Nick had a bad feeling…a very bad feeling.

He wasn’t sure if it was because of the disturbing dream he’d just suffered or because of the news he’d just received. But as his gaze met Alyssa’s, he suddenly realized a connection he hadn’t made before.

Men in Cherokee Corners were being stabbed to death, and for the past month Alyssa Whitefeather had been having visions of herself stabbing a man to death. Was there a connection? Was she tapped into some sort of energy she didn’t even realize or understand?

There was no time to question the issue with her now, but he realized that no matter how painful it was for her, no matter how uncomfortable the visions made her, and despite his desire to protect her, they were going to have to explore the depths of her psychic abilities.

He was beginning to think that perhaps Alyssa’s mind might hold the only key that would lead to their killer.

Dear Reader,

Once again, Silhouette Intimate Moments has a month’s worth of fabulous reading for you. Start by picking up Wanted, the second in Ruth Langan’s suspenseful DEVIL’S COVE miniseries. This small town is full of secrets, and this top-selling author knows how to keep readers turning the pages.

We have more terrific miniseries. Kathleen Creighton continues STARRS OF THE WEST with An Order of Protection, featuring a protective hero every reader will want to have on her side. In Joint Forces, Catherine Mann continues WINGMEN WARRIORS with Tag’s long-awaited story. Seems Tag and his wife are also awaiting something: the unexpected arrival of another child. Carla Cassidy takes us back to CHEROKEE CORNERS in Manhunt. There’s a serial killer on the loose, and only the heroine’s visions can help catch him—but will she be in time to save the hero? Against the Wall is the next SPECIAL OPS title from Lyn Stone, a welcome addition to the line when she’s not also writing for Harlequin Historicals. Finally, you knew her as Anne Avery, also in Harlequin Historicals, but now she’s Anne Woodard, and in Dead Aim she proves she knows just what contemporary readers want.

Enjoy them all—and come back next month, when Silhouette Intimate Moments brings you even more of the best and most exciting romance reading around.

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

Manhunt
Carla Cassidy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CARLA CASSIDY

is an award-winning author who has written over fifty books for Silhouette. In 1995, she won Best Silhouette Romance from Romantic Times for Anything for Danny. In 1998, she also won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series from Romantic Times.

Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 1

He didn’t want to be here, but his choices had been limited. Take a desk job, get out of town and into the field or look for a new job. The first and third options were unthinkable so Nick Mead had taken the second option.

He now slowed his speed and turned down the radio playing oldies as he realized he had to be approaching the small Podunk town where he would head up a task force looking for a killer.

Tightening his hands on the steering wheel, he thought of another killer, a madman who had destroyed his life and tormented him for the past three years.

He called himself Murphy, but most of the men in the bureau called him NOP…an acronym that stood for Nick’s Own Psycho.

After three years of hunting, hating and hungering for revenge, Nick, at times, felt as psycho as the man he sought.

He knew that was one of the reasons his supervisor had sent him out into the middle of nowhere. The big guys in the bureau thought Nick was on the edge, obsessed with a single case and of course, they were right on both counts.

He slowed down even more as he approached a sign that welcomed him to Cherokee Corners, Oklahoma. Officially he and his two-man team weren’t expected until the next day, but Nick had decided to arrive early and get a feel for the town and its people.

The main area of town was built on a charming center square. The mayor’s office and the post office were in the center, surrounded by a lush parklike setting. It took him only moments to recognize the town as a diverse mix of Native Americans and Caucasians.

Although Nick had spent the last three and a half years working out of the Tulsa office, he knew very little about Native Americans and their culture. Before Tulsa he’d worked for seven years in Chicago. He was well versed in Latino tradition, Italian culture and Irish pride, but he knew next to nothing about Indian life.

Too big to be a town, too small to be called a city, Cherokee Corners seemed to exist somewhere in between. The previous chief of police, Thomas James, had been a man of vision. Nick knew he’d implemented a small crime lab and had several crime scene investigators working for the department.

Nick also knew there were three places in a town to learn the pulse of the people who lived there—the local watering hole, the barbershop and the café or diner.

He didn’t want a drink, didn’t need a haircut, but his stomach had been growling enough to let him know it was lunchtime.

There were three cafés at various places around the center square. He chose the one that looked the busiest.

A cacophony of sounds and scents greeted him as he walked through the door. The overriding odor was one of frying hamburgers and onions, but beneath that pungent scent was the faint fragrance of cooked apples and baking bread.

The place was packed. Clinking silverware, chatter and laughter and a cook calling “order up” all created the chorus that sang of a successful establishment.

A big older woman with blond hair in a sort of beehive concoction greeted him from behind the cash register. “Tables and booths are all full, handsome, but if you don’t mind being a counter fly there’s a stool open at the end.”

He’d noticed that the name of the place was Ruby’s Café and had a feeling the woman was none other than Ruby herself. “Thanks,” he said and smiled. “I guess being a counter fly is better than being a bar-fly.”

She grinned, her blue-shadowed eyes sparkling in amusement. “Ah, not only are you handsome as sin, but you have a sense of humor, too. If I were two decades younger I’d have you for lunch.”

He winked at her. “If I were two decades older…I’d let you.”

She was still laughing as he slid onto the empty stool at the end of the counter. He opened his menu, quickly made his selection, then leaned back in the stool and tuned into the bits and pieces of conversations that floated in the air around him.

A table of farmer types were complaining about the weather and predicting a long rough winter. Two women at another nearby table were discussing the trauma of potty training, and the two men closest to him at the counter were discussing the latest nosedive on Wall Street.

The atmosphere in Ruby’s was one of peaceful coexistence, a comfortableness among the patrons and a sense of community as people departed and arrived and waves and smiles were exchanged.

“Sorry you had to wait,” a young waitress said as she stopped before him, order pad at the ready.

“No problem. Just a burger and fries,” Nick said. “And a glass of milk.”

By the time his order had arrived, some of the lunch crowd had dispersed and only Nick and two other men remained at the counter.

Nick ate quickly then lingered over a cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie.

“How’s that pie?” The big-haired blonde moved from behind the cash register to stand on the opposite side of the counter in front of Nick.

“Best I’ve ever had,” he replied truthfully.

“Just passing through or sticking around?” she asked with open curiosity. “By the way, I’m Ruby, owner of this fine establishment.” She stuck out a meaty hand with long, scarlet fingernails.

“Nick Mead. Nice to meet you and I think I’m sticking around for a while.”

“Good. This town could use a little more eye candy when it comes to the male population.”

“Why, I do believe you’re flirting with me, Ms. Ruby.”

She laughed and nodded her head, blond curls bobbing on plump shoulders. “I come by it naturally.”

She leaned over the counter and winked at him conspiratorially. “My great-grandma owned and ran the first brothel in these here parts. I come from a long line of flirts and lovers.” She stepped back from the counter and patted her big belly. “Unfortunately, I like my food better than I like most men.”

He laughed, then sobered. “Maybe you can help me, Ruby. I plan on hanging around town for a while, but I need a place to stay. I pulled up the Cherokee Corners home page on the Internet and noticed there were several options. Maybe you can direct me someplace?” Although the agency always made arrangements for the men they sent out in the field, Nick usually opted to make his own. Besides, the locals always knew which places were good and which were not so great.

Ruby frowned. “No hotels in town and the only motel is out by the highway. I suppose the sheets are clean enough but I wouldn’t go swimming in that swamp water they call a pool. If you want to be treated well and like a little extra TLC, there’s the Redbud Bed-and-Breakfast across the square. If you decide to go there, tell Alyssa I sent you.”

“Alyssa?”

“Alyssa Whitefeather. She owns the place, including the ice-cream parlor that’s the bottom floor.”

“Thanks, Ruby.”

“No problem…and don’t be a stranger.” She moved back to the cash register to take care of a departing diner.

