“You’re going to have to trust me, Katie.”

Alec’s fingers tightened briefly before falling away and she missed the connection immediately. She placed a hand on his chest and when she did, both of them went instantly still. Tension radiated from his body. His breathing became shallower. She met his gaze and saw the desire there. Her pulse kicked a little harder and her throat tightened. When she’d reached out for him, she’d intended to ask him to hold her. She’d thought the only thing she wanted from him was to feel safe. But looking into his eyes, she felt anything but that.

Uncertain, Katie dropped her gaze to his throat. Smooth skin. The scent of his cologne reaching her. The open collar of his shirt left a triangle of skin exposed. What would his chest be like? What would it feel like to lay her hand over his heart without a shirt in the way? To feel smooth male flesh beneath her palm instead of starched cotton? Letting her hand drop, she backed away. It took her another second to look at him again.

“I trust you, Alec,” she whispered, but was surprised by just how unsteady her voice was when she said it.

Targeted
Lori L. Harris

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lori Harris has always enjoyed competition. She grew up in southern Ohio, showing Arabian horses and Great Danes. Later she joined a shooting league where she competed head-to-head with police officers—and would be competing today if she hadn’t discovered how much fun and challenging it was to write. Romantic suspense seemed a natural fit. What could be more exciting than writing about life-and-death struggles that include sexy, strong men?

When not in front of a computer, Lori enjoys remodeling her home, gardening and boating. Lori lives in Orlando, Florida, with her very own hero.

Dear Reader,

When I was thinking about the setting for Targeted, the first in a pair of stories about THE BLADE BROTHERS OF COUGAR COUNTY, I knew immediately that it would be Florida. From the very first moment I set foot in the state more than twenty years ago, she has always held a certain mystery for me. On the surface, she’s sunny beaches and sparkling salt water, modern cities with mass transit and sophisticated nightlife. But that’s just the garb she wears, not who she really is.

You have to get off the beaten track to discover Florida’s true beauty—the dark, tea-colored waters of her mangrove swamps, the large expanses of her real estate owned more by the alligators and mosquitoes that inhabit them than the investors who hold title to them. Wide open prairies where cattle graze in knee-high grasses and cowboys still ride out to check on them. And the small towns where a hitching post still stands out front—a reminder that no matter how much we seem to move beyond our pasts, we never fully leave them behind.

Alec Blade and Katie Carroll, the hero and heroine of Targeted, are both attempting to do just that, though, when they move to Deep Water, Florida. They believe it’s possible to file away the unresolved events of their violent pasts. But they learn just how mistaken they are when one of those faceless monsters reappears. Suddenly it isn’t a matter of outrunning the past. Now they have to survive long enough to have a future.

Hang on as Alec and Katie fight for their lives—and somewhere along the way, they’ll discover a passion neither of them has ever experienced.

Warmly,

Lori Harris

I need to thank fellow critique partners Terri Backhus,

Ann Bair and Kathleen Pynn for their unending generosity.

And fellow suspense author Kathy Holzapfel for her devious

mind, quick wit and friendship. Without these four,

writing wouldn’t be nearly the adventure that it is.

And as always, to my very own hero, Bobby Harris.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

As soon as Alec Blade stepped inside Frankie’s Gun and Range, the dull thuds of live rounds slamming into plate steel at a velocity of more than eight hundred feet per second resounded.

The rottweiler that had been dozing at the end of the long display counter climbed to his feet even before the range marshal looked up. The man was somewhere deep in his sixties, on the lean side, wearing a bowling shirt with Frankie embroidered on the chest. His smile was welcoming enough. Until he spotted the telltale bulge of a weapon beneath Alec’s jacket.

He reached for something beneath the desk. “I need to see a badge or a concealed weapon permit.”

“Sure.” Alec handed over the newly acquired State of Florida permit, and while it was being inspected, glanced at the rottweiler that now sat two feet away with pricked ears and watchful eyes.

“Beautiful dog. Does he have a name?” Alec asked.

“Teddy Bear.”

Alec guessed the dog’s weight to be in the one-fifty range, most of it in the massive head and jaws, the thick, muscled neck. “Interesting choice of a name. Sort of like calling a Great Dane, Tiny.”

“My wife named him as a pup. It fit back then. Teddy, give the man a smile.”

The dog’s heavy dewlaps drew back to reveal a very impressive set of teeth. It was like looking into the eyes of a sociopath. The mouth said one thing; the eyes said something far more deadly. Intent on keeping both hands, Alec left them resting on the display case.

