The chase is on in New York Times bestselling author Cynthia Eden’s latest installment in the Killer Instinct series!

Josh Duvane’s SEAL training not only hardened his body, but also his mind. Though his latest investigation as part of the FBI’s Underwater Search and Evidence Response Team is pushing him to his limits. The Sandy Shore killer taunts local police as Josh recovers his victims off the coast of Florida. Of all the women taken, only Casey Quinn has survived. As this unrelenting psychopath stalks her every move, Josh is all that stands between her and certain death. Now it’s time for him to turn the tables and use every ounce of training to stop the killer from having the last laugh...

Killer Instinct

“He said...he won’t stop. He will kill me.”

The siren was louder. Closer.

Another tear slid down her cheek. “He said he’d been waiting for me...that the waiting was over.”

His body brushed against hers. “He’s not going to ever touch you again.” Josh intended to make sure of that. “You’re safe.”

But she shook her head, and Josh didn’t think she believed him.

The sheriff’s patrol car whipped around the corner. The lights flashed from the top of the car.

Casey’s hold tightened on Josh even more.

“You’re safe,” he said again, but Josh knew that she didn’t believe him.

Hunted

Cynthia Eden

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CYNTHIA EDEN is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author. She writes dark tales of romantic suspense and paranormal romance. Her books have received starred reviews from Publishers Weekly, and one was named a 2013 RITA® Award finalist for best romantic suspense. Cynthia lives in the Deep South, loves horror movies and has an addiction to chocolate. More information about Cynthia may be found at www.cynthiaeden.com.

I want to thank the wonderful staff at Harlequin—

Denise, Kayla, EVERYONE at Harlequin Intrigue.

It is truly a pleasure working with you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Josh Duvane broke from the surface of the water, pulling the regulator out of his mouth and then shoving back his mask. “We found her,” he called to the team up on the boat.

He heard someone swear. Probably the local sheriff. Josh knew the guy had been hoping to find the victim alive. No such luck. Josh swam to the boat. The ocean water lapped against him, dark and rough because a storm was coming. If they were lucky, they’d be able to get the victim up before the storm hit.

A big if.

He grabbed for the ladder on the back of the boat and pulled himself up.

“Are you sure it’s Tonya?” Sheriff Hayden Black asked as he reached out a hand to Josh.

Tonya. Tonya Myers. The twenty-two-year-old college coed who’d vanished a week ago. And, yes, unfortunately, he was sure. “It’s her.”

He glanced back at the water. The waves rocked against the boat. As one of the FBI’s elite USERT members—Underwater Search and Evidence Response Team—his job routinely took him to the deepest depths. He searched for clues, he searched for evidence and, on damn unfortunate days—days like today—he searched for the dead.

“That makes three bodies,” Hayden gritted out. The waning light glinted off his blond hair. “Three bodies in the last three weeks.”

And that was why Josh was there. The FBI knew they had a serial hunting in the quiet coastal town, and Josh had been sent to provide backup to the local Bureau team—and to the sheriff.

Josh and Hayden had crossed paths in the past. Once upon a time, they’d trained together as SEALs. They’d worked together on a few missions years ago, then had gone their separate ways. Josh had joined the FBI and Hayden—hell, Josh never would have figured the guy for a small-town sheriff.

I would have figured wrong.

“This town has already had enough heartache,” Hayden muttered. “The people need peace, not more fear.”

More divers went into the water. Josh had done his job and located the body. His team would work to bring the victim to the surface.

“We just put one killer behind bars.” Hayden raked a hand over his face. The sheriff’s star on his uniform gleamed. “Theodore Anderson’s trial is barely over. Now some other jerk is terrorizing my Hope.”

Not just terrorizing the town of Hope, but killing mercilessly. The victims taken were all women in their twenties, attractive, fit. And they weren’t locals. Hope was a beach town along the Florida Gulf Coast—popular in the early summer for its pristine white beaches. The victims had been tourists.

The killer had a twisted MO. He took the women, then he immediately called the sheriff’s station, taunting the authorities. Telling them to hurry and find the victim before it was too late.

But so far, they’d always been too late. Each victim had been stabbed to death. The first two victims had each been stabbed five times, and then their throats had been slit. Josh was betting that when the ME had a chance to check the body of Tonya Myers, he’d find the same wounds on her.

After he’d dumped his victims in the water, the perp made a second call to the authorities. A brief call that just gave longitude and latitude coordinates. The dump site location for the body.

In Josh’s experience, most killers didn’t offer up their victims that way. For someone to do that—to deliberately call the authorities and just spill the location of the dead—it meant one thing.

The perp wants attention. He wants the world to know what he’s doing.

And the guy was getting that attention. News crews were camped out in Hope, desperately trying to get a scoop on the new case that was transfixing the nation. Murder was always big business.

“He’ll be going after a new victim soon,” Josh said quietly. His wet suit stretched as he strode to the bow of the boat. “You need your deputies to be on high alert. You need to warn the people in this area to stay extra vigilant. Because if we aren’t careful...” His words trailed away. The killer was very careful. He didn’t leave evidence behind, none of his taunting calls to the sheriff had been traced back to him...he was always one step ahead of the authorities. “If we aren’t careful, soon I’ll be searching for another body.”

* * *

THEY’D FOUND THE VICTIM. Cassandra “Casey” Quinn tensed when she saw the black body bag being unloaded from the boat. “Another one,” she whispered as sadness tightened her heart. Another woman who’d been struck down in the small, coastal town.

“Should I start filming?” her camerawoman asked.

She should say yes. The other camera crews were already rolling, capturing the moment when that body bag was transferred out of the boat and onto the stretcher. The ME was there. He’d be taking the body back to his lab.

“Casey?”

How long had the woman been in the water? One day? Two? Tonya Myers had finished up her bachelor’s degree at Florida State University just two weeks before. She’d gone to Hope to relax. To have a little fun in the sun.

Not to die.

“We’re missing the shot, Casey,” Katrina Welch snapped.

Right. The shot. The story. That was why she was down there, after all. Why she’d left New York and flown down to face the already blistering Florida heat. “Keep the camera on me and the sheriff,” she directed. Not the body bag. I just... I can’t. “Maybe I can get him to share an exclusive with me.” Doubtful. So far, Hayden Black had been like a vault.

Good thing she was pretty good at safecracking.

There were about half a dozen reporters gathered on the dock. Most of them were filming the body bag. Some were rushing toward the ME, and yes, two others had tried to go after the sheriff. He waved them back. She heard the growl of “No comment” that came from Hayden. Typical. She’d discovered that even though he was a native Florida boy, Hayden wasn’t exactly big on the southern charm.

Her gaze darted over him. Tall, blond, strong...the sheriff walked with a furious intensity, his body practically vibrating with tension. He didn’t like what was happening in his town. Not one damn bit.

But there was another man with him. Also blond, but his hair was a darker shade, shaggier than the sheriff’s. This man moved with a predatory power, and his gaze swept the scene, as if looking for threats. Dangerous. This guy is seriously dangerous.

“That’s the USERT guy in charge, right?” Katrina asked as she pressed closer. “I think I saw him go out on the boat that retrieved the body.”

Victim, not body.

“He looks mad.” Katrina lifted her camera and aimed it toward the sheriff. “They both do.”

“Probably because they don’t like finding dead women.” She swallowed. “And, yes, he’s USERT. His name’s Josh Duvane.” As soon as the USERT group had arrived, she’d begun digging up information on them. Digging up information was sort of her thing...almost a compulsion. She didn’t even date a guy without doing a full background check, and Casey knew that was weird. But with her past, it paid to be careful. “Ex-SEAL, tough as nails, swims like a fish.” And he’d been the guy to find all three of the victims.

She swallowed. “Maybe he’s the one who’ll talk.” Maybe. She smoothed back her dark hair, straightened her already straight blouse and lifted her chin. “Let’s just see what happens.” Briskly, she walked toward the two men, with Katrina at her heels. “Sheriff Black!” Casey called out brightly. “Can you confirm that the body of Tonya Myers has been recovered?”