As Nick finished up his coffee and pie, he thought about what to do for accommodations. Cherokee Corners was a town that thrived on the tourist trade and the Web page had listed half a dozen places for overnight accommodations.

He had no idea how long he would be in Cherokee Corners. It could be a week or two, it could be a month or more. Certainly the amenities of a bed-and-breakfast sounded far more appealing than a motel room, especially if his stay would end up being a prolonged one.

Besides, he hadn’t been in a motel room for almost three years. As he walked from Ruby’s to his car, his mind flashed visions of the last time he’d been in a motel room.

It had been the somber and sympathetic faces of his co-workers that had told him it was bad. They’d tried to keep him out, to talk him into not going inside the room, but he’d needed to see.

He still remembered the painting that had hung on the wall directly above the bed. At first he’d thought it was some sort of weird abstraction of sorts. It took him a moment to realize it had once been a serene landscape before blood had splattered it and run in rivulets down the canvas.

He hadn’t wanted to look at the bed, but knew he had to…he had to see with his own eyes that Murphy had followed him from Chicago to Tulsa, that Murphy had extracted a price of revenge that was beyond comprehension.

She lay there, blond hair splayed like sunshine on what had been a burnt gold bedspread. That’s what he’d called her…his sunshine. Dorrie…his sunshine, his wife of five years.

The last time he’d seen her had been that morning as they’d shared breakfast. It had been over scrambled eggs and wheat toast that they’d decided it was time to try to start a family. With her blue eyes shining brightly, she’d told him she wanted his baby.

Now she lay sprawled on the bed, naked and with a garish grinlike wound where her throat had been slashed from ear to ear. On her chest, a postmortem wound in the shape of a capital M—Murphy’s signature.

He slid behind the steering wheel of his car and consciously shoved the painful images out of his mind. He couldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t let thoughts of Murphy screw up the case he was about to take on. He had a murderer to find right here in Cherokee Corners.

But, eventually he’d find Murphy. His fingers curled painfully tight around the steering wheel as cold, barely controlled rage filled him. Eventually the son of a bitch would pay in the worst kind of way for taking Dorrie’s life.

“If you take care of restocking the napkins, I’ll refresh the toppings,” Alyssa said to Mary, the young, blond-haired woman who helped her out through the summers at the ice-cream parlor that comprised the bottom floor of the Redbud Bed-and-Breakfast.

“Okay,” Mary agreed good-naturedly.

Alyssa smiled warmly at the woman. She’d been a blessing in the past couple of months. Mary had not only pitched in and worked more hours than usual, but had supported Alyssa emotionally through dark days, when it had seemed that every evil spirit in the world had tormented the people Alyssa loved.

Things had calmed down for the moment, at least for the James family, the people Alyssa claimed as her own. Alyssa’s aunt Rita, who had been kidnapped two months ago had been returned safe and sound to her family.

It had been a town scandal of massive proportions when it was discovered that Jacob Kincaid, the wealthy, respected owner of one of the banks in town, had sneaked into Alyssa’s aunt and uncle’s home, hit her uncle Thomas over the head and kidnapped Rita. He’d held her in his basement for weeks while the rest of the family had gone crazy trying to find her.

It was only through the police work of Alyssa’s three cousins, Savannah, Breanna and Clay, that Rita had been found and Jacob Kincaid arrested. It was later discovered that there had been two women before Aunt Rita, women who had not been rescued but who Jacob had killed.

The silver lining, if there could be one, was that through the course of the investigation, her cousins had all discovered love as they searched for their missing mother.

Alyssa should be feeling the reflecting, warm happiness of the people she loved, but instead she was exhausted, reeling from the latest bout of visions she’d been suffering…visions of bloody and violent death.

It didn’t help that a serial killer was loose in the town. In Alyssa’s mind this would always be the summer of fear…first because of her aunt Rita’s kidnapping and now because of the heinous murders taking place in Cherokee Corners.

“I’ll bet the whole town turns out next week for Clay and Tamara’s wedding,” Mary said as she busily filled the napkin holders.

Alyssa smiled, grateful for any topic that would momentarily take her mind off her worries. “I still can’t believe that stubborn cousin of mine agreed to be married in a traditional Cherokee ceremony.”

“It doesn’t surprise me. He’d do anything for Tamara. There is only one thing better than the love of a good woman,” Mary began.

“And that’s the love of a good man.” Alyssa laughed as they both chorused the words.

She got busy refilling the bins that contained nuts, multicolored candy sprinkles, chocolate chips and all the goodies kids liked to use to top off their ice-cream cones.

She wouldn’t mind having the love of a good man in her life, but that wasn’t likely to happen as long as she lived here in Cherokee Corners. Too many of the eligible bachelors in town were either frightened by her or thought her crazy.

Besides, she didn’t have time for romance. Between running the bed-and-breakfast and the ice-cream parlor, she barely had time to breathe. Things were especially busy this time of year, when the late-August heat made the thought of a banana split or a sundae particularly attractive and tourists filled the town.

Things would slow down in a couple of weeks when school began again. The kids of the town would disappear back into classrooms and the tourists would return home until next summer.

“I’ll be right back,” Alyssa said. “I’ve got to get more sprinkles from the storeroom.”

“While you’re doing that I’ll make sure all the tables and chairs are clean,” Mary replied.

Alyssa smiled her thanks, then entered the storeroom and began the hunt for the candied sprinkles amid the other stock. As she searched she heard the tinkling bell over the ice-cream-parlor door announce the arrival of the first customer of the day.

“Good afternoon.” Mary’s voice rang out with her usual cheerfulness. Good afternoon to you, too.” The deep, smooth male voice was unfamiliar to Alyssa.

“What can I get for you? Our special this week is our Brownie Delight for only ninety-nine cents,” Mary said as Alyssa located the plastic jug of candy sprinkles.

“Actually, I’m not here for ice cream. My name is Nick Mead and I just arrived in town. Ruby from the café across the square sent me over here. I need a room.”

At that moment Alyssa stepped out of the store room and had her first look at the man inquiring about a room. Shock held her rooted in place. A rushing wind resounded in her ears as the plastic jug of candy slipped from her fingers and hit the floor.

“We have no rooms available.” She heard the voice above the roar of the wind and recognized it as her own.

“Alyssa…remember, the Carlsons checked out late last night. The blue room is available,” Mary said.

Words of protest refused to rise to Alyssa’s lips as Nick Mead’s intense blue eyes gazed at her curiously.

All she knew was an incredible need to escape from his gaze, from his very presence. “You take care of it, Mary.” With the roar of dangerous winds still deafening her, Alyssa left the jug of sprinkles lying where it had fallen and escaped through the door that led to her private living quarters.

She went directly to the sofa and sank down, afraid her trembling legs wouldn’t hold her up a moment longer. The vision. She grabbed a strand of her long dark hair and worried it between two fingers, trying to shove away the thought of the recurring vision she’d been having for the past month or so.

She’d suffered with visions all her life but none had been as vivid, as disturbing as the one that had recently haunted her, the one that had included a man who looked exactly like the one who had just walked into her establishment.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, lost in a haze of stunned shock, when a light tap on her door pulled her from her nightmarish reverie. “Come in,” she called.

The door opened and Mary peeked her head in, concern wrinkling her forehead. “Are you okay?”

For a split second Alyssa wanted to tell Mary exactly what tormented her, but she’d told nobody about the terrifying, horrible visions she’d been experiencing. She now tried to shove those images aside and focus on her friend.

She forced a smile to her lips. “I’m fine. I don’t know what happened in there. I was suddenly very light-headed and dizzy.”

“Have you eaten anything at all today?” Mary sighed audibly as Alyssa shook her head. “I swear, Alyssa, you’re up before dawn every morning cooking breakfast to take care of your guests, but you never take the time to take care of yourself.”

“I’ll fix something now,” Alyssa said. “I’m just giving myself a minute or two to get my feet back under me again.”

