grass was mashed down in small patches, like someone had recently cut a trail through it. He halted and sniffed the air—and he could have sworn he smelled Gracie’s soft vanilla scent riding the strong spring breeze. Not possible. His mind must be playing tricks on him. Parker walked up. “See anything?” “Someone passed through here.” Nick aimed the light at the path through the grass. “Sure did.” The Captain circled the flattened patch and slowly approached the tree, which formed an enormous umbrella-like canopy over them. Nick’s senses went on red alert when Parker suddenly tripped. A foul curse spilled from his lips. Catching himself, he peered down at the ground and lurched backwards. “Sweet Jesus! It’s a woman!” Terror filled Nick as he crept toward the body. He held his breath. Was it Gracie? Was she alive? He fixed the flashlight beam on her and spotted gray hair, wrinkles, and a big beige purse with a gold clasp. His breath whooshed out. Definitely not Gracie. But she did look familiar. His heartbeat slowed as he studied her. Could be the patient Gracie was coming to meet. If so, Elliot had killed her. Parker squatted down and gripped one of the woman’s bony wrists. He looked up at Nick. “No pulse, but she’s still warm.” “Has rigor set in?” “Not yet.” The Captain shook his head. Nick grew sober. “The SOB just killed her.” Parker bent over her, but didn’t touch her. “There are bruises on her neck. She was strangled.” “Just like Strahan.” Nick muttered an expletive. “Had to be Elliot.” Parker rose and pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling for backup and the ME. We need them here pronto.” Nick raised the flashlight and circled the tree. More flattened grass. The beam landed on a dark blue mound. A uniform. It was Joe Keller. The odor of blood was unmistakable. Nick swallowed back a fresh surge of bile and walked over to the young cop’s side. He lay face down with his hand on his pistol. Blood stained the shoulder of his uniform and the grass beneath him.

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“Captain,” Nick called out, his heart racing. Parker looked up, and Nick motioned with the light. “I found Keller. He’s been shot.” He squatted beside the body and felt for a pulse. Keller’s arm was still warm and to Nick’s surprise, his heart was beating. His pulse was thready, but it was there. Nick sprang to his feet. “He’s alive! Call an ambulance.” Still on the phone, Parker asked for the EMT’s, then ran over to Nick and Keller. “We need at least one backup unit to come in from the side of the park near the golf course,” Nick said, his gaze settling on the line of trees beyond the oak. “Beside the playground.” Parker nodded and gave dispatch Keller’s location. His stomach in knots, Nick started off, keeping to the side of the original path through the grass. Parker caught up and marched beside him, bobbing his head as he spoke quietly into the telephone. Nick held the flashlight high and to the side and tried to steel himself for what they might find. But he knew that if he found Gracie dead, he would lose what was left of his control. ***** David clamped his fingers around Gracie’s bicep and dragged her toward the dark playground, where he’d stashed his tools over an hour ago. He longed to stay quiet, but he couldn’t resist baiting her. Anything to help him lap up her fear. “I killed another one for you, you know.” “Wh-what?” Her voice trembled. It was pathetic. Giddy with excitement, David laughed. “Her name was Ann Royster. Marconi dated her about six months ago. Stupid bitch didn’t die quietly, and I doubt you will either. That’s why I brought extra duct tape.” “You sick bastard!” She kicked him hard in the shins and tried to twist away, but he held on tight. His left leg burned. Shit. He let loose a string of blistering curses. For a woman, she was surprisingly strong. Damned bitch. She struggled harder than any of the others. Leave it to his sister to be a problem. “Let go of me!” she shrieked, clawing at him wildly. He spat another expletive and dragged out the knife. “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll kill you right here.” That calmed her, at least temporarily, but she continued watching him with those intense green eyes. She was planning something. The grass whipped at their legs as he tugged her along, eager to get her tied up. His thoughts roamed to Marconi, who by now had to know Gracie was missing. He must be frantic. David felt a startling surge of satisfaction. Finally, the detective would pay for costing him all those years behind bars. They reached the gate. He waved the knife in Gracie’s face. “Stop fighting me. It won’t do you any good.”

