Eric still had her by the waist where he’d grabbed her just as the car whooshed past them, spewing exhaust and burning rubber into the air.

Christina had stumbled back against Eric’s chest, and he pulled her tightly against his body. “Are you okay?”

“That was close.” Her voice shook and she cleared her throat. “What’s the matter with that guy? Didn’t he see us?”

“He saw us, Christina.”

Her heart pounded in her chest and her breath came out in short spurts. “That’s crazy. We’re the FBI, for God’s sake.”

He held out his hand. “Do you want me to drive? Your hands are trembling.”

She dropped the keys into his palm without a word. If he wanted to play the big, strong protector, who was she to argue?

The District

Carol Ericson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROL ERICSON lives with her husband and two sons in Southern California, home of state-of-the-art cosmetic surgery, wild freeway chases, palm trees bending in the Santa Ana winds and a million amazing stories. These stories, along with hordes of virile men and feisty women, clamor for release from Carol’s head. It makes for some interesting headaches until she sets them free to fulfill their destinies and her readers’ fantasies. To find out more about Carol, her books and her strange headaches, please visit her website, www.carolericson.com, “Where romance flirts with danger.”

For Deputy Chief Greg Huber, one of my many go-to guys for research

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Extract

Chapter One

Nine times out of ten a dead body will win a staring contest.

Christina blinked and looked away from the lifeless eyes of the twentysomething vic, a gruesome slash across her throat, a tarot card shoved between her stiff fingers.

Tarot cards—Christina knew a thing or two about them. She would’ve expected death on his white horse in this case, but the killer had left the maiden and the lion, an indicator of strength.

Her gaze shifted away from the body and skimmed the trees, their leaves rustling with impatience. “Has anyone checked the surrounding area yet?”

Lieutenant Fitch with the San Francisco P.D. waved his pale hand. “You go right ahead, Agent Sandoval.”

She ground her back teeth together, adjusted her shoulder holster and tromped toward the tree line. If not for that tarot card, she wouldn’t even be here.

The dense nature preserve enveloped her in a cool embrace, muting the voices of the crime scene investigators in the trail behind her. The weak San Francisco sun, still shrugging off the fog, penetrated the foliage in wisps and strands, throwing a beam of light here and dappled shadows there.

She inhaled the scent of eucalyptus, which cleared her senses and ramped up her adrenaline. The murder victim had been jogging on the trail either early this morning or sometime last night. The predator had surprised her, flying at her like an animal on the prowl—lying in wait.

Her nostrils flared and she scanned the underbrush. Lying in wait. He must’ve been watching, waiting for his prey.

Hunching forward, she crept farther into the darkness, her footfalls silenced by nature’s carpet beneath her, the strands of a willow brushing her face. She veered to the right, aligning herself with the body on the trail.

She cranked her head over her shoulder and detected flashes of color and movement from the cops and techs milling around the vic. He could’ve seen her coming from here, but would’ve had no time to prepare his attack.

She looked up. A live oak tree towered a few feet in front of her. She approached it, studying the ground around the base of the trunk. Something had disturbed the leaves layered on the dirt, but plenty of creatures roamed this area—not just the two-legged, deadly kind.

She reached out, running her hand down the rough bark that scratched her fingers. Here and there she traced smooth areas of the trunk where pieces of bark had broken away from the old tree.

Stretching her arms out, she wedged her palms against the tree trunk and hung her head between her arms. She closed her eyes.

The subtle sounds of nature came to life—the rustle of a bird’s wings, the creak of a branch, the scurrying of an insect across a log.

And then it slammed into her chest. The evil. She felt it like a palpable curtain dropping around her, smothering her. He’d been here.

She jerked her head up, her eyes narrowing. She shed her jacket and secured her weapon in her holster. The bark of the tree chaffed her palms as she grabbed the first branch with both hands. She hoisted herself up and planted the rubber soles of her practical shoes against the trunk. Walking up the tree trunk, she lunged for the next branch and then swung her legs over the side of it.

Straddling the branch, she could just see over the top of the lower bushes and trees that bordered the jogging trail. She pulled herself into a crouch and reached for the next branch that curved against the trunk—a natural seat, a window on the world.

She nestled her back against the trunk, her legs hanging over the side of the branch. Lieutenant Fitch came into view, pointing and gesturing with his hands—which she’d noticed before were sprinkled with red hair—basically running the show.

Farther down the trail a clutch of people crowded against the yellow police tape, all leaning toward the crime scene like magnets drawn to some irresistible force.

She got it. The same morbid curiosity had propelled her into a job with a special serial killer unit within the FBI. She’d been fascinated with these crimes ever since she’d followed the Phone Book Killer case at the tender age of twelve.

She shivered—that fascination, along with an uncanny ability to empathize with both the killers and their victims, drove her to this work. She didn’t really empathize with the killers, but for some reason she could tune in to their thought processes. Not that she’d ever told anyone that before—anyone but Eric.

And that had been a colossal mistake.

She sat up straighter on the branch and peered at the trail beyond the spectators. He would’ve seen her coming from this vantage point. Would’ve been able to jump from his lookout post and intercept her on the trail, introducing her to the sharp edge of his knife.

She took a deep breath. Was that artificial smell among the natural elements cologne? Tobacco?

She reached for the branch above her to lean forward and scope out the ground. Her fingers collided with the smooth edge of a card. She snatched her hand away, curled one leg beneath her and slowly rose from her seated position.

Someone had shoved another tarot card in the crack of some mottled bark. She pulled a tissue from her pocket. Pinching the card between two tissue-covered fingers, she plucked it from its hiding place. She turned the card over.

The fool.

Her nerve endings buzzed with curiosity and excitement. Again, she would’ve expected the death card. Instead, he’d left the card for strength and the fool.

Had this tarot card been at the two other crime scenes and they’d missed it? What was he trying to tell them?

She huffed out a breath. If her mother had allowed her to continue down the path her father wanted to carve for her, she’d probably understand this killer’s message.

Christina pulled an evidence baggie from her pocket and dropped the card inside. She scanned her perch for anything else the killer may have left behind—threads, hair, more tarot cards.

Nothing jumped out at her, not even those vague feelings that sometimes insinuated themselves into her psyche. Once she’d found the killer’s perch, she’d readied herself for a rush of feelings, feelings that often made her nauseous. This time she’d only experienced the taste of evil at the base of the tree.

She brushed away the trickle of sweat at her hairline and lowered herself back to the ground. She swept her jacket up from the carpet of mulch and froze.

A twig cracked again.

She jerked her head in the direction of the sound. Her gaze darted between the branches and leaves of the dense foliage. She held her breath. The entire park held its breath, too, waiting for someone to make a move.

“Agent Sandoval?”

The interloper crashing through the trees behind her set the forest in motion. Birds took flight, scattering leaves in their haste. A squirrel scurried up the tree trunk, pausing to blink at her with its bright, challenging eyes. The trees took up their groaning and creaking once more.

Christina turned, holding out her hands, palms up. “Careful there, cowboy. I’ve probably already done enough damage here.”

“Ma’am?” The officer cocked his head, looking all of twelve.

“Call me Christina.” She pinched the evidence baggie between two fingers and wiggled it in front of her. “Another tarot card. I think our killer scoped out the victim from this tree.”

The cop’s mouth dropped open as he took a step back. “I’ll get the lieutenant and have him send the CSI guys out here. Did you find anything else?”

“Nope, just the card.” And one helluva creepy feeling. Somehow she knew Lieutenant Fitch would dismiss any and all creepy feelings, so she’d keep them to herself. She always did.

She followed the broad blue-clad back through the trees, back to the running trail. The young cop was already hopping from foot to foot in front of Lieutenant Fitch and gesturing with his hands.

Fitch gazed over his officer’s shoulder and narrowed his eyes as Christina emerged into the clearing. Did he think she’d planted the evidence? As FBI, she’d worked with resentful detectives before, and Fitch seemed to be taking his place among them.

If she hadn’t already been here due to the previous tarot card murder, Fitch probably wouldn’t have bothered contacting the FBI about this one.

She plastered on her sweetest smile and waved the plastic bag. “How about that, Lieutenant? Looks like our boy stationed himself in one tall tree, staking out his next victim.”

“Let me see that.” He snapped his fingers and held out his hand.

She dropped the evidence baggie into his palm. “Another tarot card—the fool this time. Those cards mean something to him. He’s leaving us a message.”

The cop swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his thin neck. “Maybe he’s a fortune-teller?”