“Take your time. I’ve got everything under control,” Mary assured her. “I got Mr. Mead settled in the blue room. I don’t know if you noticed or not before you got all wobbly, but that man is definitely lust-after material.” Mary winked, wiggled her fingers in a goodbye gesture, then closed the door and left Alyssa alone.

Alyssa closed her eyes and drew a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself. She still felt cold and shaky and knew it was the residual effects of experiencing complete and utter shock. Nick Mead. She now knew his name. Mary had said he was “lust-after material” but she didn’t have to tell Alyssa that. Although she was a virtual stranger to Nick Mead, he was intimately familiar to her.

For the last month she’d had visions of making love to a stranger, a handsome man with dark hair and ice-blue eyes. She knew exactly how his lips made demands when he kissed, knew the white-hot heat his caressing fingers could evoke. She knew the rhythm of his hips against her own as they made hot, frantic love.

She knew all this and yet she hadn’t known his name until now, had never met him before today. For the past month she’d been haunted by visions of the handsome Nick Mead, visions that came from some unidentifiable force, visions that almost invariably came true.

She had no idea what force had brought him here to Cherokee Corners, but she didn’t want him here. She didn’t want him in town and she certainly didn’t want him under her roof. Danger…her brain screamed. His appearance here, the reality of him, made her head ache with dread.

But he was here…in Cherokee Corners, a guest in her bed-and-breakfast. Maybe he would only stay the night then be gone with the morning dawn.

Struggling up to her feet, a momentary wave of hope winged through her at this thought. If he left first thing in the morning, then it was quite possible she wouldn’t see him or talk to him again and maybe her terrible visions of him would cease.

An icy chill once again clutched her as she thought of the visions that had haunted her for the past month. The visions of making love to him wasn’t what frightened her, but each time, the vision ended with her stabbing him in the chest…stabbing him over and over again.

Chapter 2

As Nick unpacked his suitcase and hung his clothes in the armoire and dresser in the charming room decorated in various shades of blue, his thoughts weren’t on his surroundings but rather on the woman he’d seen briefly downstairs.

The antithesis of Dorrie, who had been sunshine and light, Alyssa Whitefeather had seemed like a woman cloaked in darkness.

Long, black hair had spilled down over her shoulders and her skin tones had been dusky, the cinnamon tones of Native American blood. High cheekbones had further attested to her heritage. Her eyes, dark blue, had been a shock, startling with their unexpected hue.

She’d been wearing a shapeless light blue sundress but it had been easy to tell that beneath the flowing material she was thin, but not without feminine curves.

As he took his toiletries into the adjoining bathroom, he couldn’t help but contemplate the expression that had taken over her lovely features in the instant she’d gazed at him.

Shock…stunned disbelief…it was as if she’d seen a ghost when she’d looked at him.

He stacked his personal items on the sink countertop. Shaving cream, razor, cologne, deodorant and a large bottle of aspirin marked the territory as his own for the duration of his stay, a stay he’d told Mary would be indefinite.

Maybe he looked like an old boyfriend who’d dumped her, or a cheating ex-husband. He knew for sure he’d never seen her before in his life. Nick had a knack for remembering faces. He wasn’t always great with names, but faces he never forgot and he was positive he’d never seen Alyssa Whitefeather before in his life.

He dismissed her from his mind as he returned to the bedroom and finished unpacking his clothes. When he’d emptied his suitcase, he turned to the briefcase. He walked over to a small table covered with a blue gingham tablecloth that sat in the corner with a window on either side.

He moved the vase filled with fresh-cut flowers from the center of the table to the top of the dresser, then set his briefcase on the table and opened it.

Inside were copies of files from the Cherokee Corners Police Department…the reasons he and his team had been requested to come to town. His two-man team would arrive tomorrow, the date when the chief of police, Glen Cleberg, was expecting them.

A serial killer was terrorizing Cherokee Corners, and after four murders, Chief Cleburg had finally called the FBI for help.

As a criminal profiler, Nick had seen more than his share of evil. As a man he’d tasted the horror of evil in his personal life. That particular horror had begun to fade with the passing of time.

Grief over Dorrie’s ugly death didn’t fill his every waking hour as it had in the days and weeks after her murder, but the rage had never left him.

He refused to allow the grief or rage to take hold of him now. He had a job to do here, and in order to do it to the best of his ability he had to remain unemotional and detached. In order to be successful he had to attempt to immerse himself in the life, the mind and the very evil of the murderer at work in this place.

One of the reasons Nick had decided to come a day earlier than his team was because he knew how important it was to get a feel for the town, for the people where a serial killer was at work. He liked giving himself a little time to soak up the local ambience before he dived into the task-force work.

With this thought in mind he opened the first file folder. He’d already read them all half a dozen times, but he’d continue to reread them until he had every fact, every piece of evidence and every nuance of the crimes completely memorized.

If his stomach hadn’t started protesting the absence of food, he probably would have sat at the small table in the corner of the room halfway through the night.

When he could no longer ignore the emptiness and rumbling, he looked at his wristwatch, surprised to realize it was almost seven o’clock.

As Mary had led him to his room, she’d given him a quick rundown on the bed-and-breakfast routine. Breakfast was served in the main dining room between the hours of six and nine in the morning.

The front door was locked at ten o’clock but the guests were given a key to the back door, where they could come and go as they pleased no matter what the hour.

The amenities that came with the room, not counting breakfast itself, were fresh flowers in the room daily, fresh-squeezed lemonade, sun tea and cookies every afternoon on the veranda and turndown service at night if requested.

At the moment Nick wasn’t interested in anything other than dinner. The burger he’d had at noon had been great, so he decided Ruby’s was the place for dinner, as well.

He left the of all the establishments on the street. The August heat created a rather unpleasant odor in the alley as he passed several trash bins that likely contained spoiled food.

He followed the alley around the square, noting entrances and exits as he walked. All four victims of the killer had been left at various points in the center square. The alley made an easy, accessible escape route for the killer.

When he reached the back of Ruby’s restaurant, he walked around the side of the building, from the alley to the front sidewalk and the door.

Ruby still stood at the cash register and her broad face beamed when he walked through the door. “Ah, a repeat customer. That’s a good sign,” she said.

He grinned. “It was a piece of great apple pie and I’m hoping you offer something equally as appetizing for your dinner meals.”

“You look like a steak man. We’ve got a great sirloin meal in the evenings. And you’re in luck, most of the dinner crowd has thinned out, so you can have your choice of a table or a booth.”

Nick quickly perused the place. “A table,” he said. The tables were in the center of the room.

“You got it.” Ruby left the register and grabbed a menu from a stack, then led him to a small table for two. “This all right?”

“Perfect.” He accepted the menu from her and smiled his thanks.

“How about a cup of coffee to start you off?”

“Sounds great.”

Moments later Nick sat at the table alone, sipping his coffee while he waited for his steak dinner to arrive. If the cops in the town were as friendly as the other folks, it would make Nick’s time here much more pleasant.

A young couple sat next to him and he couldn’t help but overhear the argument they were engaged in.

“You promised me no more evening meetings until after the killer is caught,” the young woman said, her voice emotional.

“I know, honey, but tonight can’t be helped. It was the only time Mr. Maynard could meet with us.”

Nick tuned out the conversation, but it intrigued him nevertheless. It was the first time he’d heard anyone mention the killer that plagued the town.

He could understand the fear of the women in town…fear for their male friends, boyfriends or husbands. So far all the victims had been males between the ages of thirty and forty. They’d been stabbed to death and left naked in a public area around the center square.

The steak was grilled to perfection and the baked potato was just the way he liked it, smothered in real butter and sour cream.

As he ate, he found himself wondering how well he and his team would be greeted by the local law enforcement. Even though it had been the Cherokee Corners chief of police that had requested their help, that didn’t mean the locals would be particularly pleased to have outsiders working the case.