Hayden turned toward her, and his golden eyes were sharp with barely leashed fury. “No comment, Ms. Quinn. None.”

Figured. The guy was far too tight-lipped.

She lowered her microphone. Voice softer, she said, “Don’t you think the public has a right to know what’s happening here? People are dying, Sheriff. And if you found Tonya’s body, then that means another victim will be taken soon.”

He stared at her. Then he gave a grim nod. “Film me.”

He’d just said—her eyes widened and she gestured to Katrina. Film the man. Film the man! Before he changed his mind.

Hayden stared into the camera lens. “There is a predator hunting in our city. I would like to ask every citizen to be extra vigilant. If you see anything suspicious, please do not hesitate to call the sheriff’s office. I am working in conjunction with the FBI to track down and apprehend this criminal, and I ask that all individuals—particularly women in their twenties who may be visiting our area—take every precaution—”

“Is that because the Sandy Shore Killer has a special victim type?” Casey cut in. “He only kills women in their twenties? Women who are vacationing in Hope, not locals?”

His eyes glittered. “Turn off the camera.”

Well, at least they’d gotten something. Casey waved toward Katrina and made a quick, slashing motion across her throat.

Katrina’s sigh was very, very loud.

“The Sandy Shore Killer?” It wasn’t Hayden who’d spoken. It was the FBI agent—the USERT supervisor, Josh Duvane. His voice was deep, dark and sexy. Not that Casey found the guy sexy. She was at a crime scene for goodness sake. She had a job to do. She wasn’t there to lust after some agent.

Her gaze swept over Josh Duvane, studying him, assessing him. Tall, over six feet, with broad shoulders. His thick blond hair was still a little wet. His skin was tanned—probably because of all the time he spent in the water—and his hard jaw appeared freshly shaven. He had a faint scar on his right cheek, a slash of white that told her the scar was old. His eyes were hazel. Not a warm and cozy hazel, though. They were stone-cold.

Chilling, she would say.

Or maybe that was just the look he was giving her. Like an ice glare. He’s freezing me out. Because if Casey had to guess, she’d say that FBI Agent Josh Duvane did not like her very much. A pity. When sources didn’t like her, they had a tendency not to share information. She really needed him to share.

“Who the hell gave the guy the moniker of the Sandy Shore Killer?” Josh wanted to know.

She nodded briskly. “That would be me.”

He rolled his eyes and cursed. “Lady, giving the guy attention—”

“Cassandra. Or Casey. Either one works.”

His lips—rather sensual lips, nicely sculpted—pressed into a thin line. “Giving the guy attention...giving him a freaking name...does nothing but feed into his fantasy. You’re building him up when we want to be tearing him down.”

She didn’t let her expression alter. Casey hadn’t wanted to give the guy a nickname, but her producer had insisted. “You can only call a guy the unknown perpetrator for so long, you realize that, right?” She gestured to the beach behind them. “And he does place his victims in the water off the sandy shores here. It seemed fitting at the time.” The name had certainly stuck.

“Vultures like you just do more damage.” Josh turned away from her. “You don’t help anyone.”

She didn’t flinch, but his words shot straight to her heart.

Josh and the sheriff headed toward the parking lot.

“I’m not trying to do damage.” Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut but...no, he’d just insulted her. Casey figured that she deserved a chance to defend herself. “I’m trying to help this investigation. I’m trying to help the victims. They deserve justice.”

Josh put his hand on the sheriff’s shoulder. He leaned in close and said something quietly to Hayden. The sheriff nodded and then strode to his patrol car.

Josh turned to glance back at her.

“If looks could kill,” Katrina muttered, “I think you’d be dead on the ground right about now.”

Casey swallowed. She thought Katrina might be right. If possible, Josh’s gaze had grown even colder. “Why don’t you go back to the hotel? I’ll meet you in a little while.”

Katrina nodded and hurried away. She took the camera—and Casey’s microphone—with her. Katrina’s red hair was cut short, a pixie cut that accentuated her delicate features. But there was nothing delicate about Katrina’s personality. The woman was a fireball, and Casey normally loved working with her.

Right then, though, she wanted some space. If she had a chance to speak alone with Josh, she might be able to convince him that she wasn’t the bad guy.

Possibly.

Josh crossed his arms over his chest and studied Casey in silence. She wondered what he was thinking. What did he see when—

“Are high heels really the best choice for the beach?”

She glanced down at her heels. No, they were a terrible choice for the beach. Wretched. But when she’d left the hotel earlier, Casey hadn’t realized she’d be going to the beach. She’d thought that she would see Hayden Black at the sheriff’s station. She’d known she’d be on camera, so she’d had to wear what she thought of as her full reporter getup.

She walked toward him and her high heels wobbled a bit on the uneven pavement of the parking lot. The lot was right in front of the dock—and the stretching, white sand beach waited to the right. The scent of the ocean teased her nose.

“I don’t want to be your enemy,” she said and she gave him what she hoped was a warm smile. She’d practiced that smile a lot when she first started reporting. That smile had taken her from a spot in small-town Illinois to the big-league fame of a prime-time show in New York City. Her smile was warm. Friendly. Approachable. That was her deal—her producer said she was relatable. That she came across as caring.

The truth was...she really did care. Often, far too much. She couldn’t turn off the cases that she covered, and late at night, when she was alone, they haunted her. “I’m not the bad guy.”

“Didn’t say you were.” His head cocked as she approached him.

“You just thought it.” She inclined her head. “And you did say I was a vulture.”

The other reporters were clearing out. The ME had left. The body had been transferred. The sheriff was gone.

Other than a few stragglers at the lot, she was left with Josh.

“I’ve seen your work before,” Josh murmured. “I know plenty about you, Ms. Quinn.”

“Cassandra,” she corrected quickly. “Or—”

“Casey, right.”

His expression was so hard and unyielding. He was a handsome man, but...tough. A dangerous vibe seemed to pulse just beneath his skin.

“You don’t seem to have a lot of respect for reporters,” she murmured, though she rather thought her words were a serious understatement.

He looked at her, considering, and then his gaze darted to the water behind her. He rolled back his wide shoulders and sighed. Some of the tension appeared to leave him. His face didn’t soften but it seemed less...angry? “You know what? It’s my baggage, and I’m sorry.”

Wait—he was what?

“I’m being a jackass to you, and I apologize.” He sounded as if he meant those words. “It’s been a hell of a day, and when I find—”

He broke off, but she knew what he’d been about to say. When I find a body...

“I’m not at my best,” Josh finished as he raked a hand over his face. “But I shouldn’t be a jerk to you, and I apologize.”

“Apology accepted,” she said quietly.

He gave her a quick, searching glance. “May I tell you a story, Ms. Quinn?”

“Casey—”

He stepped toward her and her breath caught. He was...definitely strong. He wore a white T-shirt and shorts and she knew he’d changed out of his diving gear on the boat. The muscles of his arms and chest stretched the fabric of that T-shirt. He didn’t look like the typical, straitlaced FBI agent.

Probably because he wasn’t.

“A few months ago, I worked a real big case over in Fairhope, Alabama. We were after the Sorority Slasher...you remember that one?”

Her heart shoved into her throat. “Everyone remembers him.”

“Another stupid serial killer name. Folks should have just said they were looking for Dr. Cameron Latham, the genius psychology professor who decided killing was just too much fun.” His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “A reporter from that area was covering the case, trying to get all the headlines and make a name for herself.”

The breath she took seemed to chill her lungs. “I—I know what happened to the reporter.” Everyone knows. Because a story that terrible wasn’t easily forgotten.

“No, you know what was reported. You know that Dr. Latham killed the reporter. He wanted to send a message, and she was the perfect target. That’s what people know. But I was there.” He edged even closer to her. His body brushed against hers as he lowered his head—and his voice. “I know exactly what he did to her. And everything I’m about to say is off the record.”

She should back away. Put some distance between them. But she just looked up into his eyes. He’s trying to intimidate me. I won’t let him.

“I saw the blood-soaked room. I saw the body. I saw the way he’d wrecked her. He enjoyed hurting her, and her last moments—they were just of terror and pain. He left her alive in that room, you see. He let her know that death was coming, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.”