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“You’re not going to kill me,” she said, her tone surprising even. “You’re my kin. And besides, Nick will be here soon.” “I wouldn’t count on it,” David growled. Not with all the bodies he’d left lying around. They’d keep Marconi and his pals busy for a long damned time. And as for the brother part, he wouldn’t think about that. Not if he wanted to go through with the kill. He tugged Gracie forward, and she suddenly dropped to the ground. He lost his hold on her. “What in hell are you doing?” She lashed out at him with her feet, and he went down. Not waiting for his response, she jumped on him and lunged for the knife. Her heart pounded. She had to get it. Had to break free. No way was she going to die out here all alone with David after having just found Nick. She gripped her half-brother’s thick wrist with both hands and slammed it against the ground, trying to get him to drop the knife. It didn’t budge. “Get the fuck off me!” David bellowed, flipping her onto her back and knocking the breath from her lungs. He knelt over her, the knife at her throat. “Trying to make it easy for me? Huh? Do you want me to kill you now? Huh? Do you?” Helpless, she struggled for air. Looked up. And spotted the fat rope hanging from the nearest swing set. A green pickle bucket sat nearby, its gaping mouth open as if waiting for its next drink. Her body went rigid. Is this what those other poor girls—including Patti—had experienced? The cold, stark terror that went far beyond normal fear? Gracie closed her eyes and imagined David pressing the knife to her neck and slicing deep, all the way to the bone. “No!” she cried out, suddenly in a panic. She bucked beneath him, throwing him off balance. He caught himself, but not before she wriggled away and leapt to her feet. She backed toward the swing set. “I’m going to walk out of here, and you’re not going to stop me.” “Like hell you are,” he said, anger flashing across his face. It was deep in shadow, but Gracie took in the tightening of his jaw and the flicker of fury in his eyes. His rigid stance. “You may be my sister—excuse me, my half-sister. But that doesn’t mean I give a damn about you.” “I’ve never hurt you.” “Yes, you have.” The knife glittered ominously in the gloom as he waved it at her. “Mama chose you over me.” “Maybe she did. I don’t know,” Gracie said. She’d been too young to understand what had happened when David left home. “Mama never talked about that. But I do know she chose my father over me. Even after he was sent to prison, she refused to see or speak to me. She continually taunted me about helping put him there, and she even sent me his police medals, I guess to drive her point home. So you see, you and I are both losers in that department.” “You’re lying.” “I am not.” Determined to reach him, Gracie lifted her chin and kept on talking. Anything to slow him down. Right now he was distracted, and she intended to keep it that way. “Mama’s never forgiven me for telling the police about the money that suddenly appeared at home when I was fifteen. All at once, Dad paid off the house, bought a new Lincoln, and I was allowed to go to an expensive summer camp. We were suddenly rich.”

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“He was taking bribes.” “Yes,” she nodded. “And laundering money, providing protection for criminals, selling drugs. Anything to earn a quick buck.” “Meaning, your father was a bastard just like mine.” “Yes. That’s one thing we have in common. My dad might not have abandoned me, but he was never a real father.” “Tough shit,” David said sharply, advancing on her. A siren sounded in the distance, and Gracie’s hopes rose. Nick was on her trail. She glanced toward the road in hopes of catching a glimpse of a police car. David took advantage of her distraction and lurched forward, grabbing her arm and twisting it painfully behind her back. His warm breath bathed her ear as he lifted the knife to her throat and drew it slowly along her skin. “I’ve got you now.” “Let go!” She tried to pull away, and stinging pain spread up her arm. She cried out. No! “This is just a warm up, Sis,” he whispered, yanking her arm higher. Excruciating pain shot into her shoulder. “Don’t say another word, or I’ll make your death really slow and painful, like I did all the others. My favorite time is play time.” The sirens grew louder as David dragged her through the sand toward the rope hanging from the swing set. The wind stirred the odor of rotting leaves over them. “I won’t die like this,” Gracie said, jerking her arm free and whirling on her halfbrother. Not without seeing Nick again. She swung her fist at David. “I won’t!” “Stop it, damn it.” David blocked her punch and clubbed her temple with the butt of the knife. The world spun. She tried to stay upright, but bright lights flashed behind her eyes and she lost her balance. The ground flew up to meet her. Breathing hard, David peered down at Gracie, who’d landed in a crumpled heap at his feet. She was his sister, but she had betrayed him. His insatiable need for revenge tore at the thin thread of kinship that had wound its way around his heart. His ears buzzed, and a red haze clouded his mind. You’re no good, David. His mother’s hateful words rang in his head. You’re just like your father—nothing but trouble. He’s gone now, and I can’t have you here. You’ll hurt my Gracie. His fury grew. He could make it quick, and use the pistol, but that wouldn’t be nearly as painful for Marconi. David would use the knife. Before he could change his mind, he gripped Gracie’s arm and dragged her beneath the swing set. No time to strip her. He had to work fast. In only moments, he’d lashed her ankles together and threaded the long rope between them. He was ready to hoist her upside down. The distant sirens grew louder. He grabbed the rope and pulled. Gracie’s feet edged up a few inches. He threw his full weight into it, and soon the bottom half of her body was off the ground. His breath sawed out. Sweat cascaded down his spine. She has to die. Has to. A limb cracked in the woods behind the fence. David jerked around and spotted two men sneaking along the tree line in the thick darkness. By the motion of their bodies, he could tell they carried guns. It was the cops.