Satisfied, Frankie passed back the permit. “Any relation to our new police chief?”

Sensing his services weren’t needed, the rottweiler wandered back to a spot at the end of the counter and plopped down.

Alec returned his wallet to his back pocket before answering. “Brother. I was told he was shooting here.”

The man checked the log book on the counter. “In the sixth bay. I got a spot next to him open.”

“No, thanks. Is he alone in there?”

“No. Got a lesson going in bay three, but it should be over in a few minutes.” Frankie grabbed a form from the pile next to the cash register. “Even if you’re not shooting, you’ll need to sign the waiver.”

He pointed to the signature line beneath several paragraphs of small print. His blue-tinged nail bed suggested the beginning stages of lead poisoning, a fairly common problem for people who owned and ran indoor ranges.

“You can read it if you want, but it just says you won’t hold it against me if they cart you out of here on a gurney. Or in a body bag.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Alec took the pen.

“And you’ll need eyes and ears.” Frankie retrieved shooting glasses and earmuffs from a box on the floor behind him and laid them on the counter.

After putting on both, Alec opened the heavy door separating the store from the range, and the noise escalated. Since leaving the FBI nearly a year ago, he hadn’t had a reason to visit an indoor facility, but the scent of cordite was still familiar, as was the strong percussion of a forty-five caliber round ripping through paper before flattening against the back wall.

The first bays were empty, the lights off, and the target hanger waiting for paper. The third contained a well-dressed business-type woman working with an instructor. From the look of it, it wasn’t the first lesson for the good-looking, twentysomething blonde.

His brother was at the end and in the process of emptying his weapon in rapid fire. When the chamber locked open, Jack ejected the empty magazine from the Colt and, after lowering the gun to the weapon rest, reloaded one of the three magazines in front of him. The blue-gray haze of spent gunpowder lingered in the dimly lit space.

He wasn’t as tall as Alec, only six foot to Alec’s six-two, and there was little in facial features or coloring to suggest shared DNA. Jack was blond, blue-eyed to Alec’s darker coloring.

There was more than six years between them, enough so that they hadn’t been close growing up. Alec’s fault, of course, since he was the older sibling. Even the death of their parents four years ago hadn’t narrowed the gap. He regretted the distance, as he regretted so many things these days. Part of the reason he’d relocated to Cougar County was to mend their relationship. That, and he’d had nowhere else to go after he’d buried his wife.

Jack looked up and saw Alec. “Been there long?”

“Just got here.”

Jack thumbed the last round into the magazine, and then pressed the button to recall the target.

“Planning to shoot a few?”

“No. I went by the office, and your dispatcher said you usually stopped by here on Wednesday nights.”

“Wanda did?” Jack loaded the second magazine. “Suppose I’ll have to change my schedule, then.”

“Why?”

“Because I like some degree of privacy.” Jack replaced the paper target, sent it out to the fifteen-yard mark. “And I’m sure you’re very aware by now that, in a town the size of Deep Water, it’s hard to come by.”

Soon after he’d relocated to Deep Water, with its brick streets and quaint shops, Alec had learned that Southern towns were not the place to go if you wanted privacy. At one time Deep Water had been Cougar County’s seat, a destination for wealthy Northerners looking for a place to winter. Today it was a town that had been forced to find ways to reinvent itself after an interstate highway had suddenly put it off the beaten path.

Alec took the target his brother passed to him. “Not bad.” There was a nice grouping in the chest region. He pointed to the head shots. “You’re pushing these.”

“You think you can do better?”

Raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, Alec took a step back. Even if he’d had the time, he wasn’t about to get into a pissing contest with his brother. That was part of the problem in their relationship. Too much of the wrong kind of competitiveness in recent years.

“Didn’t think so.” Jack closed up the box of ammo he’d been loading from and placed it in the bag at his feet before jumping to the question of why Alec was there. “Did the postcard come?”

Alec shoved his hands into his pockets. “No.” It wasn’t a subject that he wanted to pursue.

Once a month, for the past eleven months, starting the day after the murder of Jill Blade, a postcard had arrived from the UNSUB—the unknown subject—with one word typed on it: REMEMBER. The postcard was always the cheap variety that could be purchased almost anywhere, but the typewriter that had been used and the postmark changed each time.

Jack seemed to gauge Alec’s reaction to this change in pattern.

“Do you think the fact you didn’t get one means something?” Jack asked.