Casey licked her lips. Her mouth felt desert dry.

“So, yeah, I’m a little...sensitive to reporters right now. Because I think that reporter—Janice Beautfont—her death was a waste. She pushed herself into the spotlight, and he made her a victim. So when I see the reporters crowding around, wanting to spread the sick stories of this killer’s crimes...I remember Janice, and I hate what happened to her. I hate that this guy is feeding off the attention he’s getting, and I wish you would all just take a step back.”

Her skin felt too cold. It was a summer day on the Florida coast. Cold was the last thing she should be feeling. “I’m not trying to be in the spotlight.”

He raised one brow.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You don’t know me. I get that. But you’re wrong here. I want the focus on the victims. I want them to have justice.”

“That’s why I’m here,” he murmured. “And it’s always easier to do my job when I don’t have a reporter dogging my steps.”

So much for having a partnership with him. Desperate, she tried again as she said, “I can help you. I’ve been talking to the victims’ family members and their friends. I know things about the victims. Maybe I can help build a profile—”

“We have agents from our Behavioral Analysis Unit who do that.”

He was definitely shutting her down.

“Watch your step, Ms. Quinn,” he said again, but she knew he wasn’t talking about her high heels and the broken pavement in the parking lot. “Because you never know when a killer is close.”

And the guy just turned and walked away from her.

Her right foot tapped on that uneven pavement. “Casey,” she called after him. “My name is Casey. Remember it—because you’ll be seeing me again.” If he thought she was just going to give up, the guy needed to think again. She wasn’t going to be scared away.

Giving up wasn’t in her personality.

If Josh Duvane wouldn’t help her, well, then she’d just go find someone else who’d be ready to talk. A good reporter never gave up.

And Casey didn’t just want to be good at her job. She wanted to be great.

* * *

THEY’D FOUND TONYA. He’d watched as the reporters and the authorities slowly loaded into their vehicles and left the scene. They’d found her faster than they’d discovered his last victim.

But then, he hadn’t taken Tonya as far out this time. He’d left her closer to the shore, a deliberate choice. He’d needed to dump her body quickly and then get ready for the next kill.

He already had a new victim in mind.

He could see his prey right then.

She stood in the middle of the parking lot, tapping one high heel. Her dark brown hair fell to her shoulders, a sleek style that even the humidity of Florida couldn’t seem to muss. She had on a crisp white shirt and a formfitting black pencil skirt.

She was pretty...almost perfectly so with her fine-drawn features. He’d studied her often enough; he knew every detail of her face. Her wide-set, dark eyes, her bow-shaped mouth, her softly curved chin. He’d watched her on the news, marveling at the way she seemed to stare right at him.

As if she could see him.

I see you. He’d seen her all along. He’d seen everything she’d done. All the secrets she’d tried to keep. All the sins that she thought no one knew about...he’d seen everything.

She thought she was safe. She thought no one knew what she’d done.

But he knew.

He’d always known.

And before he was done with her, she’d be begging to tell the world her story.

They always begged.

And then they died.

Chapter Two

Casey sidled around the back of the sheriff’s station. Sure, this wasn’t exactly her best moment, sneaking up to the back of the building because she knew that the young deputy, Finn Patrick, was scheduled to get off work at eight o’clock that night. But Finn had been kind enough to share a little inside information with her before and she was hoping that he might feel similarly inclined again...

The back door squeaked open. It was a heavy metal door, and it led from the rear of the station to the small staff parking lot in the back.

Casey made sure her friendly smile was in place as that door opened. She stood in the shadows, waiting to see Finn’s dark hair appear but—

Blond hair.

Her smile froze. She expected Sheriff Hayden Black to exit the building.

But the man who came out wasn’t Hayden. The blond hair was a little too dark.

Josh Duvane shut the door behind him. He tensed and his gaze swept toward the right—toward the shadows. Toward her.

He’d changed his clothes again, and now the guy looked more like an FBI agent. Khaki pants, button-down shirt and a holster. A holster that he was currently reaching for as he kept his narrow-eyed gaze in her direction.

“Wait!” Casey called out. She hurried forward with a clatter of her—yes, still wearing them—heels. “It’s just me.”

If anything, his expression became even darker. “Should have known you’d be skulking around.”

“Skulking?” Casey repeated, not liking that particular word choice.

“Yeah, skulking. Hanging around, hoping for a weak link to appear so you can get another scoop.” He put his hands on his lean hips. “I know Finn tipped you off last time.” Josh gave a sad shake of his head. “You like preying on twenty-year-old deputies? The guy is green and you know it. You got him to spill confidential information to you that could jeopardize the case.”

Furious, she kept marching toward him. “I didn’t jeopardize anything! Finn just told me the number of stab wounds that the victims suffered—”

“And you immediately reported it, opening the door for copycats galore to come out and play.”

Her breath heaved out. “You don’t like me.” Were they really back to that already?

“I don’t know you, as you pointed out earlier.” His gaze swept the dark lot. “And, lady, why would you want to be out here by yourself? You know you match the killer’s victim profile, right?”

“I—” Yes, okay, maybe she did know that. But she was at the sheriff’s station. Shouldn’t that be the safest spot in town?

He grabbed her wrist, surprising her. It wasn’t the quick movement itself that surprised her. Rather, she was surprised by how gentle his touch was. His hand wrapped around her wrist, and she felt the faint caress of his fingertips against her pulse point.

A little shiver slid over her.

“Sheriff Black gave advice for folks to be vigilant. He gave that advice to you. And what do you do? You immediately run out and find the first dimly lit, empty parking lot that you can?”

“I know how to take care of myself.”

“I’m sure the other victims thought that, too.” His gaze slid around the lot. “Where the hell is your car?”

“My hotel is four blocks away. I just walked—”

“Because you have a death wish?”

She silently counted to ten, then said, “You are getting on my bad side.”

He smiled at her, a quick flash that showed the dimple—no, not really dimple, more like a rough slant—in his right cheek. “When you get angry, your voice goes absolutely arctic.”

Then she must be completely freezing him right then.

“Finn isn’t coming out here. He’s pulling a second shift and, even if he weren’t, the sheriff just gave him orders not to speak to any reporter, including pretty brunettes who smell like candy.”

Her eyes widened. “Smell like—candy?”

“Didn’t realize that, huh? You do.”

Her cheeks were burning.

He turned away, but kept his grip on her wrist and he pulled her toward the far side of the lot. A motorcycle waited there, a big black beast of a bike.

“I’ll give you a lift to your hotel. See, I can be a nice guy.”

He climbed onto the motorcycle and tried to tug her on after him. Casey locked her knees and refused to budge.

He sighed. He seemed to do that a lot around her. “Problem?”

“I don’t like motorcycles.” Yes, she sounded prim and disapproving. So what? She wasn’t sure she liked him, either. She certainly didn’t like his ride. “They go too fast. They flip too easily. They offer zero protection to the rider—”

“Not a risk taker, huh? Guess I pegged that part wrong about you.” His gaze dropped down her body and stopped on her three-inch shoes. “It’s the heels. When a woman wears sexy heels like that, it makes a guy think she may have an...adventurous side.”

“Are you hitting on me? Or insulting me again?” She wanted to be clear. “Because earlier, you said I was a vulture. Now you’re saying—”

He let go of her wrist, but only so that he could hand her a helmet. “This will protect your head and that pretty face of yours.”

“You are hitting on me.” She took the helmet. She did not get on the motorcycle. “Your routine needs work. A lot of it.”

“I did a little research on you since our last meeting...”

Her hold tightened on the helmet. Don’t have dug too deep. Don’t have found—

“You’ve won a lot of awards, haven’t you? Seems you’re the investigative journalist to watch. And you make a habit of going after the darkest killers, don’t you?”

Her heart was drumming too fast and hard in her chest. “I go where I’m needed. You might not like the work I do, but someone has to give the victims a voice.”

“And that’s what you do.”

It’s what she tried to do.