The bad blood between FBI men and city officers had become almost mythical in the passing of years. Usually, everyone managed to work together without ego or territorial battles in order to solve a particular crime…usually, but not always.

It would be interesting to see what kind of welcome they’d receive here in Cherokee Corners. Hopefully, it would be a good one and he wouldn’t have to worry about internal politics or other such nonsense. All he wanted to do was solve this particular case and return to Tulsa and the hunt for the killer named Murphy who had stolen his life.

He was lingering over coffee, when Ruby approached him and motioned to the chair opposite his. “Mind if I join you for a minute?”

“Not at all,” he replied, grateful for a break from his own thoughts.

“Steak okay?”

“Perfect. I think this is going to be my favorite place to eat while I’m in town.”

Ruby nodded and grinned. “Best place in town…although I might be a slight bit prejudiced. Did you get settled in at the Redbud Bed-and-Breakfast?”

“I did, and thanks for the recommendation.”

Ruby nodded again, but the smile that had decorated her face fell away. “Cherokee Corners is a nice town. We got a good bunch of people here, a nice mix of Native Americans and white folks. We accept each other and live together in peace.”

Nick wondered where she was going with this particular conversation, but he kept silent as she continued. “Folks help out other folks here. We try to take care of each other, and that’s why I thought I’d better warn you. We got trouble in this town right now and it’s best if you don’t find yourself walking the square after dark.”

“You’re talking about the Shameless Slasher,” he said.

She looked at him in surprise. “Yeah, that’s what the newspaper calls him. Sick animal is more like it. I like you, Nick. I don’t want to see you hurt while you’re in Cherokee Corners. I just thought you needed to know about the danger of men going out after dark.”

He smiled, touched by the woman’s caring. “Actually, the killings are what brought me here. I’m an FBI agent and I’ve been assigned to the case.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Ruby exclaimed. “Here I’ve been sitting with an official G-man and didn’t even know it. I thought you boys always wore suits.”

Nick laughed. “In this kind of heat? Not this G-man, at least not until I’m officially on duty, and that isn’t until tomorrow.”

Ruby leaned toward him, bringing with her a powerful scent of perfume. “Are you packing?”

Always,” he said, thinking of the ankle holster that fit snug against the skin beneath his jeans.

Then I guess I won’t worry about you.”

“Hopefully when I finish my work here, you won’t have to worry about anyone,” Nick replied.

A few minutes later he left the café. Night had just begun to fall, shadows usurping the light in the alley first. He didn’t take the alley, but rather walked around the square back to the ice-cream parlor.

All he needed to finish off the good steak meal was a strawberry sundae and maybe a little chat with the intriguing Alyssa Whitefeather.

It was quarter until nine when he walked through the door that he’d first entered earlier in the day. There were several people seated at the round tables, finishing up sodas and ice-cream treats. Alyssa stood behind the counter and her eyes darkened as she saw him enter. If he didn’t know better, he would guess that it was a visceral dislike that sparked from her eyes. But how was that possible? She didn’t know anything about him.

He walked up to the counter and scooted onto a stool and offered her a friendly smile. It was not returned. “What can I get for you, Mr. Mead?”

“How about a strawberry sundae, and please, make it Nick, since I’m going to be staying here for a while.”

She made no comment, but turned her back and began to prepare his ice cream. Her long, dark hair was now pulled back at the nape of her neck, caught and held there by a light blue barrette. Her movements were efficient, but graceful at the same time.

From the back she was quite pleasant to look at, but when she turned to face him, her eyes were fathomless and unfriendly. She set the ice-cream treat in front of him then started to walk away.

“Whom do I talk to about turndown service?” he asked.

She stopped walking and turned back to look at him. She was quite pretty. Her skin appeared flawless, her bone structure delicate, and her lips were full but pressed tightly together at the moment. “That would be me,” she said.

“Great, then I’d like the service.”

“Fine.” Once again she started to move away and once again he stopped her by speaking to her.

“Are you always this friendly with guests or is it just me you don’t particularly like?”

Her cheeks took on a little more color as she drew a deep breath. “It has nothing to do with liking or disliking you. Mr. Mead, I don’t know what brought you to Cherokee Corners, but you should leave.”

The words tumbled from her as if she was unable to help herself. “You shouldn’t be here in this town and you shouldn’t be staying in my bed-and-breakfast.”

Nick wondered if she didn’t know exactly who he was and why he was here. Was it possible she knew something about the murders? “Lady, what in the hell are you talking about?”

Alyssa stared at him, horrified by what she’d said and even more horrified as she realized he expected an explanation from her.

She couldn’t tell him about her visions, he’d think she was some kind of nut. “I just think you should know there is a murderer loose in Cherokee Corners and it isn’t safe for you to be here. It isn’t safe for any men alone to be in town.” There, that didn’t sound too crazy, she thought.

“I know all about the Shameless Slasher.” He picked up his spoon and dipped it into the strawberry-covered ice cream. “That’s why I’m here.”

Alyssa stared at him in surprise. On some level she felt herself examining his sinfully handsome good looks, looking for something that would tell her he was not the man she’d been having the horrible visions about.

His dark hair was clipped neatly, although it had just enough wave to soften the cut. He had a Roman nose and below that a wide mouth with sensual lips. But it was his eyes that made him so striking, those intense blue eyes against the foil of his dark hair and tanned face. Unlike the blue of her eyes, which was dark, more a midnight kind of blue, his were the color of a cloudless summer sky.

The same man. There was absolutely, positively no doubt in her mind that he was the same man who had occupied center stage in her latest bout of visions.

“What do you mean that’s why you’re here?” She finally responded to his words.

“I’m an FBI agent, Alyssa,” he said. “Beginning tomorrow, two other agents will be working with me and your police department to find the killer.”

An FBI agent. Alyssa reeled with this new knowledge. Why had her visions shown her killing an FBI agent who had come to town to offer his expertise in catching the killer?

“Eat your ice cream before it melts,” she said absently, then turned to Tina, the teenage girl who helped her out in the evenings. “I’ll be right back.”

Tina nodded and Alyssa hurried through a door that led to the upstairs so she could attend to the turndown service he’d requested.

She took the stairs that led to the four bedrooms on the second level. She could tell that in three of them the occupants had already gone into their rooms for the night. Doorknob hangers read, Do Not Disturb.

The fourth room, what they referred to as the blue bedroom, was Alyssa’s favorite. The furniture was cherrywood antiques in beautiful condition. The double bed was covered with a light blue gingham print and lace-eyelet spread. Light blue curtains hung at the windows and a gingham tablecloth covered the small table in the corner.

Dark blue throw pillows were thrown on the bed for accent and a cobalt-blue vase filled with fresh flowers had been moved from the table to the top of the dresser. The paintings on the wall mixed the shades of blue to tie everything all together in a lovely, peaceful atmosphere.

But there was certainly no peace in Alyssa as she now entered the room. She immediately spied the briefcase on the table. She knew it probably contained reports on the murders that had taken place in Cherokee Corners. She didn’t want to touch it, didn’t want to even get close to it. She was afraid of what might happen.

She turned on the bedside lamp and searched in her pocket for the mints she would set on the pillow after she turned down the blankets and prepared the bed for night.

She placed the mints on the nightstand, then folded down the bedspread, exposing crisp pale blue sheets. A headache began across the front of her forehead, a frighteningly familiar headache.

Knowing she needed to get out of the room as quickly as possible, she grabbed the mints and placed them on the pillow.

The instant her fingers made contact with the pale blue pillowcase, she froze, blinded by the vision that swooped over her more swiftly, more vividly than any she’d ever suffered before.

She was in the bed…amid the pale blue sheets, but she wasn’t alone. Nick was with her, his naked body pressed against hers. She could feel the warmth of the solid muscle of his chest against hers and taste the fire in his lips as his mouth took possession of her own.