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He clutched the rope tighter and pulled, until Gracie’s head swung two feet off the ground. Perfect. He tied off the rope, slid the pickle bucket beneath her, and picked up the knife. Her slender throat called to him. She opened her eyes.

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Chapter Twenty Nick halted beside a swaying oak and looked around. Dark clouds boiled above them. There was no moonlight. Even past the trees in the open area near the road, the blackness was so thick it was almost palpable. Even so, he spotted a hulking figure standing on the playground. His heart clutched. Was that David? Where the hell was Gracie? His hands grew slick on the Glock. He didn’t dare turn on the flashlight, which he’d switched off only moments before. The figure began to move in an eerie up and down motion, and Nick’s mouth went dry. Sweat plastered his shirt to his back. He felt sick. Captain Parker sidled up to him, his breathing raspy. “Is that Elliot?” he asked softly. “Can’t tell.” But he knew it was. “Where’s our backup?” “Don’t know. If it’s Elliot and he has Gracie, we can’t wait for ‘em.” “We have to.” “Like hell we do.” Nick shot him a fiery glare. “If I see her, I’m going in.” Parker shook his head. “You just try and stop me.” Nick set his jaw. The woman he loved was in danger, and he’d be damned if he was going to stand by and watch her die. He edged away from the trees and stepped on a stick. It snapped. The sound echoed through the darkness. The figure on the playground stopped his weird motion and turned to look straight at Nick. “Shit,” he muttered, clutching his weapon. Parker moved up beside him. “He saw you. Go on. I’ve got your back.” Sirens wailed through the trees. Nick sent up a prayer of thanks as he tossed Parker the flashlight and started jogging slowly toward the playground. The figure turned back around and continued his unusual up and down motion. Like he was pumping something. What the hell? Nick frowned. Then all at once, he saw sneakers rise high in the air, upside down. His heart leapt into his throat. The bastard was hanging Gracie up by her ankles, so he could slice her neck and drain her blood. Just like he had those other five women, and poor Jasmine. Icy grains of fear coagulated the blood in Nick’s veins. His pulse pounded, yet he felt like he wasn’t getting any fuel to his brain. He felt lightheaded and weak. Nauseous. She couldn’t die. He wouldn’t let her.

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He slowed to check the Glock’s magazine, and took off again with high weeds slapping at his calves. Elliot had seen him, so he didn’t have to be quiet. Parker thudded along behind him. The low fence bobbed in his line of vision, but all he could see were the soles of Gracie’s sneakers rising up to meet the swing set. Then Elliot stopped his odd motion by tugging on the rope that brought her up, and she hung motionless, like a wet doll drying on a clothesline. Until all at once a loud shriek rent the air, and she began to thrash around wildly, shouting, “No, David! Don’t. Please God, no!” The skin on Nick’s arms prickled. David growled something, but Nick couldn’t hear it. Whirling blue lights suddenly appeared on the road, throwing odd azure shadows across the thick vegetation. Backup had arrived just in time. Nick vaulted over the fence and drew to a skidding halt, breathing hard, his damp palms steady on the Glock. David had Gracie by the hair with his knife to her throat. She had grown very still, and was staring directly into her half-brother’s eyes, talking quietly. What was she doing? Nick blinked to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. She was trying to shrink him. Even now, with her life in his hands, she was trying to get into his head. Stop it, he wanted to shout. The bastard deserves to die! Two cruisers, their sirens blaring, slid to a stop at the edge of the road. The noise abruptly ceased, and the ensuing silence was unnerving. The cruiser doors popped open and four uniformed cops spilled out. Parker ran to meet them. “Gracie?” Nick called out, aiming the Glock at the center of David Elliot’s broad back. He was tempted to fire, but was afraid that if he did, David would slash downward with the knife. “Gracie, it’s me. Nick. Don’t move.” She flinched, but her eyes never left her half-brother’s hard-planed face. She said something to him. David’s knife pressed against her skin. “Don’t do it, Elliot,” Nick said through clenched teeth. “Cut her, and you’re a dead man.” “I’m dead anyway.” He turned to fix Nick with flat, feral eyes. His soul radiated pure evil. Gracie jerked. “Don’t do it, David,” she said, her voice rising as the blood rushed to her head. “Give yourself up, and I’ll make sure you…get the…help you need.” “In prison.” “Yes.” “He’s not going back to prison,” Nick said, glaring at the man who’d killed so many women, including Jasmine. “Not to stay. He’s gonna get a needle in his arm.” “Quiet, Nick,” Gracie snapped, her tone strained. It had to be hard for her to talk upside down. She turned her head and met his frantic gaze. “You’re not…helping.” “I love you. I gotta keep you alive.” “Shut up!” David shouted, dropping to his knees. He pulled Gracie’s head back further and slid the blade of his knife across the smooth skin under her chin. No blood yet.