He revved the engine. The bike sounded like a giant, growling beast. “You said your hotel was four blocks away. Hardly far enough of a distance for me to go too fast on that short drive. And if you’re with me...” He gave her that slow smile again, the one that made him look a little less dangerous. Only a little. “I’ll be extra careful. I promise.”

She looked around the parking lot. It was getting darker. A lot darker. And, yes, she did fit the victim profile; she knew it. She was the right age, a stranger, no close ties in Hope... “Don’t go over the speed limit.”

He laughed. It was a strangely warm sound that caught her off guard. “I’m FBI. Trust me—I’ve got this.”

She climbed onto the motorcycle. Her skirt hiked up—up much higher than she’d anticipated—and she knew she was flashing thigh. Her heels settled along the bike, finding safe purchase. She put on the helmet and then her hands kind of fluttered in the air. Should she put them behind her? There was a bar back there. She should probably just grab on to it and hold tight.

“Hold on to me.”

She’d been afraid he’d say that. Casey slowly wrapped her arms around him.

“Tighter.”

Why? “I thought you said you weren’t going fast.”

“You still need to hold tight, Casey.” It was the first time he’d said her name. It came out rumbly and sexy and she needed to stop thinking the guy was sexy.

He was an FBI agent working a case.

She was a reporter.

She might try to work him to get information, but they were not going to have any sort of real, personal relationship. She didn’t do personal relationships. She kept her distance from people for many, many reasons.

Fumbling a bit, her hands slid around his waist, but she didn’t hold that tight.

“Tell me the name of your hotel.”

There were several just up the road—a line of them that looked out over the beach. “West Winds.”

She would not hold him tighter.

The motorcycle shot forward and her arms tightened around him, holding him in a death grip and smashing her body against his. He zipped through the town, not actually going too fast but...it was strange being on the motorcycle with him. The wind whipped at her, and the motorcycle vibrated beneath her. He was strong and solid in front of her, and Casey found herself thinking that...maybe, if it were a different time, if this were a different place...she and the FBI agent might not have found themselves being adversaries.

They might have been something a whole lot more fun.

Too soon, he was braking in front of her hotel. Other reporters were staying at the hotel, at least five she knew from previous jobs. And both her producer and her camerawoman were there—plenty of people that she knew. It was a safe place.

Josh killed the engine and put down the kickstand. She realized she was still holding him, and Casey let go quickly, nearly jumping from the motorcycle. Josh didn’t move, but she could feel his gaze sweeping over her. A bit nervously, Casey pushed the helmet back at him. “Th-thank you.” She hated that stutter. She never stuttered. Or at least, she worked hard to make sure she didn’t. When she’d been younger, that stutter had always come out when she’d been afraid. Back then, she’d had plenty to fear. The nightmares had plagued her every night for a solid year during college.

He put the helmet on the back of the bike. He studied her a moment and the waves crashed in the distance.

Should she just walk away? Probably.

“You don’t think it’s odd?”

“What?” She wasn’t sure she followed him.

“All of you reporters...” He gestured to the hotel behind her and she knew he’d realized other press personnel were staying in that same location. “You all came rushing down here weeks ago to cover the Theodore Anderson case.”

Theodore Anderson. She crossed her arms over her chest. Yes, he’d been the reason she was first sent to Hope. He’d been arrested and linked to the abduction and disappearance of several young girls in the area. Many of the crimes had occurred years ago, but only recently had he been linked to the kills.

The saddest part of the case? At least to Casey? The man had killed his own daughter. Christy Anderson had been murdered by her father when she was just thirteen years old.

Theodore had made headlines when he was arrested, and, yes, the reporters had all flocked down to cover the case when he went to trial. He’d been found guilty on all counts, and Theodore Anderson would never see the light of day again. Originally, the press had focused on Theodore, but it hadn’t been long before someone else started stealing the Front Page...

The Sandy Shore Killer.

“What are the odds,” Josh continued in that deep voice of his, “that in this sleepy little town, there would be not just one sadistic killer...but two?”

She licked her lips. “Considering how rare serial killers are...I’d say those odds should be astronomically low. But then...you’re FBI. You should know better than I do.”

“They are astronomically low. Coincidences like this one don’t happen.” Flat.

“But...it is happening.”

“Something set this guy off. Something brought him here...” His head turned and he gazed at the hotel behind her. “Can’t help but wonder...if it was you.”

She backed up a step. He knows. He dug into my past. He dug too deep. He found out what I did—

“You and all the reporters,” he continued as his hazel gaze slid back to her. “He didn’t like the fame that Theodore Anderson was getting, so he decided to steal the spotlight. And you and your buddies—with your twenty-four-seven news coverage—you just fed his beast. You made him more determined to get the attention he wanted.”

Casey shook her head. “You think this guy came here because of the reporters? Is that the theory the FBI is running with?”

His hand lifted and his fingers curved under her cheek. “We’re off the record. Way, way off...”

His fingers were faintly callused, a little rough against her skin.

“As I said, it’s highly unlikely we’d have two serial killers in the same town. That just doesn’t happen. Serial killers are rare to begin with and this...it isn’t by chance. Your ‘Sandy Shore Killer’ was drawn here for a reason.”

“Have the victims been connected in any way?” She had to press for more details.

“You know about the victims already. Attractive women in their twenties, all single, all visiting the area—no close personal ties here. And that’s all I will say about them now.”

His hand dropped away from her cheek and curved back around his handlebar. He revved the engine again.

Right. He was leaving. “Thanks for the ride.”

His gaze raked over her. She wondered... Did he feel that odd, thick tension between them? The heated attraction that seemed to fill the air?

His hazel stare burned.

He did.

“Good night, Casey.”

He felt the attraction, but Josh just wasn’t going to do anything about it. Those rule-following FBI guys. They weren’t her type. Or at least, they shouldn’t be.

“I’ll wait until you’re inside before I leave.” He paused a beat. “A gentleman never leaves before a lady is safely inside.”

“Is that what you are? A gentleman?”

He seemed to consider that. “Perhaps I could be whatever you want me to be.”

Casey turned away and hurried up the steps that led to the hotel. When she was in the lobby, she glanced back at him. He was still sitting on the motorcycle, still staring at her. Still looking far too sexy.

She lifted her hand and waved.

He frowned, gave her a small wave back, then drove away.

A few people who she recognized filled the lobby, and she inclined her head toward them as she headed for the elevator. The doors dinged open and when she slipped inside, Casey immediately ditched her heels. So much better. When she reached her floor, she carried her shoes in one hand, letting them dangle and bump against her leg. She was on the top floor, one that gave her a great view of the beach. She used her key card and slipped inside. The room was dark and ice-cold because she’d left the air-conditioning unit on earlier that day.

Casey turned on the light by the door. The maid had been in to clean—the room was spotless. Her pillows were all fluffed. New towels were waiting and the room had a fresh, lemony scent. She dropped her shoes and headed for the balcony door. She flipped the lock on it and slipped outside. The crash of the waves hit her first. The sound, then the scent. Stars glittered in the distance and she could see a handful of people walking on the beach.

She stood there a moment, lost in the sight. It didn’t seem right for something so beautiful to be linked to so much death. But if she’d learned anything in life...it was that beauty often hid darkness. A smile hid terror. Pain always waited. So did evil.

She turned from the view and reached for the balcony door. But...

Hadn’t she turned on the light in her room? Because the interior was pitch-black. She could see the darkness through the glass.

I turned it on when I walked inside. I always do that.

At least, she thought she had. But maybe there was a short or some kind of electrical problem. She’d have to call the front desk if there was trouble.

She opened the door and slipped inside. A little light spilled in from behind her, providing enough illumination for her to make her way to the small table near the bed. There was a lamp waiting there. She’d turn it on and then—

Hard hands wrapped around her from behind just as a bitter, thick odor hit her. “Got you.”

She opened her mouth to scream, but her attacker drove her forward, slamming her head into the wall just above the lamp. The impact was hard and she staggered. Casey didn’t get to scream. She didn’t even get to fight.

He rammed her head into the wall a second time.

Just like before...

No!

Her body was going limp. She was passing out.