Fitch practically growled at him. “Go get some more yellow tape and tell CSI the crime scene’s just been extended.”

Christina called after the hunched shoulders. “You might be on to something, Officer.”

The lieutenant snapped his reddish brows together. “Don’t encourage him. He’s just a rookie on patrol. I can assure you, Agent Sandoval, you’re not dealing with some hick department.”

“This is San Francisco. I never thought I was, Lieutenant.” She turned her head and covered her mouth with her hand. Inferiority complex much? “Can you tell me anything more about the murder?”

“Without an autopsy, it’s what we suspected at first—severe head trauma followed by the slitting of the throat.”

“Blunt object?”

“Yep.”

“He must be incapacitating them with the blow to the head, which then allows him to cut their throats.”

“Victim lost a lot of blood.”

“Just like Liz Fielding and the one up in Portland.”

“At least he’s consistent.”

“Except for this.” She flicked the bag he still held in his hand. “Unless we missed something at those other crime scenes.”

“Is this going to send you back up to Portland, Agent Sandoval?”

She tossed her ponytail over one shoulder. “Why? Trying to get rid of me, Lieutenant Fitch?”

“Naw, we love it when the fibbies come around and trample all over our procedures and protocol.”

Arching one eyebrow, she said, “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“You’re all right, so far, Agent Sandoval. We’ve just had a few bad experiences with you boys...ah, folks.”

“You can start by calling me Christina, and I’m not here to trample over your procedures and protocol. I’m here to find a killer and get some justice for these victims. I hope that’s your objective, too, Lieutenant Fitch.”

He thrust out his hand. “Call me Charlie.”

“Done deal, Charlie. Now let’s nail this SOB.”

* * *

“I MISS YOU, Kendall. Be a good girl for G-Ma.” Christina blew kisses at the laptop until her mother’s face filled the screen.

“I’m taking her to the park today. What are you doing? Are you going to stay in the city? At least you’re not too far away this time. You can pop in for a visit.”

“With this third murder, I’ll be here for at least another week, but it looks like I need to go back to Portland for some further investigation.”

Her mother ran a hand through her still-lustrous dark hair streaked with silver. “I wish you’d take some nice desk job and settle down. Kendall needs a father and some stability.”

Christina put a hand over her heart where the guilt stabbed her. “Kendall has a father and right now you’re providing the stability, Mom. After this case, I’m planning on doing more profile work. Believe me, I’ll be spending lots of time at my desk.”

“Yeah, well about Kendall’s father...”

“Oops, gotta go, Ma. Have fun at the park and if you have time take Kendall for a shaved ice at that new place. She loves that stuff, even though half the ice ends up in her lap.”

Her mom shook her head. “You need to get your life in order.”

“I will. I am. Love you, Ma.”

She ended the videoconferencing session and shoved the computer off her lap. She hated it when her mother was right.

She rolled off the bed and headed to the bathroom. Now that she had Charlie Fitch on her side, he’d invited her to the station today to review the report on the latest murder. The Portland P.D. had done some more background on the victim, and she had nothing in common with the previous victim in San Francisco or the woman yesterday—nothing except the tarot cards shoved between their cold, dead fingers.

And the other tarot card? Had there been another tarot card in the vicinity of the other victims that they’d missed?

She’d called her bureau chief, Rich Greavy, to report this recent finding, but she had to leave a message for him. The fact that he wouldn’t take her call didn’t surprise her. Even if he didn’t get back to her, she knew he’d give his approval for her to return to the other crime scene in Portland—as long as she stayed out of his hair.

She showered and changed into yet another pantsuit, the unofficial uniform of the female FBI agent. She paired the beige slacks and jacket with a peach blouse and some sky-high heels. They went well with the .45 she’d strapped to her body.

Fifteen minutes later, she wheeled her small rental car into the parking lot of the station. She strode through the squad room toward the detectives’ area and knocked on the lieutenant’s door.

“C’mon in.”

She poked her head into his office. “Good morning, Charlie. Do you have the reports?”

“All ready to go.” He tapped some file folders on his desk. “So the Bureau’s sending one of your brethren out here to help you.”

“Really?” She sealed her lips and fought the warmth that crept into her cheeks. Too late.

Fitch raised his brows. “You didn’t know?”

No, because the Western Bureau Chief didn’t believe female agents were competent to handle murder cases on their own.

“Ah, never got the confirmation.” She shifted her purse from one shoulder to the other. “He’s coming today?”

He picked up the thick file folders and waved them in the air. “Yep. Told him you’d be here this morning and I’d have the reports ready for the two of you.”

“Yeah, great. Looks like we’ll be putting together a task force on this case, or at least a task force of two.”

“Swell.” He dropped the file folders on his blotter.

And just like that, Greavy had probably wrecked the tentative rapport she’d established with Fitch.

Leaning over his desk, she scooped up the reports. “If you have someplace for me to sit, I’ll get out of your way and wait for the other agent.”

“To your right, three doors down there’s an empty office. You’re welcome to use it until your partner in crime fighting shows up.”

“Thanks, Charlie. Coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

Pursing her lips, she glared at the bald spot on his head as he bent over his desk. “I meant for me.”

Without an ounce of embarrassment, he aimed a stubby finger toward the door. “Back in the squad room.”

“Thanks a lot.” She clicked his door shut and blew out a breath. Yep, that rapport was totally trashed.

Her high heels clicked on the linoleum as she hugged the file folders to her chest and made her way back to the squad room.

Christina balanced the file folders on the edge of the counter and shook a disposable cup loose from a stack.

“Do you want me to get that for you?”

Christina glanced over her shoulder at a fresh-faced female cop, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. “I think I got it.”

The officer reached around Christina for the coffeepot. “That’s okay. You’d better grab those folders instead.”

Snatching the case files from the counter, Christina laughed. “You’re right. Those almost landed on the floor.”

“Not that I wouldn’t mind getting a look at them.” The woman aimed a steady stream of steaming brown liquid into Christina’s cup.

“Is that so, Officer...” She squinted at the cop’s name tag. “Griego?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She replaced the coffeepot on the hot plate. “I’ve been on patrol for two years now, and I’m just itching to take the detective’s exam.”

“Homicide?”

“That’s my goal.”

Christina raised her cup to Officer Griego. “If I need some help, I’ll make a request for you.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’d appreciate that.”

As Officer Griego turned away, Christina grimaced and tipped some cream into her cup. You hit thirty and you become ma’am.

She blew on the surface of her coffee as she made her way back to the office Fitch had indicated before. She dropped the file folders on the desk, leaving the door open behind her. The open-door policy seemed to work better with the police departments, and she just might need Officer Griego’s help.

She flipped open the covers of the two files and reached for a third tucked into her briefcase. She positioned the case file for the Portland murder next to the other two. The tarot cards and the M.O. tied two murders in San Francisco to the one in Portland. No doubt about it.

Why only one in Portland and two here? Had they missed a second one in Portland? If these were random, then the killer must’ve been in Portland for business or pleasure. Or maybe he lived in Oregon and San Francisco was the trip away from home, but the Oregon murder had come between the two in the city.

The close succession of the two murders here had allowed her to see the crime scene for herself this time. When the tarot card had been discovered on the body of the murder victim in Portland, just like it had here, the Bureau had sent her back to San Francisco to follow up.

Then the killer struck again while she was in the city. Lucky for her—not so much for the victim.

For the next hour, she buried her nose in the papers in between sips of lukewarm coffee. Nobody had disturbed her until Officer Griego tapped on the office door.

“Ma’am?”

Christina looked up and rubbed one eye. “Yes?”

“The other agent from the Bureau is here.” Griego looked ready to burst with pride as if she’d personally invited him here and tracked her down.

“Thanks. Send him on over.”

Officer Griego’s rosy cheeks got rosier. “He’s right...”

A tall, broad form filled the door behind the tiny officer. “Thanks, Rita. I’ll take it from here.”

Christina clenched her jaw to keep it from hitting the desk. Then she eked out a tight smile and said hello to Eric Brody, her ex-fiancé, the love of her life and the father of her child.

Chapter Two

Christina looked ready to spit nails. Still didn’t detract one bit from her all-around gorgeousness.

He had the advantage knowing about this meeting beforehand, and if there’s one thing he’d learned about his ex-fiancée it was that if you had an advantage over her—exploit it.

She reined herself in and the tight lips curved into a tighter smile. “You’re back.”

“In the flesh.” He spread his arms, spanning the doorway.