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It was ironic, Nick thought. He’d give anything to have Jasmine back, and here was David trying to kill his sister. Nick crept forward with sweat rolling down his spine, his eyes riveted on David’s shaking hand. “Let her go, David. She’s your sister, for crissakes.” “He’s…right,” Gracie said. Her words were strangled. “We have the same . . . blood.” “Half blood,” David bit out. “I never fit in.” “Why not?” “Stop trying to shrink him, damn it,” Nick ordered. Irony or not, Elliot had to be stopped. “He’s going to kill you.” “Only because you ruined my life, you rat bastard,” David snarled, sending Nick a hatefilled glare. “You sent me to prison. Now you have to pay.” “Oh, I’ve paid. Believe me.” Nick ground his teeth. Not a day went by that he didn’t miss Jasmine. His sister’s murder had left a void in his life that could only be filled by one person. Gracie. If David killed her too— He put that terrible possibility out of his mind and concentrated on inching closer to the two of them. Parker and the others had fanned out around the playground. Nick worried that if they fired, they might hit Gracie. “Let me…go,” she said. Her eyes riveted on David’s taut face. “Please. For…Mama.” “No!” He pulled out a gun. He now had a pistol in one hand, and the knife in another. “Be quiet.” “Put the gun . . . away. Don’t die. Mama doesn’t want…you to…die.” “You don’t know what she wants,” he growled. “She hates me. You hate me.” “No. I want to…help you.” “You tried. It’s too late now.” He abruptly turned the pistol on Nick and swept the knife in a swift downward arc. Nick squeezed the trigger. Six other shots rang out simultaneously, and David sprawled backwards on the sand, his own shot pinging harmlessly off the leg of the swing set and flying out into the night. Blood bloomed across Gracie’s chest. She cried out. Terror crawled over Nick like a million stinging ants. Forgetting all about David, he sprinted to her side and dropped to his knees. Fear squeezed his soul. He wiped drops of blood from her cheek and lifted her up. “Gracie, my God. Gracie?” “Are you—?” He broke off on a sob. “Sweet Jesus, are you hit?” “I-I don’t…think so.” She twisted sideways, searching desperately for her half-brother. “What about David? Is he—?” Parker strode over and squatted beside the killer’s prone form. He knocked the knife and gun away from David’s outstretched hands and felt for a pulse. Then he turned and nodded. “He’s dead.” Nick lifted Gracie up so he could hold her. She awkwardly clutched his neck and began to cry. ***** “Is she all right?” Parker asked, handing Nick a steaming cup of coffee.

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Nick wrapped his icy hands around it. Despite the sweat riding his skin, he was chilled right down to the bone, thanks to the district station’s ever-present air conditioning. Spring, summer, fall. It didn’t matter. It was on. He met Parker’s concerned gaze. “Physically. But she’s pretty upset.” “She loved him.” Nick shrugged. “He was part of her family.” “I know.” Parker slapped him on the back. “He was also a cruel bastard.” “That’s what hurts her most. That she couldn’t save him.” Nick managed a weak smile. “Look, Captain, I may need a few days off.” “I was hoping you’d ask for that. You’ve earned it,” Parker said. “Take all the time you need.” “You mean that?” “Just so you invite me to the wedding.” “What wedding?” Nick barked a laugh. “Right now, she hates my guts.” “She’ll get over it.” “I don’t know about that.” Nick shook his head. “How’s Joe Keller?” “He lost a lot of blood, but looks like he’s gonna make it. We got to him just in time.” With a deep sigh, Nick nodded and walked away. He was thankful Keller would be okay, but his heart was heavy as he halted beside the closed interview room door and stared down into Gracie’s cup of coffee. She blamed him for David’s death. Talk about irony— He took a deep breath and opened the door. She still sat at the table, the worn blanket someone had dragged from a closet wrapped tightly around her slim shoulders. Even so, she was still shivering. Nick set the cup of coffee on the table. “Here. Maybe this will warm you up.” “Th-thank you,” she said, her hands shaking as she picked it up. She brought the Styrofoam cup to her lips and took a healthy sip. Her eyes closed in relief. Nick’s heart melted and a lump rose in his throat. He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. “We need to know everything that happened last night.” “You know what happened.” “I know I almost lost you.” Her hand holding the cup stilled in mid-air. “It scared me to death.” “Really?” Those pretty green eyes, now so weary and filled with dismay, searched his face. “Yeah.” “How’s Officer Keller?” “He’s gonna be okay.” “Good.” She visibly relaxed. “I was afraid he’d died, too. With Webby and David gone—” Nick interlaced his hands and stared down at them. “He killed my sister. But that isn’t why I shot him.” “Why did you?” “Because I love you, and I didn’t want you to die.” She swallowed. “You said that at the playground.”