His hands were everywhere, stroking across her breasts, moving down her ribs, sliding across her hips and creating fiery flames wherever he touched. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before…heights of splendor she’d never climbed. As quickly as a blink of an eye, the scene in her head changed.

She and Nick were no longer in between the pale blue sheets, but rather someplace outside. She recognized nothing about the area, saw a misshapen tree in the distance and smelled the odor of an approaching storm.

In this scene, she and Nick weren’t making love, although she straddled him like a lover. Gripped in her hand was the longest, sharpest knife she’d ever seen and she plunged it over and over again into Nick’s chest.

Blood splattered as she hit him again and again with a strength she didn’t know she possessed. Each time the knife disappeared into his chest a surge of power filled her…a frightening, overwhelming and seductive power.

“Are you all right?”

The deep, male voice pierced through the vision of blood and death and she jumped and whirled around to see Nick standing in the doorway.

It took a moment for her to separate vision from reality. There was a time when her visions left her feeling oddly refreshed and invigorated, but lately they left her drained and half-dizzy, as if she remained in a sort of limbo between the surreal world and the real one.

She knew he had spoken to her, could tell by the look on his face that he awaited a reply. But she couldn’t remember what he’d asked her.

She stepped away from his bed, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her. “Excuse me?”

Those eyes of his, those intelligent, intense blue eyes held her gaze for what seemed like an eternity. I asked if you were all right.”

He stepped into the room, closer to her, close enough that she could smell the scent of his cologne. It was a familiar scent. She’d smelled it only moments before when she’d had the vision of the two of them in bed.

“Of course…I was just doing your turndown service.”

He eyed her skeptically. “I stood in the doorway and watched you for almost five minutes. You were frozen like a statue. Are you an epileptic? Do you suffer from seizures?”

Her initial instinct was to tell the truth and say no. But then she realized that might be a perfectly good explanation for the visions she knew would be increasing because of his nearness.

“Yes…I suffer from petit mal seizures,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t be punished for the tiny white lie.

“Are you okay now? Do you need me to get you anything?”

“No, I’m fine.” What she needed more than anything was to escape this room and his presence.

She still felt the impending doom that the vision had left behind. She feared that Nick Mead’s arrival to the town of Cherokee Corners had put into motion events that would forever change her life.

Chapter 3

It was still dark outside when Alyssa pulled herself out of bed the next morning, still dark when she finished showering and got dressed.

Exhaustion weighed her down as she left her small, private quarters and entered the large kitchen. Now she would begin the process of baking muffins and biscuits, browning sausage and frying bacon and all the other tasks that would result in a breakfast to remember at the Redbud Bed-and-Breakfast.

There had been a time when she’d done these chores with joy, but lately the daily grind was beginning to take its toll on her. She was tired, tired all the time, but this morning the weariness weighed heavier than usual.

Of course, it didn’t help that she got very little sleep the night before, she thought as she rolled out the dough for biscuits. Knowing Nick Mead was beneath her roof had kept sleep at bay.

As she worked, she thought about the handsome FBI agent. Just because she’d had horrible visions about him didn’t mean they would come true. She’d long ago learned not to take what she saw in them at face value.

Sometimes they were just what they were, but other times they were filled with symbolism and meaning she only understood after the events in the vision had come to pass.

But, no matter how she twisted and turned the images her latest vision contained, they still frightened her, especially now that the man in her vision was here in town.

She tried to shove thoughts of Nick and her visions out of her head as she worked. She needed to concentrate on what she was doing in order to make the kind of meal guests had come to expect from her.

Dawn was breaking in the east, a sliver of light peeking over the last of the night clouds when she sat at the island with a cup of coffee.

It was almost six and even though breakfast officially started being served then, guests were rarely up that early. It was usually seven before anyone appeared in the dining room.

This was Alyssa’s favorite time of day, when all the preparations for breakfast were finished and she had these few precious moments to sit and reflect.

It was at this time of the morning when whisper-thin memories of her mother visited her. There were few memories, as Alyssa had lost her mother when she’d been four. But she still remembered a familiar scent, a sweet voice and loving hands roughened from basket weaving.

Her grandmother had been a basket weaver, as well. Alyssa had lived with her maternal grandmother until she was eleven, then her grandmother had passed away and Alyssa had been taken into the James family and raised with Savannah, Breanna and Clay by the loving, exuberant Rita Birdsong James and her husband, Thomas.

“Good morning.”

She gasped and tensed at the familiar deep voice. She turned on her stool to see Nick standing hesitantly in the kitchen doorway.

If she’d thought he looked handsome the night before, today he practically made her breathless. Clad in a lightweight, light gray suit, he looked coolly professional. “Something smells wonderful,” he said.

“If you’ll take a seat in the dining room, I’ll be glad to bring you some breakfast,” she replied.

“Actually, a cup of coffee will do me just fine for the moment.” Without waiting for an invitation, he walked over to the coffeemaker, poured himself a cup of coffee, then carried it over and sat on the stool next to hers at the kitchen island.

He was close enough to her that she could smell the scent of a subtle expensive cologne, see the long, individual lashes that framed those startling blue eyes of his.

Before his bottom was firmly planted on the stool, she jumped up from hers, not wanting to be near him. “Would you care for a muffin or something to eat with your coffee?”

There was a small part of her that resented that he was an early riser, that his presence had cut short the time she always allowed herself to just sit and relax.

There was a small part of her that resented that instead of sitting in the dining room like other guests, he’d invited himself into the kitchen area and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“No, thanks. I’m not much of a morning eater,” he replied, looking as comfortable as if he’d spent the last five years’ worth of mornings sitting in her kitchen.

“If you aren’t a breakfast eater, then you probably would have been better off getting a room at the motel out by the highway. It would have been cheaper.” She sounded like a disgruntled crab even to her own ears.

“Yeah, but they don’t offer turndown service.” His eyes twinkled, and there was a tone to his voice as if he was trying to flirt with her.

She turned her back and stirred a pot of gravy warming on the stove. Drat the man anyway. The last thing she wanted was him flirting with her. The last thing she needed was him having anything to do with her.

“I really prefer if my guests stay out of the kitchen,” she said as she turned back to face him. “You understand, liability reasons.”

“Of course,” he said, but didn’t make a move to stand. He took a sip of his coffee, his gaze lingering on her. “You intrigue me, Ms. Whitefeather. I sometimes stay at bed-and-breakfast establishments, and most of the time I find the proprietors cheerful and friendly, or motherly, or overeager to please. You don’t seem to fit the mold.”

His words made Alyssa realize just how odd and unfriendly she’d been around him. Perhaps she was drawing more attention to herself from him than necessary by being so distant and cool.

“I apologize,” she said and forced herself to sit on the stool next to him once again. “I’m usually not unfriendly, although I can tell you I have never wanted to mother any of my guests. You’ve just caught me at a bad time…with the murders happening in town and all.”

Instantly, whatever twinkle had lightened his eyes was doused. Instead, his eyes turned cold, like chunks of blue ice. “It’s been my experience that a murderer on the loose makes everyone on edge.”

He stood, grabbed his coffee cup and smiled. “And now I’ll go into the dining room like a proper guest should do.”

She breathed a sigh of relief as he left the kitchen. Her stomach had been in a knot since the moment he had said good morning. It was the visions, she told herself, and the fear of what might happen, that created the twist in her tummy. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was as handsome as the devil and charming as could be.

Within a half an hour the Harolds had joined Nick. The Harolds were a couple from Kansas City who were staying in the green room. They had been here for two nights and were checking out at noon that day.

As Alyssa filled the table with an array of breakfast foods, she listened to how easily Nick conversed with the older couple on a variety of topics.

He was as charming with them as he’d been with her and that made her feel better. He probably hadn’t been flirting with her at all, he’d just been being himself and that just happened to be exceptionally charismatic.