Two spots of color flagged her cheeks and then disappeared almost immediately. She recovered quickly—always had, always would.

“I heard you were traipsing around Latin America after your...leave of absence.” Her fingers drummed the papers on the desk.

He kicked the door shut behind him and she jumped. Not so composed after all.

“I’ve been back in the States about a month. Went straight from drugs to serial killers.”

“Are you okay with the move?” Her dark, liquid eyes softened as they scanned his face, and her long lashes fluttered against her cheeks.

The edges of his cold resolve melted just a little. Then he straightened his spine. He’d seen that look before—right before she stabbed him in the back.

“Why not?” He lifted his shoulders in a quick shrug. “I’m particularly suited to the assignment, don’t you agree? Just like I was particularly suited to the kidnapping detail. Let’s just hope this one ends better.”

She jumped from her chair, smacking her palms on the desk blotter. “You...”

He held up his hands.

She closed her eyes, adjusted the waistband of her slacks and plopped back in her chair. “You look good.”

His gaze strayed from the perfect oval of her face to her long fingers twisting into knots. He could say the same for her. The masculine pantsuit did nothing to conceal her femininity, and from the way she towered over the desk he knew her feet were slipped into those high heels she loved to wear at the office to remind everyone in this male-dominated field that she was still a woman.

Not that there could be any doubt about that. Ever.

“You look good, too. Serial killers agree with you. Of course, they always did. You must be in heaven.”

A spasm crumpled her face and she shoved the file folders toward him. “Oh, yeah. It’s heaven to see young women like Nora and Olivia cut down in the prime of life by some sick whack job.”

Heaving out a long sigh, he rolled a leather-bound chair behind him and dropped into it. The war between them was over. He’d ended the engagement, and these battles were unnecessary. “I’m sorry, Christina. That was a low blow. The families of these women are lucky to have you on their cases.”

Her lips parted and she nodded. Her mouth had lost the tightness and looked totally kissable—and God he could take her in his arms right now and do justice to those luscious lips.

The lust that slammed him and had him shifting in the squeaky chair hadn’t revved him up like this in over two years—the last time he’d seen Christina Sandoval.

Greavy was a sadistic SOB to put him on this case with Christina. Of course, Greavy had no idea the homicide in San Diego he’d assigned to Eric as soon as he joined the unit would be linked to Christina’s three cases in Portland and San Francisco. This guy got around.

Clearing his throat, he folded his arms behind his head and tipped back in his chair, making it squeak even more. “Did Rich tell you why I was coming out?”

“Rich didn’t tell me you were coming out at all.”

“I mean, did he tell you why another agent was joining you?”

“Typical Greavy. I haven’t spoken to him in person since he sent me to Portland. I had to find out another agent was coming to assist me from Lieutenant Fitch over there.” She spun the file folders around to face him. “And here you are.”

He cocked his head. “Greavy didn’t tell you about the other case in San Diego?”

“There was another murder in San Diego? Same M.O.?”

“Yep.”

A flare of anger turned her cheeks red. “I’m assuming the killer stuck the tarot card with the maiden and lion between the vic’s fingers. Three murders up here, three tarot cards.”

“This is where it gets weird. The body had a tarot card between his fingers, all right, but it wasn’t that lion one.”

Christina’s eyes widened. “Let me guess. It was a tarot card with a fool on it.”

Eric leaned forward and the front wheels of his chair hit the floor where it skidded a few inches to the right. “How’d you know that?”

“I canvased the area where we found the most recent victim, Nora Sterling. I thought I had a pretty good idea where the killer was hiding before he attacked her—up a tree. I climbed the tree and found the card.”

“What made you climb the tree?” But he didn’t have to ask. Christina always claimed she could get into the head of a killer. He still didn’t know if he believed her or not, but it could come in handy in this case if she could.

“Just...umm, a feeling and some damage to the bark on the trunk.”

“Do you have the card here?” He shuffled through the papers in the case folders.

“It’s in evidence.”

“Prints?”

“None.”

Eric whistled through his teeth. “I wonder if there were any more tarot cards near the body in San Diego.”

“I was wondering the same thing about the murder in Portland and the first one here.” She tapped a pencil against her chin and then dropped it. “Wait. Did you say the victim in San Diego was male?”

“That’s right.”

“Was the body found outdoors? Bludgeoned and then throat slit?”

“Nope—indoors, no bludgeoning, but his throat was slit. He lost an amazing amount of blood that soaked into the carpet and the floorboards beneath.”

“Same with the other victims. They suffered a lot of blood loss.” She curled her fingers around the arms of the chair. “So the M.O. was a little different for the male victim.”

“We did find some drugs and alcohol in his system, so maybe the killer incapacitated him that way and didn’t have to hit him over the head.”

“That suggests he knew him or had some kind of contact with him before the murder. That doesn’t seem to be the case at all with the women.”

Christina sucked in her bottom lip, which she always did when she was thinking. She couldn’t just be trying to focus his attention on her mouth, could she? Because he couldn’t keep his eyes, or his nasty thoughts, off her lips.

“What could possibly be the connection between these four people?”

Clearing his throat, he scratched the stubble on his chin. “I guess it’s up to us to find the connections, because they have to be there.”

“Us. There hasn’t been an us for a long time.”

“I think we can be adults and work together.” As soon as he could get his mind out of the gutter.

“Sure.” She folded her hands on the desk. “How’s your family?”

“Fine. Yours? How’s your mother?”

“She’s doing well, busy.”

“Busy? I thought she retired from nursing.”

Christina’s hands got fidgety again, stacking papers and lining up pencils. She’d never been the nervous type before. She’d always had a cool, calm demeanor. As cold as ice—except in the bedroom.

Seeing him had rattled her.

His response to her had surprised him, too. He accepted the fact that he’d never forget Christina, no matter what she’d done to him, but he’d believed he could tame the visceral reaction she’d always elicited from him. Not so much.

He dragged his gaze away from her puckered lips as she blew a strand of dark hair from her face.

“She did retire, but she picked up a bunch of hobbies.”

“Good for her.” He pointed at the folders. “How about it? Do you want to get a couple of sandwiches delivered and dig in to what we got?”

“Sounds good. I’ll ask our new best friend, Officer Griego, for some suggestions.”

“Yeah, there’s some hero worship going on there.”

“You always did have the ladies fawning over you.”

He raised one eyebrow. “I was talking about you. From the minute she volunteered to take me to you, it was Agent Sandoval this, Agent Sandoval that.”

Christina gave an unladylike snort. “Did you set her straight?”

“I didn’t have time.”

Her nostrils flared as she reached for the phone and punched the speaker button and three other buttons. “Hi, Officer Griego. Can you recommend a good take-out place in the area for lunch?”

“One of the sergeants is taking orders now for the deli down the street. I’ll send him over.”

“That would be great. Menu?”

“I’ll bring one to you.”

Christina rolled her eyes at him. “That’s not necessary. We’ll come out and have a look.”

“That’s okay, ma’am. I know you and Agent Brody are busy. I’ll bring the menu right in. Sarge won’t mind.”

“Thanks, Officer Griego.” She pressed the speaker button and ended the call.

Eric twisted his lips into a smile. “I’m sure Sarge will mind catering to the two fibbies in his midst.”

“They seem okay with me here, so far. Have you met Lieutenant Fitch yet? I had him eating out of my hand yesterday, but he turned cold once he knew you were on the way.”

“I don’t get these guys. They should be happy for the help. My brother Ryan always is.”

“Is he still working up the coast in Crestview?”

“Yep.”

Officer Griego peered through the window waving the menu and knocked on the door.

Eric scooted his chair back and opened the door. “C’mon in.”

She thrust the menu at him. “It’s pretty basic.”

“That’s what we like—basic.” He tossed the menu to Christina.

Wrinkling her nose, she ran the tip of her finger down the glossy page. “I’ll take the California on sourdough, but...”

“No mayo and extra pickles.” Eric finished for her.

She tilted her head, her shiny, dark ponytail slipping over her shoulder. “That predictable, huh?”

Warmth spread through his chest. He hadn’t meant to finish her sentence, didn’t want her to know how much he remembered.

“Well, you always were kind of picky.”

Rita was standing at the door hanging on their every word, wide-eyed.

Eric glanced at the menu and handed it back to her saying, “The Italian, fries and a drink—something with caffeine.”

“I’ll give your order to Sergeant Hammond. It usually takes about forty-five minutes.”