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“It’s true.” He blinked. He couldn’t believe he was laying out his emotions for her like this, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. They just kept pouring out, like he’d opened a vein. He raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve never—” “Never, what?” He hesitated. “Never told a woman I loved her before.” “Oh, Nick.” “I shot David because I’ve seen too much death. If you’d died out there instead of him—” Nick shook his head. He didn’t want to imagine the pain that would cause. Gracie put down her cup and gripped his hand. “I didn’t know if what we shared last night meant as much to you as it did to me. I’d hoped it did, but I wasn’t sure.” “It meant more,” he said, the depth of his love for her overwhelming him. All weight of the pain filling his soul lessened a little more each second he was with her. “You’re the only woman who’s ever really understood me.” “I don’t know about that,” she said, smiling shyly. “I do.” He squeezed her fingers. “But I have to ask you one question, before Parker comes in.” “Okay. Go ahead.” “Why did you try to save David after all he’d done? All the murders and the torture of those women. Hell, he was gonna kill you.” “He was my half-brother.” “And that made him worth saving?” “Wouldn’t you have done anything to save your sister?” “Yes. But that was different.” “Because David was sick?” Gracie pulled her hand free. “He was, and that breaks my heart. I never had the chance to really get to know him. I wanted to help him, but he was too far gone by the time he came to me.” “Yet you almost sacrificed yourself for him.” “I took an oath.” “I did, too. To protect and serve.” “You do that very well,” she said sharply. She squared her shoulders and stared down into her coffee cup. “Good luck with it.” “You say that like we won’t be seeing each other again,” he said. The lump in his throat swelled as he recalled her saying the same thing to him last night.. She released his hand and gripped her coffee cup. “I don’t know if we should.” Terror seized him. “Why not?” The door opened, and Parker came in. His face was solemn. “Nick, it’s your turn with PID. And hey, be aware that Lang’s on the prowl.” Nick snapped his mouth shut and got up. He stared at Gracie for a long time, but she wouldn’t look at him. His heart cracked just a little more. Finally, he turned and slipped out into the hall. He tried to focus on what PID would ask him. The ADA caught him just as he reached the interrogation room down the hall. “PID’s going after you.”

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“Why is that?” Nick asked. At this moment, he didn’t really care. He was still reeling from Gracie’s rejection. Lang closed the gap between them. “You could have brought Elliot in alive.” “Like hell I could have.” No way would Nick have chanced grabbing the guy with his knife at Gracie’s throat. “You acted rashly.” “If I did, then the five other cops did too—and that includes Captain Parker.” “He tells me you took the lead and went in without backup.” “I had no choice. Another woman was about to die.” “Dr. Gracie Simmons.” Lang lifted his chin and looked down his nose at Nick. “Your psychiatrist.” “That’s right. “Are you having a relationship with her?” Lang asked. Nick kept his gaze steady. “She’s not my shrink any more, if that’s what you mean.” “No. I’m talking personal.” The ADA leaned closer to him, and Nick caught a whiff of tuna breath. “Are you screwing her, Marconi?” “That’s none of your damned business,” Nick snapped, backing away. Lang ate that up. “You are, aren’t you?” “No.” Nick tamped down the urge to smash his fist into Lang’s smug face. “I saved her life because it’s my fucking job. I would’ve done the same for anyone. Even you.” He turned to walk away and his eyes landed on Gracie, who stood just outside the doorway of the other interrogation room, her eyes wide. His stomach plummeted to his feet. She’d heard every damned word he’d just said. Parker walked up to her and smiled. “Ready to go, doctor?” “You bet,” Gracie said, tearing her wounded gaze away from Nick. His heart broke in half as she walked away. ***** Gracie had answered all the questions the detectives had thrown at her. She was tired, and her heart ached. But at least now, she knew the truth. Nick had gotten close to her so he could catch David. She was a job to him. Nothing more. Personal feelings didn’t come into play. David was dead, and although she hadn’t really known him, his passing had left another empty space in her heart. She went home and tried to put her life back together. With David and Jerry both gone, she should have no trouble restarting her practice. Except for Mrs. Applegate. The poor woman had died so needlessly. Thank God Officer Keller had survived. Awash in grief, more so because of Nick than David, as much as she hated to admit it, Gracie drifted aimlessly through the next few days. Her mother flew in for David’s funeral, but the two of them didn’t even speak. Not once in the day and a half Audrey was in town. Once her mother left, Gracie felt liberated. She immediately called Ashley and arranged to meet her at the office after lunch. Her receptionist arrived wreathed in smiles.