“Sure. The post office screwed up. The UNSUB’s in prison. Or he’s dead. Or he lost track of time.”

“Or maybe he’s grown tired of the game,” Jack said quietly.

Alec chose to ignore the observation. Perhaps because he couldn’t bear to contemplate the possibility. Though it was painful to get them, if the cards stopped coming, what then? With viable leads drying up, the cards were the only tie he had with Jill’s killer. And perhaps his only hope of seeing him behind bars.

And capturing his wife’s killer, seeing him brought to justice, was the reason he’d left the Bureau and the reason he got up most mornings.

Jack placed a second pistol case on the shooting bench. A SIG-Sauer. Even as a kid, Jack had collected toys.

“So why were you looking for me?”

The door between the range and the store opened briefly as the woman and instructor left.

“I got a phone call about an hour ago,” Alec said. “I’m heading out of town.”

“A consulting job?”

After leaving the Bureau, he’d opened a company that dealt with post 9/11 security. He’d expected to generate enough business to pay the bills while he hunted Jill’s killer, but because of his expertise and his security clearance, he’d had more business than he could handle alone.

“No. Not a consulting job. The detective on Jill’s case is interviewing a suspect they’re holding in connection with a rape and he wants me to sit in tomorrow morning.”

Jack frowned. “Does he look good for Jill’s murder?”

“No. But he claims to have information. Probably just looking to cut a deal.” Alec suspected it was another dead end, but he couldn’t afford to ignore a lead.

Jack wiped his hands on a towel. “So you just came by to tell me you were leaving town?”

“Yeah.” Alec had never bothered in the past, which made it awkward as hell now. He’d spent so much of his life coming and going, never filling in anyone—including his wife—on his actions.

Early in their marriage, when Jill had pressed him to talk about his work, he’d made the mistake of giving in to her demands and telling her too much about a case. For several weeks afterward, though she’d tried to pretend it hadn’t changed things between them, he knew it had. She’d seemed almost reluctant to let him touch her. And he’d desperately needed that connection to keep him human.

After that, he’d been more careful with what he shared. He’d talk about investigations and cases and court trials, but never about the atrocities, nor about decayed bodies, nor about mutilated women or murdered children.

Jack slid a magazine into the SIG-Sauer, chambered the first round. He shifted his right foot forward and brought the weapon up into the Weaver position, his index finger resting lightly alongside the trigger guard.

“Are you sure I can’t talk you into a little head-to-head brotherly competition? I win, I get the details of your date tonight. Nothing personal. Just whether you have a good time. Whether she’s a good conversationalist.”

Alec felt irritation kick in. He knew he shouldn’t be annoyed with Jack. But these days he found himself feeling a lot of things, including isolation, that he didn’t want to. Perhaps that was why he’d impulsively asked Katie Carroll out.

“How did you find out about that?”

“I heard it from one of the deputies who heard it from one of Katie’s coworkers.”

Katie waited tables at Alligator Café where he had breakfast most mornings. She had a quick smile, but he’d recently learned that she wasn’t quite the open book that she wanted people to believe she was. In addition to waiting tables, she was a well-known Miami artist.

Jack lowered his weapon. “Of course, with the way you’ve been watching her all these weeks, it doesn’t really come as a surprise.”

“It isn’t really a date,” Alec said.

Jack grinned. “If you ask a woman out and it involves food, it’s a date.”

“Doesn’t matter what you call it because my flight leaves at nine thirty tonight, so I have to cancel.”

The smile fading, Jack placed the gun on the rest again. “A morning flight wouldn’t have done just as well? Hell, even one a few hours later tonight?”

“It’s just pizza and conversation. She’s new in town. I’m new in town. No big deal.” Alec wondered why he felt compelled to tell his brother anything. Next time he’d just leave a message on his voice mail.

“Wrong. It’s the first time you’ve made any attempt to join the living.” Jack’s mouth flattened. “I was happy for you. You were actually going to share the twentieth of the month with a live woman instead of a dead one.”

Controlling his irritation this time wasn’t nearly as easy, but Alec managed.

When he remained silent, Jack’s expression turned more troubled. “I’m sorry if that sounds cruel or cold. I don’t mean it that way. You know how I felt about Jill. But the interview’s not until tomorrow. Change your flight. Go out with Katie tonight. Get on with your life.”

Alec took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Let’s not do this, okay?”