Eric reached into his pocket for some cash and handed her two twenties. “Thanks, Rita and thank the sarge for us, too.”

“You’re welcome. Anything else I can do for you?”

Christina gave her one of her sweet smiles that seemed to have gotten even sweeter. “We’re good. Thanks so much for your help.”

Rita practically bowed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Eric jerked his thumb at the door. “What do you think she expects out of all this? It’s not like you can give her a recommendation for homicide.”

“Maybe she thinks you can pull some strings with your brother.”

“Sean? Rita’s in the same department. She should know by now Detective Sean Brody is not a quid pro quo kinda guy. He expects everyone to work hard to get ahead.” He leveled a finger at Christina. “Besides, it’s you she idolizes.”

“I think she just wants to learn. The men in the department probably aren’t very encouraging and maybe she doesn’t have any role models here.”

“You didn’t need any role models.”

“I was a special case. Didn’t you always tell me that?”

Drawing his chair toward the desk, he hunched forward. “What drove you up that tree, Christina?”

“I told you—a hunch.”

“One of those hunches? Did you feel anything?”

She squeezed her eyes closed and massaged her left temple. “Incredible evil.”

“Did you tell the P.D. here?”

She gave a short laugh, almost a bark. “Are you kidding? I want to be taken seriously, not written off as a crackpot.”

“The Bureau has used psychics before.”

“I’d hardly call myself a psychic, and honestly, the Bureau may use them but most don’t respect them. Greavy sure doesn’t.”

“Like I told you before, it’s a talent you should try to develop.”

She hugged herself. “I don’t know if I want to develop it. Besides, in this case, I didn’t get much at all, just a feeling.”

“Up to you.” Eric checked his watch. “Let’s get started before lunch gets here.”

“Umm, do you want to wheel around here? I’ll take you through the first San Francisco murder.”

He walked his chair to her side of the desk and at once her scent overwhelmed him. The familiar musky perfume wrapped its tendrils around him, but the essence of Christina had a stronger impact on him.

He couldn’t put his finger on it. He never could and it had haunted him ever since the day he cut her loose.

She dragged a file folder between them on the desk and flipped it open. She spread a stack of photos in front of him, and green, leafy, verdant forest blurred together.

“Was it another running trail?”

“Hiking, just across the bay.”

He thumbed through the photos. “Victim?”

“Liz Fielding, late forties, single. Some trouble in her past but clean for at least five years.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Some drugs, petty theft, a little hooking.”

“What about the other two?”

“Haven’t dug up anything like that yet, but the investigation is still young.”

He plucked out the pictures of the body. She’d been positioned like his male victim in San Diego—stretched out on her back, hands positioned over her stomach, the tarot slipped between her fingers. He traced a finger over her disheveled clothes.

“No sexual assault, huh?”

“Nope, not for any of the victims. Your guy?”

“No.” He shook out another photo, this one a close-up of the victim’s throat and the ghastly, gaping wound. A necklace clung to the woman’s neck, still intact.

Eric’s pulse jumped and he held the picture closer to his face.

“What is it? You see something?”

He dropped the photo and he jabbed a finger at the victim’s throat. “This necklace...same one my kidnapper wore.”

Chapter Three

Christina jerked her head to the side, her jaw dropping. Was Eric seeing things? He’d rarely mentioned his kidnapping as an eleven-year-old in San Francisco. It had been a strange one—no ransom note, no demands, and the kidnappers released him on a street corner two days later.

At the time, the police had connected his kidnapping to the serial killer case Eric’s father had been working—the serial killings Joseph Brody would later be suspected of committing. Right before he jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge.

What did this murder victim, Liz Fielding, have to do with Eric’s kidnapping?

She snatched up the photo from the desk where he’d dropped it. “What are you talking about, Eric? Her necklace?”

“She kept her face hidden, they all did. I guess they figured that was easier than blindfolding me. And the woman, she’s the one who always checked on me. When she leaned over me, her necklace would swing forward. I got a good look at the medallion hanging from the chain.” He tapped the picture. “Just like this.”

She squinted at the necklace with the round pendant nestled against the dead woman’s chest. “It’s just a coincidence, Eric.”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I always thought it was some symbol of Satan or something.”

“And why wouldn’t you?” She studied the design of the symbol, black etching on the silver disc. It almost looked like the outline of a whale’s tail, but she could see how a child might see a pair of horns.

“Did you ever research it?”

“Honestly, I’d forgotten all about the design until two minutes ago.”

“How can you even be sure it’s the same symbol after all these years?”

“You have your feelings, and I—” he poked his chest with his thumb “—have mine.”

“It’s not the same necklace, Eric. This is not the same woman.”

“The age is right. My kidnapper was probably mid-twenties. This woman is mid-forties.”

“Eric.” She gripped his wrist. “Liz Fielding is not the same woman who kidnapped you. She’s wearing a similar necklace.”

Licking his lips, he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “You’re right. It just took me back. Crazy.”

He opened the desk drawer and slipped out a piece of paper. He started sketching on it with his pencil.

“Now what?”

“I didn’t have access to a computer or the internet twenty years ago. Now I’m curious what, if anything, this symbol means. Who knows? The meaning of Liz’s necklace might even lead to a break in this case.” He lodged his tongue in the corner of his mouth and continued drawing.

While Eric took his walk down memory lane, she perused the crime scene photos, checking them against the report. The detectives in Portland hadn’t identified a location where the killer could’ve been lying in wait, but he must’ve done so. He’d had his killing accoutrement with him, a blunt object for stunning his victim, a sharp knife for the cutting and the tarot card for the coup de grâce.

Maybe it wasn’t going to be Liz Fielding that day, but it was going to be someone.

She’d have to make a return visit to the area where Liz had been found and take Eric with her. She slid a glance at his face, the lines set in concentration.

He still made her pulse race, and warm, sweet honey pool in all the right places.

He’d broken her heart when he walked out on her. By the time she’d discovered her pregnancy he’d gone on a leave of absence and escaped to parts unknown.

Even when she’d heard he was back on the job, she couldn’t bring herself to contact him and tell him about Kendall. He probably would’ve accused her of using Kendall to get him back.

Once he’d discovered her notes about the Phone Book Killer, it had completely destroyed any trust between them. She’d been so outraged that he believed Ray’s lies about her, she didn’t bother explaining the truth to him. When she found out she was pregnant, it was too late. He’d disappeared from her life...but apparently not for good.

“There.” He ended the drawing with a flourish. “I’m going to track this down.”

“I hope it does mean something.”

Someone tapped on the door and they scooted their chairs apart as if they’d been cheating on an exam.

Officer Griego waved through the window and held up a white bag.

“Come in, Rita.”

She pushed into the room carrying the bag in one hand and a drink in the other. “Here you go. The other drink’s on the table outside.”

Eric jumped from his chair and took the bag and soda from her and put them on the desk. “Thanks.”

She handed him the other drink and a fistful of money. “Here’s your change.”

“That’s okay.” He waved a hand. “Put it in the lunch kitty.”

“Will do. Enjoy your lunch. Let me know if you need anything.”

Eric tapped his black bag on the floor with the toe of his shoe. “Wi-Fi for my laptop?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thanks, Rita.”

Christina peeked into the bag that already had a spot of grease forming on it. “I hope they got my sandwich right.”

“Hand it over, Sandoval. I’m starving.”

She dug his sandwich and a cone of fries from the bag and held them up. “Where do you want them?”

He took the bag from her, pulled her sandwich out and then ripped the bag open and spread it out on the desk. “Right here.”

She placed his food on the bag and snatched a French fry. “Now I know where all that grease came from.”

“Greasy fries, just the way I like them. Nothing beats those fish and chips at Scolino’s on the Wharf, though.”

She bit into her sandwich and nodded while Eric reached into his bag on the floor and pulled out his laptop.

“I’m going to fire this up and do what I couldn’t twenty years ago.”

“What? Online dating?” She chuckled at her own joke and peeked under her bread to make sure the extra pickles were in place.

“Why? Have you given it a try?” He tapped the power button on his laptop and then reached across it to grab his sandwich.

She almost choked on a pickle. She hadn’t even given old-fashioned dating a try since having Kendall, let alone the online kind. “No. Have you?”

She swallowed and held her breath.

“I don’t think the Bureau would look too kindly on one of its agents trolling online dating sites while working in a foreign country.”

He hadn’t tried it because of his job, not because he didn’t want to. She sipped her soda to avoid blurting the first jealous thing out of her mouth. She had no right to be jealous or to care who or how he was dating.