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“So,” Gracie said, unable to match the girl’s exuberance. “You must still be seeing Walt.” “Every night this week.” Ashley’s face glowed. Gracie bit her lip and tried not to think about Nick. Every time she did, her heart ached. She faked a smile. “I’m so happy for you.” “Thank you.” Ashley’s smile faded. “I heard what happened. And I’m so sorry about your…brother.” “Half-brother.” Gracie managed a sad smile. “We weren’t close. Still, he was family.” “He was our patient, too.” “Yes.” “I hate you had to go through all that. To almost be killed by your own flesh and blood—” She shook her head. “You must have been terrified.” “David wasn’t going to kill me.” At least, that’s what Gracie kept telling herself. She pushed a strand of hair out of her face and hurried to change the subject. “Are you ready to get back to work, or are you too busy with Walt?” “I have to go back to work.” Ashley giggled. “Walt is wearing me out.” “Good. I need you to contact our patients and reschedule their appointments, beginning tomorrow. I need to get back into my routine.” “So soon?” Ashley asked, her eyes growing wide. “I mean, after all you went through, I thought you might want to take a week or two off. You know, to recover.” “There’s no need for that. I’m fine.” Gracie forced another weary smile. “Besides, listening to other peoples’ problems will keep me from focusing on mine.” “That’s a great attitude. I can start now, if you want.” “Perfect.” Gracie handed Ashley her appointment book. “Here you go. Let’s get to work.” Once Ashley sat down at her desk, Gracie retreated into her office and closed the door. The blood had been cleaned from her desk and floor, and all that remained to remind her of Jerry’s frightening reign of terrorism were the crisp scents of bleach and carpet cleaner mixed with the lemony odor of furniture polish. She sat down in her chair and drew in a deep breath. Her office hadn’t changed at all. But everywhere she looked, she saw Nick. Sitting in the chair across from her, his leg jostling up and down. Pacing the floor like a caged animal. Picking up her ceramic tiger and turning it over and over in his large hands. Her heart flip-flopped. Those same hands had played over her skin with a reverence that had surprised her. He’d been so gentle and sweet. So incredibly intense. Sadness fell over her like a woolen cloak. She missed him more than she’d ever dreamed she would. Her heart ached with emptiness. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to pick up the phone. Nick had shot David. He’d done it to save her life, but watching her half-brother die had broken her heart. Why, she didn’t know. Like she’d told Ashley, she and David had never been close. Gracie frowned. Maybe it was the ease with which Nick had pulled that trigger. His eagerness to kill. And yet afterwards, there had been tears in his eyes.