His rough laughter was the last sound she heard.

Chapter Three

He drove for miles, just riding the motorcycle and letting the wind brush across his face. In his head, he kept reliving the day’s dive. Sinking deep beneath the water, searching even as he hoped that he wouldn’t find the body. He’d hoped that the victim was still alive. That she still had a chance.

Then he’d seen her hair. That was the way it often was on those dives. If he was searching for a woman, her hair would float up from her head. It would drift in the water around her, as if it were trying to reach out for the surface.

He’d seen Tonya’s hair, then he’d seen her face. Not the pretty face from her picture—chalk white, bloated.

Dead.

He turned off his engine and sat near the edge of the beach, almost surprised to find himself so close to Casey’s hotel. He hadn’t meant to come back there, had he?

Casey Quinn.

He’d seen her news stories before, most folks had. She didn’t work for some local channel—Casey was the big time. Prime-time TV on a major network. When he’d done some digging on her, he’d realized her pieces were always dark, focusing on the worst criminals out there. Not scare pieces, though, but reports that showed the broken lives that had been left in a monster’s wake.

He knew she’d come down to Hope to cover Theodore Anderson’s case—the sick freak had enjoyed kidnapping girls. Kidnapping them and killing them. He’d even killed his own daughter. Casey and the other reporters had been trying to interview both Theodore Anderson and the guy’s son, Kurt. But Kurt hadn’t talked to any reporters. Not yet. Josh was a bit surprised that Casey’s charm hadn’t worked on the guy. Her smile—yeah, he could see where she’d be able to get men to talk to her. That slow smile was pure sex appeal, and it did something to her eyes—made those dark chocolate eyes gleam. No wonder young Finn had overshared, but the deputy knew better now. Josh and Hayden had made certain the kid knew better.

He turned away from the beach and glanced up at her hotel. He’d touched her cheek and her skin had been like silk beneath his hand. She’d stood there, in those incredibly sexy heels, her skin a warm gold next to the white of her shirt, and that dark hair of hers had skimmed over her shoulders. She was small, built along delicate lines, but sure curved in every perfect place. When she’d been behind him on the bike—

Stop lusting, turn on the motorcycle and get out of here.

He wasn’t going to cross any lines with the reporter. A sexy face and body weren’t going to make him forget his job. He wasn’t young Finn.

He rolled back his shoulders.

Get out of here.

But he couldn’t help glancing at the hotel just one more time.

* * *

SHE HURT.

Casey groaned as she cracked open one eyelid. Her whole body ached and she was lying on something rough and hard. The hotel bed was normally soft, like falling into a cloud after a long day of work, but this—

I’m not at the hotel.

Both of her eyes flew open. She stared around, horrified. She wasn’t in her hotel. She was... Where in the hell was she? She tried to move her body and realized that her hands and feet were tied. Her hands were behind her back and she could feel what felt like rough hemp rope cutting into her wrists. She twisted and her body slid over...over plastic?

Yes, she was on a big sheet of plastic. The smell of fresh wood filled the air, and her frantic glance took in the room around her. She was in a home...of some sort. One that appeared to be under construction. No Sheetrock was up on the walls yet. She could see the wooden framework all around her.

And I’m on plastic. Oh, God. Because she knew why an abductor would put his prey on plastic. So there won’t be a mess left behind when he’s done with me.

She wiggled and twisted and finally managed to sit up. When she did, she realized that light was pouring in through one of the windows to the right. Light, and she could also hear the thunder of waves. I’m on the beach. In a house under construction. A house or some kind of condo complex or...

No, it’s a beach house. Because she remembered seeing about four houses that had been under construction on the west end of the beach. They’d been big, massive structures up on wooden stilts that screamed high-end real estate. But, if the place was under construction, where were the construction workers? Where was the crew? Where was someone who could—“Help!” Casey called out. Her voice was oddly weak, so she tried again, screaming, “Help!” with all of her strength.

She fought to remember what had happened to her. She’d been in her hotel room and then...someone had been there. He’d grabbed her. Rammed her head into the wall—jabbed her? Injected her with something? And she’d fallen. Everything had gone dark. But she thought that she remembered him...laughing.

The waves kept thundering. Her gaze narrowed on the window. There was only a little light coming in. Maybe dawn hadn’t fully arrived yet. Since it wasn’t dawn, that meant the work crew wouldn’t be coming for a while and—

It’s Sunday. Her eyes squeezed closed. No, the work crew wouldn’t be arriving anytime soon.

She jerked and twisted her way across the room. The plastic slid beneath her, bunching up, and she tried not to think about it—or about the man who’d taken her. The man who could appear any moment. The man who—

“I heard you screaming, Casey Quinn.”

She froze. Casey didn’t want to look over her shoulder. He was back there. If she looked at him, if she saw his face—

“Guess your screams mean...it’s time to get started.”

And she had to look back. Her head jerked toward him. He stood in the framed doorway. Dressed head to toe in black—complete with a black ski mask that covered his face. She couldn’t even see his eyes because there was some kind of weird mesh over them. “Stay away from me,” she ordered, hating that her voice shook.

He laughed—the laugh that she remembered—and he pulled out a knife.

The plastic beneath me...it’s to catch all of the blood.

“Can’t stay away,” he told her. “I have work to do.”

“Y-you’re going to stab me...five times?” Because that was what he did. With all of his victims, he stabbed them. And then he slit their throats and dumped the bodies in the ocean.

I fit his profile. Josh even said... No, no, this couldn’t happen!

He came toward her, moving slowly. He bent and brought the knife toward her. She heaved and strained against the ropes, but they wouldn’t give. He put the knife to her cheek. Pressed just enough that a drop of blood slid down her face. “Don’t rush me,” he murmured. “I’ve been waiting for this moment a long time.”

What?

“You and I are going to talk. You’re going to tell me all of your secrets.”

No, she wasn’t.

“Or I will cut you open.”

He lifted the blade away from her face—the moment she’d been waiting for. He was crouched close to her—his mistake. He thought that just because she was tied up, she was helpless.

He was wrong.

She lifted her feet—wish I still had on my heels, those spikes would have come in handy—and she slammed them right into his crotch, as hard as she could. He gave a grunt and staggered back. The knife fell from his fingers. She grabbed it, rolling and slamming her body harder into the plastic. The blade cut her fingers, but she didn’t care. She started sawing at the ropes that bound her wrists together and—

He drove his fist into her cheek, so hard that she saw stars. The knife fell from her fingers as her head slammed back and hit the plastic—and the hard wood beneath it.

He swore and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her toward him. As he hauled her up, her hands fumbled across the floor and something sliced into her pinky finger...something sharp and narrow.

A nail. A nail was sticking up through the wood.

“Don’t go passing out on me. We have to make a phone call. That’s step one for us. Got to let folks know who has the power here.”

She kept her hands near that nail and started to slide the rope against it. Was it making a grinding noise as she sawed? Could he hear her? The knife’s blade had almost cut all the way through the rope, and if the nail could just finish the job, then she’d have a chance.

He left her there, sagging on the floor, her hands behind her and working slowly with that nail as he yanked a phone out of his back pocket. Her gaze darted to his hands. He was wearing gloves, but she could see a little bit of tanned skin where the gloves ended near his wrists. The guy was Caucasian, a little over six feet, probably close to one hundred and eighty pounds, and he—

“I’ve got someone new,” he rasped into the phone. “Pretty soon, Sheriff Black, it will be time for you to find her.”

He’d called the sheriff. Did he always do that? Always call while the victim was still alive? The authorities hadn’t revealed that detail to the press, and if this was part of the guy’s MO, then no wonder Hayden Black had looked increasingly worn. He’d been fighting to find the victims alive, but he kept turning up dead bodies.

His finger slid over the phone—she realized he must be wearing those smart gloves that allowed him to still work a phone screen—and she heard Hayden’s voice fill the room.

“Give me proof of life,” Hayden barked.