Their engagement was over. He’d ended it when he found her notes on his father’s case and chose to believe Ray Lopez, a reporter, over her about what she planned to do with them. But she had to be honest with herself. That discovery may have spurred him on, that and the disastrous ending to the kidnapping case he’d been working, but they’d been having fundamental differences about where to take their relationship.

Kids—that had been the fundamental difference. And now they had one and he didn’t know a thing about her.

“Where should I start looking?” Eric flattened his drawing on the desk next to the computer. “Symbols? Signs? Demonic symbols?”

“Try all three.” She pilfered another French fry from his pile and then dusted the salt off her fingertips.

He held a hand over his food. “If you wanted fries, why didn’t you order them?”

“Because there are so many more calories in a full order that you can eat all by yourself than a few stolen fries.” She hunched forward as he scrolled down the page containing websites about satanic symbols.

“Right. When did you ever worry about counting calories?” His gaze darted to his right and then returned and wandered down her body. “Although...”

Prickles of heat danced across her flesh in the wake of his inventory as her body called out for his in every way.

She grabbed another fry and waved it in his face to distract him from the subtle responses shifting through every cell of her being. “Are you trying to say I’ve gained weight?”

He blinked and turned back to the screen. “A little, but it suits you.”

“Just great.” She patted her stomach. “That’s exactly what you want to hear from someone after two years apart.”

He snorted and tapped the keyboard. “Don’t pretend to be the insulted party, Christina. You were skinny before and now you’re not so skinny. You’ve filled out in all the right places and you look great. There—I said it. You can stop fishing for compliments now.”

With her eyes stinging, she took a big bite of her sandwich. He still saw her as devious and conniving, even over something petty like her appearance. How could she ever tell him about Kendall when he still harbored such resentment against her?

She watched his strong hands as they hovered over the keyboard. Resentful he may be, but he hadn’t gotten her out of his blood any more than she’d gotten him out of hers. His brain might be telling him no, but his male libido was sending an entirely different message—one that she read loud and clear.

She’d been on only a handful of dates in the past few years, but she recognized the look of lust in a man’s eyes when she saw it—especially in Eric’s eyes. She’d seen it there enough times when the passion between them ran hot and undeniable.

“Who knew there were so many satanic symbols?”

She cleared her throat. “Maybe it’s not satanic. Maybe it has something to do with Mother Nature or Buddhism or something.”

“I’m looking at all three women now and I don’t see much of a connection between them. Olivia Dearing was a waitress in Portland. Liz Fielding worked as a nurse’s aide, and Nora worked in a bookstore.”

Eric tapped a pencil against his stubbled chin. “They’re all service jobs. Maybe they ran into someone in the course of their day who tagged them for murder.”

“Maybe, although the women don’t look much alike, so if it’s a random selection of victims it’s harder to connect the dots.”

“At least we know he traveled from Portland to San Francisco to San Diego and back to San Francisco at some point, which leads me to believe he lives here.”

She lined up pictures of the three women in life side by side, and pointed to each one. “He travels for work, he eats out, he visits someone in the hospital.”

“Liz didn’t work in a hospital. She did home health care.” He nudged aside the finger she had planted on Liz Fielding’s picture with his own.

She snatched her hand away from his warm touch and dropped it in her lap. Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. If she wanted to give him the impression that his hard body and smoldering eyes had absolutely no effect on her, she’d better up her game.

“Are you okay?”

Her eyes flew open and she met his concerned gaze. Concern? She’d figured that emotion would be in short supply from him. They were making progress.

“You’re not getting any of those feelings, are you?”

“From a few photos?” She coughed and plucked a tissue from the box on the credenza behind her. “Not likely.”

“The cards?”

“Didn’t have enough time.” She snapped her fingers. “We’re forgetting all about your San Diego victim.”

“I haven’t forgotten about him.” He reached into his bag, pulled out a bulging accordion file and hoisted it onto his lap.

“I mean, what did he do for a living?”

“Shoes.”

“Shoe salesman?” She scooted to the edge of her seat. “Another job with customer contact.”

“Women’s shoes.”

She dug her elbows into the desk blotter and rested her chin in one palm. “It doesn’t mean our killer didn’t notice him there. Department store shoes?”

“A shoe store in a mall.”

“Better yet. The Tarot Card Killer saw him eating lunch at the food court.”

Eric raised his eyebrows. “The Tarot Card Killer? You’ve given him a moniker already?”

“He gave it to himself. Not—” she created a cross with her two index fingers “—in that way. I just mean it’s kind of an obvious name for him, isn’t it?”

“I guess thinking of a catchy name for a serial killer isn’t something I do right out of the box on an investigation.” He slid the band off the file with a snap. “I leave that to the reporters.”

Heat scorched her cheeks. Did she just think they were making progress? Scratch that.

“Excuse me, Mr. Get-Down-to-Business.” She swept her trash from lunch into the wastepaper basket and reached for the papers spilling from his accordion file. “Now let’s get down to business.”

They managed to work side by side for the next four hours without either one of them throwing a punch...or stealing a kiss.

Christina pushed back her chair and stretched, interlacing her fingers over her head. “I’m done.”

“I think we have a good start here. I’m willing to turn over our notes to the SFPD if you are.”

“Sure. Maybe something we pulled out will resonate with them.”

“I know they went to the bookstore where Nora worked, but I’d like to have a look myself. The Kindred Spirit doesn’t sound like your run-of-the-mill bookstore.”

“It’s an independent. That name could mean anything.”

“Yeah, but whatever it is, Detective Winston didn’t make note of it here.” He thumbed through the papers from the P.D.’s case file.

Christina gathered her three folders together and shoved them into her briefcase yawning open on the floor beside her. “Where are you staying?”

“Same place as you.”

“Great.” Her lips stretched into a polite, professional smile. Damn. Someone up there wanted to torture her. “You can follow me over in your car. It’s not far.”

“Well, I would if I had a car.”

She pinched her finger with the latch of her briefcase and then sucked it into her mouth. Someone really wanted to torture her.

“I took a taxi from the airport, left my suitcase in the squad room. I’ll just hitch a ride with you.”

“Sounds...good.” She wheeled back her chair and grabbed her purse from the credenza. She plucked her cell phone from the side pocket and checked the display, cupping her hand around it. She’d have to swap out the wallpaper photo of Kendall unless she wanted Eric to start asking uncomfortable questions.

The guilt washed over her in such a strong wave, her knees wobbled and she plopped back into the chair. She glanced quickly at Eric, but he was busy packing up his own stuff and didn’t notice her sudden collapse.

How could she keep Eric in the dark any longer? All the reasons she’d used to put off telling him about her pregnancy, including the fact that she didn’t know where he’d gone on his leave of absence, came tumbling down around her. She had no excuses left.

He probably still didn’t want kids and his last kidnapping case with the Bureau had pretty much reinforced that for him, but he should still know about his daughter’s existence.

And Kendall? She deserved to know her father even if he didn’t remain a constant fixture in her life—not that an absentee father ever did her any good.

As a child she’d even wished her father had already died some noble death instead of constantly confronting the hurt and pain that he just didn’t want her in his life if she wasn’t going to conform to his lifestyle.

But Eric was nothing like her father.

“Why are you still sitting there? You ready to go?”

“Just waiting for you.” She gripped the handle of her briefcase and slung her purse over her shoulder. She scooted from behind the desk, waving Eric through the door first.

She didn’t need to squeeze past him, brushing body parts, feeling the warmth of his flesh. It was bad enough they’d be sharing a car and a hotel.

They shuffled into the squad room to a few nods and a big smile from Officer Griego.

“Any breaks in the case?”

“Not yet. Have a good night.” Eric retrieved his suitcase from the corner and they stopped by the lieutenant’s office on their way out. His blinds were drawn and they could hear voices from inside.

Eric sliced a finger across his throat and pointed to the exit.

“Are you in the parking garage?”

“Too crowded. I’m in the lot across the street.”

They emerged into the sunlight and Christina took a deep breath of fresh air as she fished for her sunglasses in her purse. “You don’t realize you’ve been cooped up all day until you get outside.”

“It’s always a good idea to take a breather.” Eric slipped his own sunglasses out of his front pocket. “Now we just have a few hours left of daylight.”

“I’m over here.” She held her arm out and clicked the remote. “Do you even plan to get your own rental car?”

“With all the budget cuts in place? I’m lucky I got my own room in the hotel.”