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That’s why she’d been so upset to learn it had only been a job to him. That what they’d shared had meant nothing. She shook her head. She was too mixed up to dissect their interaction right now. So she might as well get to work. She scrubbed both hands over her face, and picked up a file. It was Nick’s. ***** Nick picked up the weight bar and set it on the bench’s wide rack. His muscles burned from working out so much, but it was the only thing he’d found that could take his mind off Gracie, if only for a few minutes at a time. He lay down on the bench and fisted his hands around the bar. One-and-a-half times his body weight. He gritted his teeth. Twice as much as Gracie weighed. He lowered the bar to his chest, and grunted as he shoved it upwards. Up two, down two. Over and over. Trying to drive her out of his system. Out of his heart. It wasn’t working. Sweat popped out across his brow and upper lip. The weight grew heavier. He shouted this time when he shoved the bar up. His chest and shoulders were on fire. Down again, until someone suddenly grabbed the bar and ripped it from his sweat-slick hands. “What the hell?” He tried to swivel around to see who’d done it, as the bar dropped into the rack directly above him. He blinked and gingerly sat up. His muscles screamed in protest. He shouldn’t be doing this so soon after being injured, but he didn’t care. What did it matter, without Gracie in his life? Parker walked around the bar. “You’ve worked out like this every day this week, even though you’re supposed to be getting some R & R and recuperating from that beating. Are you trying to kill yourself?” “No.” Nick dropped his head into his hands and raked his fingers through his damp hair. “I don’t know. Hell. Maybe.” “You’re trying to make your body hurt as much as your heart.” His boss had hit the nail on the head, but Nick didn’t want to admit it. So he just stared at Parker. The ache to which the Captain had referred became more intense. Parker quirked his mouth. “You know I’m right.” Nick looked down at the floor. “Why are you staying away from her?” Fresh pain arrowed through Nick’s shattered heart. “Because she doesn’t want me. She made that clear.” Parker slid his hands deep into his pockets. “Damn it, Captain. She overheard me telling Lang that rescuing her was just a job. That she didn’t matter.” Nick shook his head. “If you’d seen the look on her face when I said that, you wouldn’t even be asking me about her.”

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That awful picture was as crystal clear in his mind as seeing Gracie hanging upside down at David Elliot’s mercy. Not to mention that at the moment Nick had fired, Gracie’s face had twisted in horror and she’d burst into tears. “She thinks you used her.” “That’s putting it mildly.” He rolled his burning shoulders. “It didn’t help that I shot Elliot.” “We all hit him.” “It was a miracle we missed Gracie.” Nick drew in a shaky breath. His body was beginning to cool, and the sweat sliding down his back started to itch. He shifted on the bench. “She was looking at me at the time. Watching my face. Just like she did afterwards when I told Lang my relationship with her was all an act.” Parker remained silent. “Hell, I wanted that bastard Elliot to die.” Nick wiped a hand over his eyes. “Gracie knew that. Now she thinks she was only the means to an end. His death.” “You believe she hates you for that.” “How can she not?” Parker lifted one eyebrow. “Have you talked to her?” “Of course not. She walked away from me that day and never looked back.” “So you wrote her off. Just like that.” The Captain pulled his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together. “That doesn’t fly with me. Do us all a favor, and go see her.” “Are you crazy?” Nick gaped at him. “I'm the last person she wants to see. I don't want to hurt her any more than I already have.” “I think you’ve underestimated her.” Nick shook his head. No way. He had to change the subject. “Any word on O’Neill? I heard he was arrested.” “Yep. He spilled his guts.” “Meaning?” “Claims he killed Delia by accident, then sliced her up to imitate what Elliot had done, to shift blame onto him. Too bad he got it all wrong.” “Another stupid criminal.” With a genuine laugh, Parker walked around to the other side of the bench and peered out the window. “Lang’s still on the warpath, you know. He wants your ass in a sling.” “What the hell for?” Nick bowed up. No one had ever rubbed him as wrong as the ADA. “We got Elliot, which solved the case. What more does he want?” “We killed Elliot.” Parker turned back to face him. “So what? That saves the taxpayers a boatload of money.” Nick raised his eyebrows. “Care to explain why he’s so pissed?” “He’s convinced we could’ve brought Elliot in alive.” Nick laughed sharply. “Lang wasn’t at that playground.” “I know that. The bottom line is, he’s mad that we arrested his boy, and he’s looking for someone to blame.” “The kid’s a pervert. He deserves whatever he gets.” “I agree. And for what it’s worth, I backed you up.” “Thanks.” Nick stood and snatched his towel off the ab machine. He wiped his face.