Her abductor laughed. She tensed and almost stopped cutting on that nail. Almost. She knew his laughter wasn’t a good sign. Hayden wanted proof of life, so that probably meant the jerk in the ski mask was about to make her scream. He was going to hurt her again—

“It’s Casey Quinn!” she screamed. “He’s got me in one of the houses under construction on the west end—help—”

Her abductor threw the phone down and slapped his hand over her mouth. What? Had he believed she didn’t realize where she was? When she’d arrived in Hope, she’d made a point of checking out the entire town. A good reporter learned her territory.

She glared up at him.

“Think you’re clever?”

She thought she had a chance. Hayden would come racing to the scene. And maybe...maybe he’d get there fast enough to save her.

“Your mistake. You’re just dead.”

No, she wasn’t. Not yet. Did he think she was too afraid to fight back?

She felt the ropes give way around her wrists. Her hands were free. Now she needed to get rid of the ropes around her ankles. She stared up at him, just seeing the mesh over his eyes. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest.

His hand slowly fell from her mouth.

“You should run,” she whispered. “The sheriff will be here soon.”

“I’m not going anywhere...” He turned away from her. Bent and picked up his phone. She could see the smashed screen. “Not yet.” His back was to her.

The knife was on the floor. He hadn’t picked it up after he’d punched her. Her hand flew out and grabbed it and she immediately tucked it behind her body, resuming her position as he turned back toward her so it would appear as if her hands were still bound behind her.

“I’ve waited too long to get you, Casey.” His voice was rougher and his tone was almost intimate. “It won’t end like this.”

It’s not going to end at all. She hadn’t fought her way back from the darkness before to die this way.

He rolled back his shoulders and he moved a few feet away, his head tilted toward the floor. He lifted up a piece of plastic. What are you looking for? The knife? Did you just realize it’s gone?

His head swiveled back toward her.

She lifted her chin.

He smiled. “Give it to me.” He took a step toward her.

Since he asked...

He grabbed for her arm.

She stabbed him.

* * *

THE SOB HAD taken Casey.

Fear was a cold knot in Josh’s stomach. Hayden had called him and told him the news, and he’d driven fast as hell to get to the line of houses under construction on the west end of the beach. The motorcycle howled as he raced down the road. He was ahead of the sheriff and his deputies—he’d been closer to the scene. And he was breaking every traffic law out there as he cut across roads and ran through lights to get to Casey.

I shouldn’t have left her. He could still see her, standing in front of the hotel, wearing those high heels as her dark hair tossed around her cheeks. He’d even told her that he’d wanted her to be safe because that perp was still out there. The guy was hunting women like her.

He’d been hunting her.

Josh spun around a tight corner and saw the row of partially built houses up ahead. Which house was she in? He barely braked his bike—just jumped off the motorcycle and ran for the first house. “Casey!” Josh roared her name. He yanked his gun from the holster. “Casey, where are you?” Be alive. Be alive, Casey. Answer me!

Because in his mind, he still saw Tonya Myers. She was in the water and her dark hair drifted up around her face. That can’t happen to Casey.

He rushed through the first house, shoving plastic out of his way. Construction debris was everywhere, but the rooms were empty. No sign of Casey.

Josh ran back outside. The light from dawn swept out over the water. “Casey!”

How long had it been since the perp had called Hayden? Ten minutes? Fifteen? Twenty?

It only took a moment to die. One moment.

He rushed toward the second house.

“H-help...”

He froze. That call—it had come from the house before him. A temporary door was in place, one without a doorknob, and he just kicked that damn thing in. “Casey!” His bellow seemed to echo around him.

And then he saw her.

She was holding on to the makeshift banister that had been put in place on the stairs. She was trying to come down to him. A red imprint marked the left side of her beautiful face. There was blood on her cheek. She was too pale and she was shaking and—

He bounded toward her.

Her eyes widened when she saw him. She lifted her hand toward him, and he saw that she was gripping a blood-covered knife.

“J-Josh?”

“You’re safe.” He wanted to scoop her into his arms. Wanted to hold her tight and make sure she was okay. “Where is he?”

She blinked. She looked lost. Scared. And...

Hurt. He hurt her.

Josh wanted to kill the guy.

“I—I don’t know.” She looked around, her hand shaking but not letting go of that knife. “He... I stabbed him and he ran out of the room. He...left me.”

Grim pride swelled inside of him.

“Get me out of here,” she whispered. A tear leaked down her cheek. “It’s too much...like before. Get me out.”

He didn’t know what she was talking about, but he had to touch her. Josh curled his left arm around her as he pulled her against his body. She didn’t let go of the knife. He kept a solid grip on his gun. If the perp had run from the room on the upper floor, he could still be hiding in that house. Josh wanted to search every inch of the place, but getting Casey to safety was his priority.

She felt so delicate against him. And each time her body trembled, the rage he felt grew.

I will find you, you bastard. I will make you pay.

He led her past the broken front door and outside. He didn’t stop walking, not until they were near his motorcycle. Then he slid his hand under her chin. “Where are you hurt?” His voice was a rough growl. Her cheek was already darkening, the pink giving way to a bruise.

“I’m...okay.” Her eyes said the words were a lie. Her head turned, and she looked around the scene. Her voice became a whisper as she said, “Where did he go?”

Josh intended to find out.

Before he could speak, he heard the approaching wail of a siren. The local sheriff and his deputies—about time. They’d search every inch of those houses. They’d find that perp.

He started to step away from Casey but her hand grabbed his wrist. Her fingers curled around him, holding tight. “He’s going to kill me.”

The hell he will.

“He said...he won’t stop. He will kill me.”

The siren was louder. Closer.

Another tear slid down her cheek. “He said he’d been waiting for me...that the waiting was over.”

His body brushed against hers. “He’s not going to ever touch you again.” Josh intended to make sure of that. “You’re safe.”

But she shook her head, and Josh knew that she didn’t believe him.

The sheriff’s patrol car whipped around the corner. The lights flashed from the top of the car.

Casey’s hold tightened on Josh even more.

“You’re safe,” he said again, but Josh didn’t think she believed him.

Chapter Four

She was the story.

Casey hunched her shoulders as she sat in the back of the ambulance. The EMT had checked her out thoroughly, over her protests. The guy wanted her to go to the hospital, and she figured he’d be forcing her there soon enough. After all, she knew the routine. She’d have to be examined, evidence would have to be taken from her. They’d clean beneath her nails, they’d take her clothes, they’d—

“Tell me what happened.”

Her gaze lifted and she saw Hayden standing at the back of the ambulance. The doors were open and the fury on his face was undeniable. The sheriff was definitely not so controlled any longer.

And neither was Josh. Josh stood beside Hayden, and the FBI agent’s face appeared carved from stone. His eyes blazed as he stared at her.

The FBI and the local authorities had been searching the scene, but they hadn’t found the man who’d taken her. He’d just...vanished.

She saw a coast guard ship out on the water, darting around. Did they think the perp had escaped by sea? She didn’t remember hearing the roar of a boat. She’d just heard the growl of a motorcycle—Josh, rushing to the scene. I will never fear motorcycles again.

“Casey,” Josh said her name softly. “Look at me.”

Her gaze slid back to him. She was sitting on the stretcher in the ambulance. The space was too small. There were too many little machines and the place smelled of antiseptic.

“Tell us what happened.”

She already had, hadn’t she? At least once? Maybe twice. But if they wanted to hear the story again... Casey pushed back her hair with a weary hand.

Josh swore and he bounded into the ambulance with her.

“Your wrists...”

Oh, right. Those were bandaged, too.

His hands caught hers, his touch incredibly gentle. His tenderness kept surprising her. He seemed so rough. Not a guy who could use such care, but when he touched her, he always seemed to handle her as if she were delicate glass.

She wasn’t, though. Far from it. Her gaze darted to her bandaged wrists. “The rope was tight and when I cut myself free, I sliced the skin a bit.” She hadn’t even felt the pain at the time. Her gaze shifted back to his face. Her shoulders rolled back in a shrug, as if to say... Doesn’t matter.

Josh glanced at the watchful EMT. “Give us a minute.”

The EMT hurried out, but stopped to say, “I’m ready to take her to the hospital and—”

“And I’m not done with my witness,” Hayden cut in. “You heard the agent. We need a minute.”