She sent him a sidelong glance but sealed her lips. She wouldn’t go there. “At least the hotel is halfway decent.”

They approached the rental from the rear, and Christina popped the trunk.

Eric stepped beside her, nudging her shoulder with his and took the briefcase from her hand.

“Here, I’ll get that.”

“Thanks.” Would she ever get to the point where she could stand next to this man without going all gooey inside? She skirted the bumper and headed to the front of the car.

“What the heck is this on my windshield?”

Eric slammed the trunk and the little car bounced. “Parking ticket? I’m sure Rita Griego would be more than happy to take care of that for you.”

“It’s not paper.” She bent forward to get a closer look at the white mark in the corner of her windshield. Her belly flip-flopped.

Eric circled around the front of the car to the driver’s side. “What is it?”

She straightened up and turned to face him. “It’s our sign. It’s the sign from Liz Fielding’s necklace.”

Chapter Four

Eric’s jaw tightened and he ducked around Christina to get a better look. The symbol mocked him, and he felt like smashing his fist through the glass.

Why had he never remembered the necklace and that symbol before now? He may have told the police about it after the kidnapping, had probably even described it to them, but he must’ve erased it from his memory after that.

Christina stiffened beside him and grabbed his arm. “Who put it there?”

Turning, he scanned the parking lot, his gaze traveling across the lampposts. “There aren’t any cameras here, so we’re out of luck.”

“It must be someone connected to Liz’s murder.” Her fingernails clawed at his flesh through his suit jacket.

“Or maybe just someone connected to Liz.” He smacked the roof of the car. “We need to find out what that symbol means, and we’re going to start by going to Nora’s bookstore.”

“Nora’s bookstore?” She snapped a couple of pictures of the symbol with her phone’s camera.

“The Kindred Spirit. Think about it. Sounds like one of those fantasy, sci-fi places.” He leaned forward and scraped the edge of the white markings with his thumbnail. “White shoe polish.”

“Do you want to head over there right now?”

“It can wait. I need to get out of this suit. I’ll make sure the store is open later.” He pulled out his phone and slid into the car. He tapped in a search for the bookstore and checked the location and hours. “They’re open until midnight—the witching hour.”

“Technically, midnight is not the witching hour. That would be 3:00 a.m., sort of the opposite of the time Christ was born at 3:00 p.m.”

“And you would know.”

“Did you just call me a witch?”

He glanced at Christina’s profile. Her smile was bright but brittle. He’d have to tread lightly. Too much unfinished business and animosity lay between them. “Isn’t your half sister into some of this stuff?”

She loosened her grip on the steering wheel. “Yep. She inherited some of my father’s particular gifts just like I did, and she ran with them.”

“How close are you to her? Maybe she could help us with this sign.”

“Not that close. I haven’t spoken to her in over a month, and I’m not comfortable discussing these things with her.”

“Okay. Forget that.”

She wheeled the car into the circular driveway of the hotel. “Do you want me to drop you off in the front?”

“Just park. I can wheel my suitcase in.”

She made the turn and slid a card into the slot for the parking arm, which creaked open. “Do you think I’m being followed?”

“Someone knows you’re working this case and knows your car.”

“Do you think that sign on the windshield is there to tell me something or threaten me?”

“I don’t know, Christina. Either way, it’s a break.”

“Either way, we need to inform Rich.”

He hauled his suitcase from the trunk and piled Christina’s briefcase and his own bag on top of it. She waited while he approached the front desk.

“Checking in. Brody.”

“I have your reservation right here, Mr. Brody, room 632.”

Christina made a sharp movement beside him. “I’m in 634.”

The clerk tapped a few keys on her keyboard. “Those two rooms are connected. That was a special request on the reservation for Mr. Brody.”

Eric held up one hand. “It wasn’t me. Travel made my arrangements.”

The hotel clerk’s gaze darted from him to Christine. “D-do you want a different room?”

“It’s fine.”

“Fine.” Christina echoed in a faint voice.

Eric tapped his Bureau credit card on the counter once before handing it to the clerk. He had to get ahold of his professionalism here. But why had the Bureau decided it was a good idea to pair him with his ex-fiancée on a case? Of course, it wasn’t the Bureau who had made that decision. It was the killer when he decided to leave those tarot cards on his vic in San Diego, linking that crime with Christina’s three cases.

He followed Christina’s clicking heels, dragging his suitcase behind him, trying to keep his eyes off her swaying hips.

She’d always been slim and athletic with some nice curves. Now those curves had become dangerous. She’d filled out where it mattered most.

Professional, Brody.

They got off the elevator and Christina stopped halfway down the hallway. “That’s yours and this is mine.”

“I’ll try to keep the noise down.”

She slid her key card into her door. “Well, let me know when you’re ready to head out to Kindred Spirits.”

“Do you want to join me for dinner first?” He’d suggest that to any colleague, wouldn’t he?

Her long lashes fluttered. “Sure. Knock on my door when you’re ready.”

Eric stepped into the room, closed the door and slumped against it, allowing the facade to slip from his body. He’d always been able to be himself around Christina, but now he felt as if he had to hold himself in check.

He shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it in the closet. He crossed the room to the window and paused halfway there, glancing at the door that connected his room to Christina’s.

He didn’t need the temptation, but if he requested a different room he’d come off looking weak or worse, as if he really cared that she was on the other side of the wall sleeping, undressing, showering.

He smacked his fist into his palm. He could get through this assignment.

Filmy, white drapes covered the windows and he yanked them back to reveal a view of Union Square. He’d grown up in this city. Knew it like the lines crisscrossing his palms, but his job with the FBI had taken him all over the place, including D.C. where he lived now. Could he ever live here again with the constant reminders of his family tragedy, and views of the Golden Gate Bridge from vantage points all over the city?

He left the drapes open and crashed across the bed. It was high time he came to terms with that past, including his kidnapping as a child.

He stared at the ceiling for several seconds until he heard the shower from Christina’s room. He toed off his shoes and sat up on the edge of the bed where he got rid of his socks and loosened his tie.

Dinner and then the bookstore—no drinks, no casual conversation, no flirting. Definitely no flirting.

He shed the rest of his clothing and padded into the tiled bathroom. Bracing his hands on the vanity, he hunched closer to the mirror. What did she see when she looked at him? Had he changed in the past two years like she had?

Because she had changed. He couldn’t put his finger on it. She seemed softer, less brittle. Maybe in stoking his anger against her, he’d built up her hard shell in his mind.

He’d watched for it, but he never did see that book come out about his father. Never saw any wedding announcement for Christina and Ray Lopez either. Not that he still didn’t see Lopez around.

In fact, Lopez had been sniffing around his brother’s case recently, trying to poke at old wounds. Sean had shown Lopez a lot more courtesy than he would have. Of course, Lopez had never been in cahoots with Sean’s fiancée either.

Eric stepped into the shower and let a steady stream of hot water cascade down his back. He rolled his shoulders to get the kinks out. The leave of absence had done him good. He didn’t want to have to take another after this case.

He twisted the towel around his waist. His toes sank into the carpet as he approached his suitcase in the corner where he’d parked it, his garment bag folded across the top. He hung up the garment bag in the closet and unzipped the suitcase.

He pawed through some shirts on the top and pulled out a pair of jeans. Dropping the jeans on the floor, he scooped up an armful of shirts and shook out each one before laying it out on the bed.

The knock on the adjoining door made him drop a shirt. “Yeah?”

“Are you ready for dinner yet?”

His gaze flicked to the towel slipping from his waist. “Give me a few more minutes.”

“I’m starving.”

“Five minutes.”

He left the shirts on the bed, grabbed a clean pair of underwear and stepped into his jeans. A sharp knock on the door halted his progress back to the bathroom.

“Ready yet?”

Blowing out a breath, he crossed to the connecting door, unlocked it and yanked it open. “Impatient, aren’t you?”

She made some reply that didn’t register with his brain—because all reasoning had fled the scene, crowded out by his visceral emotions.

Christina had shed the pantsuit and replaced it with a pair of dark skinny jeans topped with a wide-necked red sweater that slid off one shoulder, revealing a black lacy tank top. Her loose, dark hair tumbled around her shoulders, and she tossed it back as she sized him up with narrowed eyes.

“You’re not even dressed.”

He dipped his chin to his bare chest. “Almost there. You had the advantage of being here a few days. I went straight to the P.D. from the airport.”

“Excuses, excuses, Brody. Put some clothes on, will ya?”