Within thirty minutes Virginia Maxwell had joined the group. Virginia, a pretty blonde, was the wife of the first victim of the serial killer. She’d moved into the bed-and-breakfast almost immediately after her husband’s murder, and was staying in the pink room.

The fourth person who rented a room from Alyssa rarely made it down for breakfast with anyone else. Michael Stanmeyer was something of a recluse. He’d been a guest of Alyssa’s for the past two years and he usually came down the stairs to the dining room after all the other guests had eaten.

From the kitchen, she heard Nick’s deep voice, although she couldn’t make out what he had said, but Virginia’s peals of tinkling laughter grated on her nerves.

In the three months Virginia had stayed here, Alyssa had found herself alternating between feeling sorry for the pretty woman and wanting to wring her neck.

She gathered up the last of the freshly baked biscuits and took them out to set on the table. “So, Ms. Whitefeather, when do you eat breakfast?” Nick asked.

“Ms. Whitefeather…my, how formal. Call her Alyssa and you can call me Virginia,” Virginia said. “And this is Dave and Cindy.” She gestured to the couple, who beamed at Nick with smiles that looked surprisingly alike. “And even though you’ll probably never see him, weird Michael is in the purple room.”

“Weird Michael?” Nick raised a dark eyebrow quizzically and looked at Alyssa.

“Michael Stanmeyer, and he isn’t weird. He’s just extremely shy.” Alyssa wanted to glare at Virginia, but instead she kept her focus on Nick. “Mr. Stanmeyer is a very nice man.”

“Speaking of nice men…” Nick looked at his watch and pushed away from the table. “I’ve got a couple of my friends to meet. I hope you all have a pleasant day.”

Alyssa could have sworn his gaze lingered on her for just a moment longer than on the others and she felt the beginning of a headache thrum at her temples.

No, she thought desperately. She was not going to have a vision…not here…not now. She had to control it. She had to suppress it. She’d done it before, felt the pressure of a vision trying to get through and had managed to back it away.

What she needed to do was get away…escape to the isolation of the kitchen where she could focus on refusing the vision entry into her mind.

“Excuse me, I forgot something…” She ran for the kitchen and sat on the stool where she had been sitting when Nick had first entered the room.

Gripping the edge of the countertop, she closed her eyes and fought against the dizzying blackness that sought to possess her. “No,” she whispered, the words a half sob.

But, no matter how hard she fought, the blackness came and immediately following the dark was a vision…the vision. Nick’s lips on hers, his hands stroking heat into every area he touched and finally her begging him to take her, to make love to her.

Then, as always happened, the scene changed, transformed into something ugly and violent. Nick’s face twisted with surprise and pain as she stabbed him and his blood splattered.

She came to on the kitchen floor, her hip aching from where she must have banged it when she slipped from the stool.

She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, but she could still hear the sounds of the guests chatting and laughing in the dining room. Thank good ness. Nobody had seen. Nobody knew.

Two in two days. That wasn’t a good sign. She’d never had two visions so close together, first the one last night as she’d touched the bed where Nick would be sleeping, and now this one. Two in two days.

She had a feeling Nick’s presence had stirred the psychic winds and they were blowing cold through her one right after another.

The Cherokee Corners Police Station was housed in a low brick building that looked relatively new, but Nick supposed that was the glory of brick…it always managed to look relatively new. It was located two blocks off the city square on a quiet tree-lined street.

His two-man team was already waiting for him, sitting in the confines of the air-conditioning in Bud’s sports car. They both got out of the car as Nick pulled into the parking space beside them.

Bud Johnson, a tall, good-looking man with streaked blond hair, grinned at Nick. “There he is, looking fine and fit. Probably just ate a big breakfast at that fancy bed-and-breakfast he’s staying at.”

Nick nodded. “Eggs and toast, biscuits and gravy, muffins the size of your fist and all the sausage and bacon I could eat.”

“You pig,” Tony Marcelli exclaimed. Tony was a handsome man with two ex-wives that he claimed were bleeding him dry with alimony payments. “We had a couple of stale doughnuts and a cup of the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted.”

“I highly recommend Ruby’s Café for your dining needs. I ate there yesterday for lunch and dinner, and both meals were terrific,” Nick replied.

As if on cue the three of them turned and faced the police station. “Well, guess it’s time to go meet the locals,” Nick said.

Together the three of them entered the police station. The man behind the front desk eyed them curiously. “We’re here to see Chief Glen Cleburg,” Nick said and flashed his badge.

“Oh sure.” The officer rose and opened the secured door that led down a hallway. “The chief’s office is the second door on the left. He’s waiting for you.”

Nick led his team down the hallway to the closed door. He knocked and waited for a response, then opened and met the man he’d be working with for however long it took to catch their killer.

Glen Cleburg was a big man with graying dark hair and hazel eyes. Lines of stress bracketed his thin lips.

Initial introductions were made, then the men got right down to business. “We’d like to set up a six-man task force, including the three of us and three men from your department,” Nick explained. The chief nodded. “Perhaps you have suggestions as to who you want on the team.”

“Definitely Clay James,” Cleburg said without hesitation. “He’s head of our crime scene unit and is as bright as they come. He even runs a small lab in the back of the building.”

“You have a crime scene unit here in Cherokee Corners?” Bud asked in surprise. It was rare for a town so small to have trained crime scene investigators and particularly ones trained in forensic science.

“Yes, my predecessor, Thomas James, foresaw Cherokee Corners growing into a town that would eventually need well-trained police officers in all areas of law enforcement. I encourage my men to get all the education they can.”

“That’s commendable, sir,” Nick replied.

“As far as the other two members of the team, I’ll leave that up to Clay’s discretion. He can decide who he wants working with you.” Glen rose from his desk and motioned for them to follow him out of the office.

“I’ve set up a room for you to use. Unfortunately, space is not a commodity around here, so the room is rather small, but it’s the only place I could free up indefinitely.”

They all followed Cleburg down the hall to a room that had apparently been used as a classroom of sorts. It was, indeed, small, but one wall held a blackboard, and the other held a corkboard. It would be perfect for how Nick liked to work his task forces.

“I’ve had a separate phone and fax line put in and I’m having some of the other officers bring in a couple of computers for your use.” Glen frowned. “Unfortunately, you’ll find our computer system rudimentary. We’ve just gone from paper files to computers in the last couple of months and the automation is an ongoing process.”

“We’ll manage,” Nick assured him. Each of the agents had his own personal computer tied into every main computer for sharing information among law officials across the country. “What I’d like to do now is meet Clay James and get started.”

“Of course,” Glen said quickly. Again he gestured them down the hallway. “I must warn you, Clay is long on smarts, but sometimes he’s short on patience and social skills.”

“We’re used to that sort with Tony here,” Bud said. “He’s our resident Neanderthal man.” He clapped Tony on the back.

Nick smiled at the interplay between the two men who had been partners for the last five years. The three of them worked well together, often played hard together and despite their teasing, held one another in great esteem. Nick only hoped the three men that would join them from the Cherokee Corners personnel would work well with them also.

They found Clay James seated at a desk in the lab area. He looked up as they entered, a frown of irritation crossing his darkly handsome face. It was there only a moment then gone as he eyed the three men that accompanied his chief. He stood.

“Clay, these men are the FBI agents that are going to work the task force.” Again introductions were made and hands were shaken.

As Nick gripped Clay in a firm handshake, he saw in the man’s dark eyes a keen intelligence that assured him he would be a good addition to their team. He also noticed the black, shiny hair, the equally black eyes and the burnished skin tones that instantly made him think of Alyssa Whitefeather.

He’d hoped to win a smile from her this morning. He wasn’t sure why it had become important to him, but he wanted to see her smile. He wanted to see those lush lips of hers curve upward and a spark light the depths of her velvet-blue eyes.