The EMT nodded, ducking his head as he backed away.

Josh’s fingers slid carefully over her hand. “Start at the beginning.”

The beginning? She didn’t want to go back there. “He got away.”

Josh just stared at her.

“That means he’ll kill again.” She had to say those words. Her chest seemed to burn. “It’s what he does, right?”

“You got away,” Josh pointed out. “You’re the first one, Casey. The only one who got away from this perp.”

Because he’d killed the others. Dumped them in the ocean and hunted again. A shiver slid over her. “He said he’d been waiting for me.”

Josh shot a quick glance at Hayden. The sheriff didn’t speak.

“Is that what he always says?” Casey wondered. “Does he tell his victims that he’s been waiting for them? Because he...he acted as if I were special, somehow. Like he’d been...he’d been trying to get me for a while.” Nausea rose within her as she realized that, of course, they didn’t know what he always said. As Josh had just told her...she was...

The only one who got away.

“Go back to the beginning,” Hayden instructed her quietly. “I need to know everything about this guy.”

She shivered. How was it so cold? “I was at my hotel. I’d just...I’d just gone inside after you dropped me off.” She nodded toward Josh and his jaw hardened. “I went onto the balcony for a moment.” Her gaze dropped to her feet. Her bare feet. “When I went back inside, the lights were off, and that was wrong because—” her head was pounding “—I’d turned on the light. It should have been on. I thought maybe there was a short, and I was going to call the front desk but...” Her gaze rose once more to meet Josh’s. She swallowed the heavy lump that had risen in her throat. “He was already in the room. He grabbed me.” Her fingers fluttered over her head. It was aching. Pounding. “He slammed me into the wall. At least twice, I think. I blacked out.”

Josh swore, the words long and low and vicious.

“I don’t remember how I got out here. I just woke up, and I was on the floor.”

“I already sent a crime scene analysis team to your hotel,” Josh said, his voice flat. “Maybe the guy left evidence behind that we can use.”

The FBI and the local authorities were already working closely together, so she wasn’t surprised that a team was already combing over her room. There was also a team at the scene there, going into the partially constructed houses, checking them one by one—starting with the house she’d been inside. Her chill got worse. “Do you think... Did he kill them all in that house?”

Josh and Hayden shared another hard look.

Maybe that look was answer enough.

“There was plastic on the floor,” she whispered. “When I woke up, he had me in that upstairs room, tied up, and there was plastic beneath me.” Just like a scene from a horror show.

“Are you sure you didn’t see his face?” Josh pressed.

The pounding in her head grew worse. “He had on a ski mask. And the eyes—where the ski mask holes should have been, something like mesh covered his eyes so I couldn’t see them. I didn’t see his face. Didn’t see his eyes, but I—I did see his hands.” She eased out a slow breath. “He’s Caucasian. Big—over six feet. Strong. Not heavy, but muscled.” A killer in his prime. “His voice was rasping and low.” Her body swayed as the nausea rolled within her again. For a moment, she thought she might vomit right then and there.

“Casey?” Josh’s hand closed over her shoulder.

“She needs to get to a hospital!” The EMT was back. “The woman suffered head trauma. She needs medical attention and I am insisting, Sheriff, that you let her go.”

Hayden nodded. “I’ll talk to you again, Ms. Quinn.”

Josh started to back away. She tensed and actually thought about grabbing him and making him stay with her.

But she didn’t. Casey let him go. Josh jumped out of the ambulance. The EMT hurried back in to her side.

“You okay, miss?” he asked.

She was so far beyond okay.

Other reporters had already made it to the area. She saw Deputy Finn Patrick trying to hold some of them back so they didn’t contaminate the crime scene. His dark hair was mussed and he appeared shaken. Cameras were rolling. Cameras that would focus on her.

I am the story.

Would her past come to light now? Probably. When the right people went digging, it was easy enough to find secrets.

But maybe...maybe someone already knew her secrets.

The man who’d taken her. The man who’d gotten away.

Josh stared at Casey a moment longer, then he slammed the ambulance doors shut. The siren screamed on.

Her eyes closed.

“You’re safe now,” the EMT assured her. Josh had pretty much said the same words.

But she wasn’t so sure that she was safe.

I think he’ll come after me again.

* * *

JOSH WATCHED THE ambulance drive away—the reporters had to clear a path so the vehicle could get by. The reporters were definitely already swarming the scene. Casey’s story would be huge.

A survivor.

His hands fisted. He’d wanted to stay in that ambulance with her. “Make sure that a deputy remains with her at the hospital,” he snapped to Hayden. “Someone needs to be with her every moment.”

Hayden nodded. “Finn! Finn, get over here.”

The young deputy rushed toward them. Sweat had already slickened the sides of his dark hair. “Sir?”

“Follow the ambulance. Make sure that Casey Quinn is guarded at all times.”

Oh, hell, he was sending the kid after her? The deputy rushed to his patrol car, and Josh muttered, “You think that’s the best plan? A woman survives a serial killer attack and gets the junior ranger for a guard?”

Hayden lifted a brow. “You got a problem with Finn?”

Yeah, he did.

“He’s young, but he’s good at his job. Protecting her will be his priority—”

“Sorry, Sheriff,” Josh said curtly. “But the FBI has ranking jurisdiction here.” The instant they’d confirmed the presence of a serial killer, the FBI had assumed control of the investigation. “And I’ll be taking Casey Quinn into protective custody.”

Hayden’s eyes widened. “Will you now.” Not a question, not really.

The ambulance was gone. And Josh didn’t like having Casey out of his sight. There were some local FBI agents on the scene and he knew he could leave them in the area to help with the search. “I’m going after her.” I should have been in the ambulance with her.

“You think the killer will go after Casey Quinn again?”

“I don’t know what he’ll do, not yet. This is the first time one of his victims has gotten away.” At least, the only victim they knew of escaping. “For all we know, he’ll immediately go gunning for her again, and if that happens, I want more than just Deputy Patrick standing between her and danger.” The kid was still green behind the ears.

“You want to be standing between her and the threat.”

Josh’s chin notched up. “She stabbed her attacker. I think that shows that she’s capable of protecting herself... But her attack...it could very well have enraged the perp.” No doubt about that... My money says the guy is somewhere, choking on his rage. “That means he could fixate on her. He could come at her with all he’s got or...” His sentence trailed off.

“Or...?” Hayden prompted.

Josh glanced at the line of unfinished houses. “Or he will grab the next available victim who matches his profile. He’ll let his rage out on her.” Which meant they needed to be on guard—all of them.

“For someone who said he wasn’t a profiler, you seem to know your killers pretty well.”

He definitely wasn’t a profiler. “I work on evidence collection. I don’t poke into the heads of killers.” His buddy Tucker did that. And Tucker Frost was scheduled to arrive in town any moment. The guy had just finished up a case in Colorado and now he was working on the profile for the killer in Hope. The FBI brass hadn’t been satisfied with the work of the other profiler who’d been in town, and when Tucker finished his last case—he’d been immediately reassigned to Hope. When Tucker arrived, Josh knew the guy would want to speak with Casey right away. She would be key to the investigation.

“I have to make sure she doesn’t say too much to the media.” Another problem. Since she was a reporter, Casey would no doubt want to run live with her story. That wasn’t going to happen.

He turned on his heel and headed for his motorcycle.

“Duvane!” Hayden’s voice thundered after him.

He glanced over his shoulder. He liked Hayden—the guy was tough, smart and didn’t generally take crap from anyone. But then again, Hayden was a former SEAL, and most folks knew better than to mess with SEALs.

“Is this personal?” Hayden asked him, voice quieter.

Personal?

Hayden eased toward him. “You dropped the reporter off at her hotel last night?”

Josh nodded.

Hayden’s head cocked to the right. “Didn’t realize you two knew each other so well.”

They didn’t know each other well. So his reaction to her shouldn’t be as intense as it was. But... “She’s a victim. And my job is to protect victims.” Lately, it seemed as if all he’d done had been to discover the dead. Casey wasn’t dead, and he damn well wasn’t going to let anything else happen to her.