He grunted and grabbed the shirt he’d dropped onto the bed. Had they slipped back into that easy camaraderie after just one afternoon spent together? That was part of Christina’s charm. She came off like one of the guys, but lurking beneath the sarcastic banter was a potent sensuality that could lure you in and wrap you up before you even knew what hit you.

Now that he knew all her tricks, he could resist her. He stuffed his arms in the sleeves of his shirt and his nostrils flared. Her exotic perfume wafted across the room and slid into his shirt with him.

“Did you bring the case files with you?” As he buttoned up the shirt in front of the mirror, his eyes strayed to her empty hands.

She arched an eyebrow. “I’m not bringing those to dinner. We know the basics. I have a notepad and pen in my purse just in case we have some amazing breakthrough.”

He wouldn’t bring case files to a normal working dinner either but this was no normal working dinner and he wanted the security of a distraction—a distraction from those dark, liquid eyes that shimmered with a hypnotic glow in candlelight.

“Give me one minute to make some sense of my hair.” He retreated to the safety of the bathroom, but she followed him.

“Really? Eric Brody uses hair product now?” She curved against the doorjamb like a long, lean cat.

He rubbed the gel between his hands. “It’s that or get a haircut.”

“Don’t do that. I like your hair longer.” She tilted her head. “How do the big boys feel about the long hair?”

“They haven’t said one way or the other, but then I don’t see much of them.” He rinsed his hands off in the sink and grabbed a towel.

“I’m sure they’re just thrilled to get you back, long hair and all.”

He stuffed the hand towel over the rack. “There are a couple of restaurants within walking distance to the hotel, but since we’re going to hit the bookstore after dinner we might as well drive.”

“There’s a restaurant I’ve been wanting to try for a while. It’s in the Haight-Ashbury district and should be pretty close to the bookstore, too.”

“Sounds good.” Anything sounded good about now—just to get out of this confined hotel room with Christina looking and smelling like sex on wheels.

Once in the parking garage, he stopped at the bumper of the little rental. “Do you want me to drive?”

“That’s okay. The car’s in my name.” She clicked the remote. “We don’t want to break any laws, especially with your brother, the SFPD detective, out on vacation.”

He had no choice but to be a passenger in her car while she sat in the driver’s seat. But he didn’t have to be a passenger on this journey. He didn’t have to be swept along a current of old feelings and desires. He’d been willing to give this woman everything, and she’d betrayed him...for a good story.

She swung the car into the line of traffic and sped up to avoid the cable car trundling to their right.

“It’s a little tricky driving these streets.”

“You’re a native—you should be used to it by now.”

“I didn’t drive much when I lived here—walking and public transportation have always been the best ways to get around.” She hunched over the steering wheel and peered at the road in front of her. “Do you think you’ll ever move back to the city?”

“You know I’m in D.C. now? I like it but if opportunity knocked, I could make my home here again.” He just might have to if he wanted to slay his demons.

“Do you plan to see your brothers while you’re here?”

“As you already know, Sean’s on an extended vacation, and I don’t think Judd’s in town either. I may take a trip up the coast to see Ryan.”

“Yeah, Sean had an interesting case a few months ago.”

“And Lopez was trying to get that story, too.”

Christina bit her lower lip.

The silence in the car lasted just a few awkward minutes.

With her hand balanced on the top of the steering wheel, she pointed out the window. “I think we can park on this street for the restaurant and the bookshop.”

She did an admirable parallel parking job, and he hopped out of the car. The confines of the car ended up being a lot worse than the hotel. Dinner had to be better.

He opened the restaurant door for her and she brushed past him. Was she trying to drive him crazy?

The Friday night crowd was crammed into every table in the room and perched on every stool at the large circular bar in the middle of the restaurant.

“Ugh, I didn’t even think about making a reservation.”

Eric hunched toward the hostess stand. “How long is the wait?”

She ran the eraser end of her pencil down the columns of a book. “Just two?”

“Yes, and we promise we won’t stay long.”

“We just had a cancellation, so I can squeeze you in.”

“Perfect.” Eric slipped her a twenty as she turned to lead them to a table.

Christina pressed in next to him and whispered in his ear. “Must be that Brody charm.”

As she pulled away, the strands of her hair tickled his neck.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. He needed a good, stiff drink, and probably should stop thinking about a good, stiff anything.

The hostess led them to a decent table along the wall and tucked behind a plant.

“I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”

Christina made a face. “I’m driving, so I’ll abstain. Did you hear about Zollars?”

“DUI?”

“In a company car, on company business.”

“Did he get his hand slapped?”

The waiter approached and Eric ordered a scotch, neat while Christina asked for ice water.

When the waiter left, Christina shook out her napkin and draped it across her lap. “He got reprimanded and suspended for six weeks.”

“Idiot.”

“How was South America?”

“Hot and humid.”

“I heard your team brought down a pretty high roller down there.”

“We did all right. I heard you’re making your mark on the serial killer unit. Dream come true, huh?”

She stopped fussing with her napkin and planted her elbows on the white tablecloth. “Can we just get this out of the way so you’ll stop taking jabs at me?”

“Am I jabbing?” He knew damn well he was. It was the only thing keeping him from pulling her into his arms and kissing the smart aleck from her.

“You’re too manly to play coy, Eric. I told you then, and I’m telling you now, I did not get into a relationship with you to get your father’s story.”

“But you wanted the Brody story.”

“Joseph Brody’s story has always fascinated me. I’m not gonna lie. But I had no intention of writing a book about your father.”

“The notes?”

“Were notes. Something about your father’s case always bothered me. I don’t believe for one minute that he was the Phone Book Killer.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and when the waiter returned with his drink, he tossed back half of it. The smooth heat rolled down his throat and radiated throughout his chest.

“I’ve heard this before, Christina, but Ray Lopez told a different story.”

She snorted. “If you had been in your right mind back then, you wouldn’t have given Ray’s story—any of Ray’s story—a second thought.”

She grabbed his hand, upsetting her waterglass. “I was your woman, Brody. I never would’ve betrayed you like that. The only reason you believed Ray over me was because of Noah Beckett. You were wrong about Noah, too.”

The pain that sliced through his temples had him reaching for his glass. This time he downed the rest of the scotch and his eyes watered.

“I should’ve saved Noah.”

“You followed the protocol for kidnappings. Noah would’ve met the same fate with anyone else at the helm.”

“I was at the helm.” He jabbed his chest with his thumb. “I should’ve known better. I was a kidnap victim myself. I should’ve done better by Noah. I should’ve done better by his parents.”

“Just because you were a kidnap victim, didn’t mean you had some magical power to save all other kidnap victims.” Her nails dug into his forearm. “You did your job to the best of your ability, and the Becketts knew that.”

“It wasn’t good enough.” He waved the waiter over. “Another scotch, please, and another napkin for the spilled water.”

“Would you like to order now?” The waiter’s eyes flicked back and forth between him and Christina.

“I’ll have a Caesar salad and the steak, medium rare.”

Christina ordered the salmon, and the waiter backed away from the table as if afraid to turn his back on them.

She pleated the napkin on the table. “If Noah’s case hadn’t come to its tragic end at the same time you found my notes, I know you would’ve given me a chance to explain, Eric.”

He slumped against the banquette and rolled his glass between his palms. “Maybe you’re right. The book never did come out, and you never married Lopez.”

Her eyes popped open. “Marry Lopez? What gave you that crazy idea?”

“Lopez.”

“And you believed him?” She grabbed the glass from his hand and took a gulp. Coughing, she slammed the glass back down on the table.

“It made sense at the time.”

“At the time, you were in crazy town.” She sniffed and dabbed a corner of the napkin under her bottom lashes.

She was right. He’d been out of his mind with grief and anger after losing Noah. When he’d turned to his fiancée for comfort and support, he’d found her notes about his father and his family and a nosy reporter feeding him lies.

Over the past few years, he’d had time to think about it all. It did seem pretty far-fetched that Christina would get into a relationship with him, agree to marry him, sleep with him—all to get the goods on his family tragedy to write a killer book.

She stuck out her hand, wiggling her fingers. “Can we call a truce while we’re working on this case together?”

“Sure.” He clasped her fingers, still chilly from mopping up the ice water. “I think I can even manage an apology. I overreacted to seeing those notes—bad timing all around.”

She squeezed his hand. “Me, too. I should’ve never kept...that from you. I figured if I told you I had been researching your father’s case, you’d think I was a creepy stalker.”

“Truce.” He dropped her hand and held up his own.