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Parker quirked his lips. “Promise me you’ll go see your psychiatrist. Today.” “She’s not my shrink any more.” “Doesn’t matter.” Parker cocked his head. “I think you’re all wrong about her, and I wanna test my theory.” “At my expense.” “Maybe.” Parker shrugged, but he had a twinkle in his eye. “Will you do it?” Shit. Nick scratched his chin. Did he dare go see Gracie? Would she want to see him? “Go before you have time to think about it,” Parker said. “Consider it an order, detective.” Nick raked a hand through his hair and dug deep, searching for courage. “Yes sir.” ***** Gracie stepped into her house from the garage, locked the door, and dropped her purse on the kitchen counter. Her neck ached. She was more tired than she’d let on with Ashley. Rubbing her taut muscles, she walked into the living room and toed off her shoes. The plush carpet felt wonderful beneath her stocking feet. She smiled sadly. It was good to be home. It was also very lonely. She sat down on the couch and picked up the remote. She’d watch what was left of Oprah before searching the freezer for something to eat. She hadn’t felt like going to the grocery store. The last few days, she hadn’t wanted to do much of anything. There was a giant void in her life. One that only Nick Marconi could fill. Too bad he had betrayed her. Oprah’s topic was Liars, and the Women who Fall for Them. Gracie shook her head and hurriedly switched the channel to an all-news station. She leaned back against the cushions. Some of the weariness seeped from her muscles, but her heart still throbbed with emptiness. The TV story was bland and didn’t help her slow her racing thoughts, which revolved around Nick. She should be furious with him. But all she felt was a powerful emptiness that sucked at her soul. She threw down the remote and stood up. Time to scrounge for supper. With a heavy sigh, she wiped her eyes and entered the kitchen. She’d taken only a few steps when the doorbell rang. She halted in her tracks. Fear pierced her chest as horrifying memories of Jerry’s bizarre visit scrolled through her head. No. Calm down, she told herself. Jerry’s dead. She swallowed and stepped back into the living room. Darkness hadn’t yet fallen, and late afternoon sunlight spilled in through the windows. Still, she stood on tiptoe to look out the peephole. Nick stood on the mat. Instead of revulsion, she felt a jolt of surprise, combined with a strange, awesome yearning. Nick looked around, his nerves jumping in rhythm with his pounding heart. He shouldn’t have come here. What if she told him to go away? He turned to leave before she spotted him, but all at once the door opened and Gracie hovered just inside, staring at him with those gorgeous green eyes.

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He wet his lips. Her blond hair glittered like polished gold, and her flawless skin called out for his touch. She was beautiful, just like always. But she looked so tired. World weary, with a wide streak of inner pain. “Nick.” Her heart turned over. Why was he here? She took a deep breath and wiped her damp palms on her slacks. His face was haunted, his dark hair mussed like a little boy’s. His jacket looked like it had been slept in. Yet she wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg him to make love to her right there on the front porch. She didn’t move. She couldn’t. He just stood there in silence, eating her up with those intense azure eyes. Eyes that surveyed her splintered soul and dipped into the sealed-off places of her heart she’d sworn would never see daylight again. His eyes locked on her mouth. God, how he wanted to kiss her. If only she would let him. He motioned toward the door. “May I come in?” “Oh. Yes. I-I’m sorry.” Her hands fluttered as she backed away from the opening. Her eyes never left his face. “How are you?” “I’m okay.” He was right now, anyway. With her so near. He took a deep breath and stepped inside, halting close enough that her delicious vanilla scent wafted over him. His body tightened. She gripped the doorknob. “I’m glad.” “I’ve missed you.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. They hung in the air between them, their weight sitting on his chest like a giant anvil. He must have lost his mind. Tears suddenly filled her eyes, and she brought a hand to her mouth. “Don’t. Please.” “That day at the station—” She shook her head. “You don’t have to explain.” “Yes, I do.” He pressed on before he halted out of fear. “I said what I did in the hall that day to throw ADA Lang off track. He’d just asked me if I was having a personal relationship with you, and I lied to save my job, and yours. I’m sorry if I hurt you.” She didn’t say anything. He nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot. “It was wrong. But Lang was out of line. I didn’t want you caught in the crossfire.” “You lied for both of us?” She lifted her eyebrows. He nodded. “If Lang had found out we slept together while you were still my shrink, it wouldn’t be good for either of us.” “Technically, I wasn’t.” “He wouldn’t know that.” She bit her lip as tears flooded her eyes. “Oh my God. I thought—” “I know. God, Gracie,” he said, her name coming out as an odd croak. He reached for her. “I hated hurting you.” She went into his arms and pressed her face against his hard chest. He smelled like soap. All her heartache, all the loneliness, all the emptiness fell away, only to be replaced by a startling warmth.

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He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. He’d been afraid he’d never hold her again. Memories of their lovemaking put tears in his eyes, and he knew without a doubt he wanted to be with her every day for the rest of his life. He pulled back and kissed her. Softly at first, then with a growing urgency that made him granite hard. She smiled up at him. “Are you glad to see me, or is that your Glock in your pocket?” “Call it whatever you want,” he said, his heart singing. His soul was complete, for the first time in his life. He couldn’t help grinning. “Damn it, Gracie. I love you.” “Oh, Nick. You’re so romantic,” she said, laughter bubbling up from deep inside. Her heart swelled with joy, and she kissed him soundly. “I love you, too. Damn it.” Nick closed the door, swept his strong arm beneath her legs, and lifted her off her feet. She squealed and grabbed his neck. He knew right then he’d never let her go.