Hayden’s stare was assessing. “Better watch yourself. Once emotions get involved, the cases become even harder.” His lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Trust me—I know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Josh knew the guy was speaking from experience because the woman Hayden loved, Jill West, had been targeted by Theodore Anderson. Theodore had first kidnapped Jill when she was just a kid, but Jill had managed to escape him. Years later, she’d returned to Hope, determined to finally solve the mystery of her past. But her return had set off a deadly chain of reactions... In the end, Jill and Hayden had both been fighting for their lives.

They’d won, though. They’d stopped the killer. They’d unmasked Theodore Anderson. And now Jill and Hayden were finally free to work on their future together.

But Josh wasn’t Hayden, and Casey...she wasn’t Jill. They didn’t have a past that linked them, and as far as how he felt about her... “Emotions aren’t an issue for me. She’s just a case.” Simple words. Emotions didn’t get to him. He did his job, and he moved on. Simple.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Hayden mumbled.

Josh climbed onto the motorcycle. He glanced over at the house and saw the yellow line of crime scene tape.

Casey could have died in that house.

His jaw clenched. The killer wouldn’t get close to her again. Not on his watch.

* * *

SHE’D BEEN POKED and prodded for hours. Hours. And Casey was not a happy woman. Her control was barely holding on, and any moment, she was afraid she might just break apart.

She didn’t want to break in front of the too friendly nurses. Or the steely-eyed doctors. Or anyone.

“Are we done yet?” Casey asked, fighting to keep her voice calm.

Dr. Abernathy, a young African American woman with small, wire-framed glasses and a no-nonsense manner, looked up from Casey’s charts. “You are a very lucky woman, Ms. Quinn.”

She had to swallow three times before she could manage to speak again. “Luckier than the other victims.”

A faint furrow appeared between the doctor’s eyes.

“I don’t feel sick any longer. I don’t have the headache—”

“It’s good that you’re feeling better, but I’d like to keep you for observation a bit longer. You took a severe blow to the head—”

“I just told you my head felt fine now.” Only a tiny lie. Her head still ached a bit, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle.

“In concussion cases, the victim may suffer from seizures or convulsions. It’s possible that you could become confused and agitated—”

“I feel plenty agitated right now,” Casey muttered as she fiddled with the paper hospital gown that she was wearing. Her clothes had been taken, confiscated as evidence by the authorities. “Thank you for all that you’ve done. Really, thank you. But I want to get out of here, okay? I don’t have nausea, no blurred vision, no memory lapses. I know our president. I know my birthday. I know—”

The curtain on the side of her bed swung back. “You know that you’re causing trouble.”

Her breath left in a quick rush. Josh. “I—I thought you were at the crime scene.” She pulled up her covers—or rather, the thin sheet that was her only cover, other than the paper gown. “How long have you been here?” Had he just been hanging around, eavesdropping on her talk with the doctor? Didn’t he get there was a whole patient privacy issue going on?

He stepped closer to the bed. A line of stubble coated his hard jaw. “Been here long enough to know that you’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“No, I’m not. I let the doctors check me out. I did everything they wanted.” Her shoulders straightened. “Now, I want to go back to my hotel—” But even as she said the words, she stopped. No, she didn’t want to go back to the hotel. She didn’t want to return to that dark room and remember what it had been like when the attacker grabbed her.

“Your room isn’t an option.”

Because a crime scene team was still there? “I’m sure I can get another hotel room.”

His jaw hardened. “What you’re getting is a safe house.”

A what?

“Um, excuse me,” the doctor began.

Josh flashed his ID at her. “FBI. I’m Josh Duvane, and I’ll be seeing to Ms. Quinn’s security.”

“I told you to call me Casey,” she reminded him, again.

He flashed her a hard look.

Fine. Enough of this. Casey shoved back her thin cover. If need be, she’d leave that place in her paper gown. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. She started to rise—

Josh locked his hands around her shoulders and pushed her back down. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

Her eyes narrowed on him. “Yes, I am going someplace. I’m getting out of here. Because I don’t like hospitals. I don’t like getting poked and prodded, and since nothing is wrong with me, there’s no reason I can’t just walk right out of that door.”

There was more to it than that. She had a very specific reason for not liking hospitals. Once, she’d spent far too much time in a hospital. She’d grown to hate those white walls and the scent of antiseptic. That scent was like death to her.

He glanced at the doctor.

“She needs someone to stay with her,” Dr. Abernathy said. “In case she has any issues—blurred vision, slurred speech, convulsions...”

Oh, yes, that lovely list again. “I’ll bunk with my camerawoman. Katrina can make sure I’m okay.” Speaking of Katrina, the woman was probably freaking out. Casey needed to talk with her immediately but no one had let her have a phone.

Not helpful.

“If I make sure she isn’t alone,” Josh said, his hands still around her shoulders, “will she be able to leave?”

Dr. Abernathy nodded. “Yes, but if she displays any of those symptoms, she has to return to the hospital right away.”

He nodded. “Done.”

Done?

“I’ll get an orderly to help Ms. Quinn to the car,” Dr. Abernathy stated briskly. “Patient pickup is located at the front side of the building—”

“And that side is covered by reporters. I’ll be getting Casey out, don’t worry about that.”

The doctor blinked. “Uh, right. Okay, then. I’ll go prepare the discharge paperwork.” She exited the room. Josh didn’t move.

Casey stared up at him. “Safe house?”

“Yes, it’s a place we put victims or potential witnesses so we can be sure that—”

“I know what a safe house is,” she said. “But since when am I going to one?”

“Since you escaped a killer?”

“Josh—”

“I’m afraid you’re being taken into protective custody for the time being.” His hands slid away from her. He turned and paced toward the door—and he picked up a small duffel bag that she hadn’t even noticed before. “And while you’re under protective custody, I have to ask that you refrain from speaking with reporters.”

“I am a reporter.”

He brought the bag to her. She glanced inside and relief filled her. Clothes. The guy had stopped and picked up some of her clothes. “I could kiss you,” she mumbled.

“If you want...”

Her gaze jerked up to his.

He stared at her. The tension between them mounted. She hadn’t even been thinking when she’d spoken. It had just been an expression but now...

She swallowed. “You’re not...you’re not like other FBI agents, are you?”

“You’ve met a lot of us?”

“My fair share.” She felt too exposed. Being in front of him, just that thin gown covering her skin, made her feel too vulnerable. “Side effect of my job, you know? I tend to cross paths with the authorities a lot.” She was rambling. Casey clamped her lips shut.

His hand lifted and he touched her cheek.

Casey flinched.

“Easy...”

“There is nothing easy about how I feel right now.” Her whole life was out of control.

His gaze was on her cheek. “Does it hurt?”

“The cut or the bruise?” Then she shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Josh, get me out of here.”

“It matters.” His voice was rough, his gaze gleaming. “It matters one hell of a lot to me.” He stepped away. “Do you need help changing?”

Help... Ah, him? Seeing her naked? “No, I...have it.”

He pulled the curtain back into place.

“You’re just...standing there?” On the other side of that thin curtain?

“I can’t see you.”

She slid off the bed and dressed—slowly. She didn’t want to fall and have him rushing back in to pick her nearly naked self off the floor. After sliding into the underwear and bra, she put on jeans and pulled on a T-shirt. He’d even brought her some tennis shoes. He’d covered all the bases. What a guy.

“Casey?”

She left the gown on the bed. “I’m done.”

He shoved back the curtain. His gaze raked her.

Her hands twisted. “So...a safe house, huh?” Crap. She’d said that before. “Just how long will I be staying there?”

He caught one of her twisting hands in his and led her to the door. “I don’t know yet.”

That wasn’t good. Not knowing implied it could be days. Weeks? No, absolutely not. She had a job. She had a story to cover.

I am the story. Her stomach twisted.

“Who’ll be staying with me?” They were walking down the polished hallway of the hospital. He kept his grip on her hand and he stayed firmly at her side. He’d probably drop her at the safe house and vanish. After all, his work was in the water—

“For the time being, I am.”

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