“So you’re done with the well-aimed barbs?”

Truth was, he’d forgiven her a while back when he’d been on his leave of absence and was able to think clearly about the situation. It helped that no book had come out, and he hadn’t heard anything linking her to Lopez.

And the barbs? Self-preservation against her charms. Just because he’d forgiven her didn’t mean they should resume their engagement. She’d kept things from him, and he didn’t like secrets—had grown up with too many of them.

“No barbs, well-aimed or otherwise.” He pushed the rest of his drink aside and tore into a roll. The tension he’d been holding in his shoulders all day had slipped away. She’d been right about that, too—get everything out in the open.

They had a job to do.

Their food arrived and between bites, they discussed her cases and his task force in South America.

If someone had told him two years ago that he’d be sitting across the table from Christina laughing and sharing stories, he never would’ve believed it. The time off had done him good. Talking with his brothers had done him good.

As he signed the credit card receipt, Christina pinged his glass of scotch, sending ripples through the amber liquid. “Are you leaving this? By my calculations, that’s about eight bucks sitting in that glass, eight bucks the Bureau isn’t paying for.”

“I’m good. Do you want the rest?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Only if you toss it in with some sweet liqueurs and mixers and stick a colorful umbrella in it.”

“Uh, no.” He folded the receipt and stuck it in his pocket. “Are you ready?”

“Kindred Spirits is around the corner.” She picked up her phone and tipped it back and forth. “Open until midnight on Friday night.”

“Let’s go inhale some incense.”

He placed his hand on the small of her back and steered her out of the crowded restaurant.

As they passed their car on the street, Eric fed a few more quarters into the meter. “You don’t want to stick the Bureau with a parking ticket.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you really think they’d pay for my parking ticket?”

“Even more reason not to get one.” He slipped another quarter into the slot.

They turned the corner and he dipped his head against the sharp wind that whipped around the building. Even during the summer, the San Francisco Bay kept the city cool. “Is it on this block or the next one?”

Holding up her phone, she answered, “It’s actually in an alley off this street.”

They walked about halfway down the sidewalk, and Christina jerked her thumb to the right. “Down here.”

The alley dropped two steps and the ground beneath their feet changed to cobblestones. Music wafted or blared from the storefronts, depending on the wares inside. A wooden sign with Kindred Spirits printed in red along with a bubbling cauldron creaked in front of one of the stores.

He tugged on a wayward lock of Christina’s long hair. “That’s our store.”

“Cute logo.” She tapped the edge of the sign as they ducked into the store.

The top of his head brushed a tassel of bells hanging from the doorway and their light tinkle announced their arrival.

Soft New Age music played in the background and Eric’s nose twitched at the smell of sandalwood incense. He sniffed. “Told you so.”

“Smells nice.”

A woman emerged from the back of the store, throwing one impossibly long gray braid over her shoulder. “Welcome, kindred spirits. Can I help you with something, or are you here to browse?”

Eric pressed his twitching lips into a hard line. “We’re actually here to ask you a couple of questions about a former employee, Nora Sterling. We’re with the FBI. I’m Agent Brody, and this is Agent Sandoval.”

Shaking her head, the woman placed her hands together as if in prayer. She mumbled a few words between barely moving lips.

He took a quick glance at Christina, but she refused to meet his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“A very sad situation.” The woman lowered her hands. “But the police already came in here asking questions.”

“We’re not the police.” Christina took a few steps through the crowded store toward the woman and thrust out her hand. “And you are?”

“Libby Rivers. I’m the owner of the...” She had taken Christina’s hand and then jerked, almost flinging Christina’s hand away.

Christina took a step back. “A-are you okay?”

“I’m sorry. A little static electricity.” She smoothed her hand along the length of her braid. “As I was saying, I’m the owner of the store and Nora worked for me.”

Eric drew his brows together. Christina was staring at the woman, rubbing her palm against the thigh of her jeans.

“I’d shake your hand, too, but I don’t want to shock you.” He plucked a green marble from a glass bowl and rolled it in his palm. “Can you tell us anything about Nora? Did she have visitors to the store? Complain about anyone stalking her? Have any unusual interactions with a customer?”

Libby flicked her fingers. “The police already asked me all of that.”

“It’s different talking to someone in person and reading someone else’s notes.”

“What do you really want, Agent Brody?”

He blinked. Were his questioning skills that bad? He reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out the piece of notepaper with the symbol. He snapped it open and turned it toward Libby. “What does this mean?”

Libby’s faded blue eyes flickered. “Where did you see that?”

“Can’t tell you that, Libby.” He waved the paper under her nose. “What does it mean?”

She snatched it from his hand and pressed it against her chest, right above her heart. “It’s the symbol of a coven, Agent Brody.”

He folded his arms. “A coven? You mean like a coven of witches?”

“There’s a war going on, Agent Brody, a war against this coven.”

Then she dropped the paper and her hand shot out, and she grabbed Christina’s wrist, pulling her closer. “And that includes you, Agent Sandoval.”

Chapter Five

Libby’s cool blue eyes burned into Christina’s face. The clawlike fingers dug into her flesh.

Eric shifted beside her, sucking in his breath, automatically reaching for his weapon.

Christina stumbled back a step and wrenched her arm away from Libby’s grip. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry.” Libby coiled her braid around one hand. “Did I frighten you? That’s good. You should be frightened.”

Eric squared his shoulders and stepped between them. “Are you threatening her?”

“Me?” Libby backed up and bent over, sweeping the paper with the symbol from the floor as her long braid fell over one shoulder. “I’m not the one your partner has to look out for, Agent Brody.”

“Who, then? Why should I be afraid of a war on this coven, and what exactly do you mean by a war?”

Libby clicked her tongue. “You’re one of those who denies her powers. Stuffs them away. Ignores them. But you’re one of us, Agent Sandoval.”

“Did you just call me a witch?” Christina tried for a light tone, but Libby didn’t crack a smile. How did the woman know about her special powers? That handshake—something had passed between them.

“Whether you belong to this coven,” she said, tapping the symbol, “or another, you’re still a witch.”

“Okay, maybe there’s a little ESP going on here, someone with special gifts sensing it in someone else, but I’m no witch and I certainly didn’t join any coven.” She pointed to the piece of paper Libby had placed on the counter. “This one or any other.”

“You don’t join a coven, my dear. You belong.” Libby turned to Eric. “Nora did. She belonged to this coven.”

Eric whistled. “Did she, umm, practice witchcraft?”

“She did.” Libby’s gaze trailed to Christina. “There are some who embrace their powers.”

Christina dug her high heels into the floor. “Do you have any proof that Nora was murdered because she belonged to this coven?”

“Tell me. Did you find the sign of this coven on Nora?” Libby reached into a drawer and pulled out three incense sticks. “Or someone else?”

Eric shot her a look and cleared his throat. “We can’t tell you that, Libby.”

She nodded. “Someone else. So now you have two victims who are tied to this coven. Are you going to tell me that the coven isn’t the common denominator here?”

The bells over the door shivered and they all jerked their heads up. A tall man, dressed all in black with a black fedora, filled the doorway and for a second Christina had an urge to flee.

Libby folded the sheet of paper with the symbol and slid it toward Eric. “Hello, Nigel. More patchouli oil?”

“It’s a little more serious than that, Libby. I need a new deck of cards.”

Christina weaved her fingers through Eric’s and tightened her hold.

“I knew that was coming.” She waved her hand over Christina and Eric as if sprinkling fairy dust...or casting a spell. “This is Agent Brody and Agent Sandoval with the FBI. They’re looking into Nora’s murder.”

Nigel tipped back his hat. “Sick bastard. Nora was a sweet girl.”

Eric’s frame tensed. “You knew her?”

“From the store.” He held up a crooked finger. “Brody. Are you related to the SFPD homicide detective?”

Eric clenched his jaw so tightly Christina was afraid it would snap.

“He’s my brother.”

“Which one of you was kidnapped?”

Libby expelled a breath and it turned into a hiss.

“What do you know about that?” Eric shook off her hand and clenched his into a fist.

“Easy, boy. I’m a native. I know the city’s history, lore and legends better than most. Who could forget Joseph Brody’s story? Son kidnapped in the middle of a serial killer investigation? It was all a sensation.” He tapped his head. “I don’t forget anything that happened in this city.”

Libby rapped a deck of cards on the counter. “Your tarot cards, Nigel.”

“Tarot cards?” Christina held out her hand. “Can I see them?”

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