She’d looked so pretty that morning when he’d first seen her from the doorway. Wearing a pale yellow sundress, as she was, and with her hair tied at the nape of her neck with a matching yellow ribbon, he’d wanted to sneak up behind her and place his lips on the vulnerable bared skin just beside her gathered hair.

He yanked his thoughts back to the moment. “Nice to meet you,” he said to Clay James. “What we’re wanting to put together here is a six-man task force consisting of the three of us and you and two other Cherokee Corners officers.”

“I told them you can decide who you want working with you, Clay,” Glen said. “Maybe Collins and Sheller or Cavannaugh or Winter.”

“Not Sheller,” Clay said with a definite tone of voice. “Collins and Winter will be fine.”

“I’ll leave you two to get to work,” Glen said. “But I want to make it clear that I expect to be updated daily and want to be aware of everything concerning these murders.” He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway.

“The chief showed me the room where we’ll be working. Do you want to gather up your other men and meet us in there?” Nick asked. “We’d like to get set up and at work immediately.”

Clay nodded. “I’ll find the other two officers and we’ll meet you in there in about ten minutes.”

The men parted, Bud and Tony following behind Nick as they headed back out the front door of the police station. “We’ll get our equipment inside and set up, then spend the afternoon going over the files,” Nick said.

The other two men nodded and headed for their car while Nick went to his own. From the back seat he grabbed the case that held his computer and his briefcase, then went inside to the room where Glen had said they could set up the team.

In the room, the first thing he did was place a long table in the center. This would be the pulse of the room, where he knew in the coming days the men would spend far too much time going over facts, speculating on possibilities and brainstorming together.

Another long table he placed against the back wall, where computers would be up and running, logged into systems that would tell them about similar crimes and the background of potential suspects, among other things.

He’d just started tacking up photos of the victims, when Clay and his two men entered the room. Clay introduced Nick to Simon Collins and John Winter. Collins was tall, pale, with sandy hair and a ready grin. John Winter looked Native American, his dark features expressing less openness than Collins, but still a reserved friendliness.

When Bud and Tony entered the room, introductions were made all the way around, then everyone got to work. By noon they had the room set up as a sort of war room. The corkboard held the victim and crime scene photos. Computers were plugged in and at the ready and a phone number had been established for the phone line, another for the fax line.

Nick looked around in satisfaction. They were ready to begin the process of finding a killer. The men were all seated at the table in the center of the room looking at Nick expectantly. “It’s vitally important that the six of us work as a team. I don’t believe in egos getting in the way of the investigation. We work this as a team and we solve it as a team.”

He sensed the others’ satisfaction with his words. He’d worked too many task forces, and in his experience had learned that there was no room for hot-shots. He had no patience for men who worked for personal gain instead of for the common good of the team to achieve their objective.

“We all sit at this table with strengths and weaknesses,” Nick continued. “Clay, you and John and Simon bring to the table the fact that this is your town. You know it and the people and that’s vital if the killer is a local.”

For the next several hours the men reviewed the facts of each murder, discussing the victims, the circumstances surrounding the deaths and any forensic evidence that had been found.

It was after five when they wound up. “We’ll make it an early day today,” Nick said. “But, I’ll warn you in advance, you might want to tell your wife, your girlfriend or your significant other that from here on out you’re on duty twenty-four hours a day. We’ll be working long hours and I’ll want each one of us to carry cell phones so we’re only a call away from one another at any time of the day or night.”

As the men gathered up their paperwork and got ready to leave, Nick turned to Clay. “Can I buy you a drink?” Nick figured it wouldn’t hurt to foster a little goodwill with the man who he knew would probably prove invaluable to the team.

“Sure,” Clay replied. “A beer would taste good right now.”

The two men walked out of the police station together. “You’ll have to help me out here. Since I’ve been in town, the only place I’ve been is to Ruby’s Café and I didn’t notice beer on the menu.”

Clay smiled. “No, but if you go in after six at night, you’ll probably smell it on her breath. The best place for a beer and a little quiet talk is Sanford’s. It’s just down the block. We can walk there.”

For a moment the two men walked in silence. Nick had already sized Clay up as a highly intelligent man with a knack for finding evidence when none seemed to have been left behind. He had a feeling Clay still hadn’t made up his mind about what kind of man Nick might be.

That was all right. Nick didn’t trust a man who jumped to conclusions too quickly. “Heard your family recently went through a pretty traumatic experience,” Nick said.

Clay looked at him in surprise. “Where’d you hear that?”

“When I spoke with Chief Cleburg initially he told me that he intended for you to work with me and he told me about your mother’s kidnapping. He also told me that if it hadn’t been for your stubborn diligence and work, she might have never been found.”

“Thankfully, we found her before she suffered any physical harm,” Clay replied.

“How’s she doing now?”

Clay’s mouth curved up in a grin. “You’d have to know my mother to understand that she’s a survivor. She’s exactly like she was before the kidnapping…enjoying life and her family.”

“That’s good to hear,” Nick said as they entered the darkened interior of Sanford’s. It was a typical small-town tavern, with pool tables in the back, a layer of thick smoke hanging in the air and a bar counter that had probably felt a thousand elbows resting on it.

Clay motioned to the bar and the two men slid onto stools. They ordered their drinks from a burly bartender who appeared to double as bouncer, as well.

“Are you staying out at the motel?” Clay asked.

“No, I’m staying at the Redbud Bed-and-Breakfast here on the square,” Nick replied.

“Ah, my cousin’s place.”

Nick looked at him in surprise. “Alyssa Whitefeather is your cousin?”

“A close cousin. My mother raised her from the time she was eleven. She’s more like another sister than a cousin.” Clay took a sip of his beer, then continued. “I want you to know I intend to put all my time and energy into finding the bastard who’s killing the men of our town,” Clay said. “But the first thing I need to do is request Saturday off duty. I’m getting married that day.”

“Married? And you’re just asking for one day off?”

“My fiancée, Tamara, knows how important this case is. I’ve promised her a real honeymoon when we catch this creep.” Clay wrapped his hands around his beer glass. “You know, most of the town is going to turn out for the wedding. Maybe you should come, see the town people at play.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on such a personal ceremony,” Nick protested.

“Trust me, it wouldn’t be an intrusion, but if you are uncomfortable coming alone, I’ll set it up with Alyssa and the two of you can come together.”

Nick instantly felt a spike in his adrenaline, although he fought to keep his enthusiasm for the idea out of his voice. “Isn’t it possible she might already have an escort?”

“Alyssa? Nah, she never dates. I’m sure she’s planning on going alone.”

“Then that would be great. I could have a look at the folks there and won’t feel so out of place if I’m with a family member.”

“Then consider it done. I’ll call Alyssa tonight and set it up with her.”

“Alyssa…is she on medication for her epilepsy?” Nick asked.

There was no mistaking the blank look in Clay’s dark eyes. “Epilepsy?” he repeated slowly, as if the word was utterly foreign to his vocabulary.

“Yeah, I walked in on her last night and she was, like, in a trance. I asked her if she had epilepsy and was having some sort of seizure and she said yes.”

“So, she told you she has epilepsy? No, she isn’t on any kind of medication.” Clay lifted the beer glass to his lips, his gaze focused away from Nick.

And in that instant Nick suspected that Alyssa Whitefeather didn’t have epilepsy at all. She’d lied to him, and Clay was merely trying to cover her tracks. Interesting.

If she didn’t have epilepsy…if she hadn’t been suffering a petit mal seizure when he’d seen her in his room the night before, then what had she been doing? Why had she appeared like a woman in a trance…a woman completely gone from the real world and its surroundings?

The only answer could be she was hiding something from him. But why?

Chapter 4

Livid and a little bit afraid…it was the only way to describe the emotions that roared through Alyssa as she dressed for Clay and Tamara’s wedding early Saturday morning.

She couldn’t believe that Clay had manipulated her into bringing Nick along. She didn’t want to go with him, didn’t want to spend any time in his company. She wanted nothing at all to do with the man.

It was bad enough that for the last two mornings he’d been the first one up, forcing her to interact with him without buffers between them. She’d been pleasant but short, not encouraging small talk.

However, that didn’t keep her from being intensely aware of his every movement when she served him in the mornings. Despite his initial claim not to be a breakfast eater, for the last two mornings he’d enjoyed a big serving of her biscuits and gravy. He was a neat eater, never leaving behind a mess.

Neat eater or not, as far as she was concerned, it was vital that she keep as much distance from the man as possible. Her plan for the day was to escort him to the wedding, introduce him to people, then leave him to his own devices until the wedding celebration was over.

As she brushed her hair, she realized that it was difficult to hang on to her foul mood. It was rare she took a day off and even more rare that she got to enjoy a traditional ceremony with friends and loved ones.

Mary had agreed to come in this morning and take care of the breakfast preparations and run the business for the entire day, leaving Alyssa free to simply enjoy the wedding of her best friend, Tamara Greystone, and her cousin, Clay.

She finished brushing her hair and stepped back from the mirror, eyeing her reflection critically. She had considered wearing a traditional Cherokee tear dress, but at the last minute had changed her mind.

There would be plenty of people wearing traditional clothing today, but Alyssa had opted for a cool mint-green sundress. Dainty white hoops decorated her earlobes and white sandals completed the outfit.

She looked at her watch. Almost eight. It was time to go. Nick had been surprised when she’d told him the night before that she would be leaving the house around eight in the morning.

She had a feeling he had no idea what he was in for, had probably never experienced a traditional Cherokee wedding ceremony. As far as Alyssa was concerned, there was nothing more beautiful, more spiritual and filled with more community bonding than a Cherokee wedding.

Looking at her watch again, she realized she couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time to leave her private quarters and take Nick to a wedding.

He was waiting for her in the front foyer, looking cool and far too sexy in a beige, lightweight suit that complemented his blue eyes and dark hair. “Ready?” she asked briskly.

His gaze swept her, beginning at the top of her hair, down to the sandals on her feet, and a smile of appreciation turned his lips upward into one of his sexy smiles. “I’ll be the most envied man at the wedding,” he said.

Despite her desire to the contrary, Alyssa felt the warmth of a blush sweep over her features. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“I’ll drive if you’ll provide directions to the church.”

He pulled his car keys out of his pocket.

“All right, but we aren’t going to a church.”

Together they left by the back door, where his car was parked in the small lot behind the bed-and-breakfast. “Where are we going if not to a church?” he asked.

“The Cherokee Cultural Center,” she replied. “Clay and Tamara are being married in a traditional ceremony.” She tried not to freeze as he opened the passenger door for her, standing close enough that she could smell his cologne but not so close that they might inadvertently touch.

She didn’t want him to touch her in any way, was afraid a single touch might bring on the vision and she wanted nothing to mar the happiness of the day.

She slid into her seat and watched as he walked around the front of the car to the driver’s side. His suit hung on him as if it had been made to fit his broad shoulders and slender hips.

She grabbed her seat belt and buckled it around her. A man as handsome as he was would be married. He probably had a good woman and two or three kids at home, waiting for him to return from his field trip. Meanwhile, he probably flirted with every female in sight when he was in the field, or had meaningless affairs while away from home.

By the time he slid in behind the steering wheel, Alyssa was working up a case against him, anything to keep him at a mental and physical distance.

“All set?” he asked as he fastened his seat belt. She nodded. “Get on Main Street and head north,” she said.

“You mentioned that Clay and his fiancée are being married in a traditional ceremony. What does that mean?” he asked once they were on Main Street.

“It’s not only a beautiful ceremony, but lots of preparation has gone into it before the actual ceremony begins,” she replied. “The place for the ceremony is blessed for seven consecutive days. A sacred fire burns, and before the ceremony begins all the guests are blessed, as well.”

“Sounds fascinating,” he said.

What she found fascinating was the scent of him that filled the car interior. It was a distinctly male scent of his cologne mingling with a hint of shaving cream.

“I have to warn you,” she said. “It will be a long day. Following the actual ceremony itself will be singing and dancing and feasting into the night. If you decide you want to leave early, please don’t worry about me. There will be lots of people there who can bring me home when I’m ready to come home.”

He cast her a sideways glance, his expression teasing. “We haven’t even gotten there yet and already you’re trying to ditch me. What kind of a date is that?”

Again she felt the warmth of a blush sweep up her neck, and to her consternation her pulse rate raced a little faster. “This isn’t a date. It’s a favor for Clay and my contribution in helping find the killer that’s loose in the town.”

“Clay mentioned that you don’t date.”

“I don’t have time.” Her words were clipped and brusque. It irritated her that he and Clay had talked about her dating habits, or lack thereof.

“If you don’t date, then how do you intend to find Mr. Right?”

Although his question was innocent enough, it stirred a wistfulness inside her. She was twenty-nine years old and at this moment in her life she didn’t have time to find a Mr. Wrong, let alone a man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Besides, she’d known from a very early age that there would probably be no Mr. Right for her, that it was her destiny to be alone, to live alone.

“What makes you think I’m interested in finding a Mr. Right?” she finally asked in answer to his question.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I thought that’s what all women want.”

“That’s the most chauvinistic thing I’ve ever heard,” she replied.

He laughed, a pleasant low rumble that stirred something inside her and once again made her heart race just a little faster. “Not really, because I think the same thing is true about men. All they really want is the love of a good woman in their lives.”

She eyed him curiously. “And do you have that? Are you married, Nick?”

“No.” The single word shot out of him and she thought his hands tightened perceptibly on the steering wheel.

Divorced, she thought, and by his reaction to the question it had probably been a nasty divorce. She was grateful when the cultural center came into view.

“Clay wasn’t kidding when he said practically everyone in town would be here today,” he said as he angled his car into one of the last parking spaces in the lot.

“The people of Cherokee Corners love a good party,” she said. She didn’t wait for him to open her car door. The moment the car came to a full stop, she unbuckled her seat belt and got out.

When he exited the car and they began to walk toward the building, she remained far enough away from him that he couldn’t take her arm or touch her in any way.

“Should I have put on more deodorant this morning?” he asked, obviously noticing her distance.

“No, you’re fine.” She steeled herself and moved closer to him. It was highly probable that at some point throughout the day they would touch. Shoulders might bump, hands might brush…she simply had to prepare herself for such an event.

The sound of laughter and chatter filled the air. It was a day of celebration, she reminded herself. Tamara and Clay would join their lives together today. Most of the townspeople would be here for the joyous event. It was not a day for visions of death. She refused to allow any visions to ruin the day.

To test herself and her inner strength, on impulse she reached out and grabbed Nick’s hand. “Come on, I’ll give you a quick tour of the building before we join the party in the back.”

“All right,” he agreed. His strong fingers closed around her hand and she breathed a grateful sigh.

She felt no approaching darkness, no headache edging its way through her brain. She felt nothing except a seductive warmth flooding through her from their point of contact.

When they entered the building, she broke the physical contact between them. She wasn’t sure why, but she found touching Nick almost as disturbing as suffering from one of her visions.

Nick had begun to think that Alyssa Whitefeather had no sense of humor and had never allowed the luxury of a smile to cross her lush lips.

He’d been wrong. After the interesting, educational, but brief, tour of the place, they had stepped out the back doors of the building, where immediately members of her family had greeted her.

It was like a switch had been turned on inside her. He was introduced to Thomas and Rita James, Savannah and Riley Frazier, Breanna and Adam Spencer and a delightful little six-year-old charmer by the name of Maggie.

But, as the introductions were being made and small talk exchanged, Nick was riveted by Alyssa’s smile, her laughter and the sparkle that lit up her dark blue eyes.

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