Turning away, he headed for the door, feeling dissatisfied. Not just with his brother and their relationship, but with everything. He’d made a career out of hunting down the worst kind of men. Human predators that killed for the sheer sport of it. But when it came to tracking down his own wife’s killer, he couldn’t get the job done. He’d failed Jill while she was alive. And he was failing her now.

“Jill loved you, Alec. She’d want you to move on.”

Alec paused and looked back. “Let’s not pretend we have any inkling what the other one needs. Maybe if you had been where I’ve been…”

“You’ve forgotten where I’ve been, haven’t you?” Jack immediately went back to firing his weapon. As if Alec was already gone.

Jack had spent five years undercover in Atlanta. A hard life where you were cut off from everything and everyone. It was their single shared characteristic. Their inability to achieve any kind of real intimacy with another human being. Alec recognized it in himself, but he suspected his brother was still in denial.

Bottom line, though, they were brothers. And they were all the family either one of them had. As adults, they should be able to find some middle ground.

Instead of leaving, Alec waited until Jack had emptied the gun. “I’ll call you when I get back. Maybe we can get a beer.”

Jack hesitated as if he debated saying more, but then settled for a simple, “Sure. A beer.” Jack tucked his weapon into his shoulder holster. “Since you’re not interested in Katie, I think I’ll give her a call while you’re gone. She’s a good-looking woman. And she has the air of mystery about her that I find appealing.”

Alec knew what Jack was trying to do. He gave his brother a wry grin that said it wasn’t going to work. “Jealousy is a pointless emotion based on insecurities.”

Jack didn’t return the grin. “Yes. But at least it is an emotion.”

KATIE CARROLL opened her front door just after six forty-five. She did her nightly battle with the door lock—a task made that much more difficult because she was carrying dry cleaning on one arm and a bag of groceries on the other. Of course, it didn’t help that she was in a hurry and had less than thirty minutes to wash and dry her hair and straighten the place before her date arrived.

Even though Alec Blade had been drawing her into more and more conversations over the past few weeks, she’d still been surprised this morning when he’d asked her out.

When she’d finally wrestled the key free, she turned and clicked on the porch and foyer lights, and then closed the door behind her.

But as soon as she turned the dead bolt, she felt her pulse accelerate, felt the sharp tingling sensation climb her spine. Please, not again. It had been weeks since she’d had an anxiety attack. Long enough that she’d thought she was over them.

The familiar tightness in her chest intensified, until it felt as if she was trapped inside a burning room, and the searing, thick air had been robbed of oxygen. Sweat trailed down her rib cage. She held the plastic dry-cleaning bag and grocery sack in front of her like armor.

Closing her eyes, she fell back on the mantra the psychologist had helped her create at her last appointment. “I am safe.” She paused, focusing on what she’d just said before moving on to the next affirmation. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.” She concentrated on drawing air into her lungs, too, this time. “Because I won’t allow it to happen. Because I am in control.”

Logically, Katie recognized that she had nothing to fear. That there was no one out to get her. But panic attacks weren’t based in logic.

“I am safe. Nothing’s going to happen to me,” she repeated until slowly, her breathing returned to normal, and she managed to release her hold on the sack. It took nearly another minute before she could make herself move from in front of the door.

As she did, she glanced into the living room and immediately froze. The front drapes were drawn. Had she left this morning without opening them? Had the fact that they were closed registered subconsciously? Was that all it had taken to set off the attack?

Then she spotted the envelope propped on the mantel. Her landlord. She should have known he’d show up when she wasn’t around. He’d done the same with the bad plug in the bathroom. He’d come while she was at work. When she’d come home that night, she’d found his pliers on her unmade bed.

The next day she’d purchased and installed chains on all the doors. She couldn’t keep him out when she wasn’t here, but she damn well wasn’t going to have to worry about him walking in on her.

She ripped the envelope down and removed the note inside.

YOUR LEASE REQUIRES YOU TO GET WRITTEN APPROVAL BEFORE MAKING ANY CHANGES TO THE PROPERTY!!

KITCHEN LEAK WILL REQUIRE A FEW PARTS. BE BACK NEXT WEEK. PLEASE KEEP DRAPES DRAWN DURING DAY AND THERMOSTAT OFF UNLESS YOU’RE HOME.

ELECTRICITY IS EXPENSIVE!

Irritated, she tossed it down. Did he really consider the door chains a change to the property? That was one thing she wouldn’t miss when she moved. Her landlord. He really creeped her out at times.

When she turned on the lamp at the end of the sofa, she noticed just how dusty the table was. After using her hand to clear the worst of it, she examined the other pieces of furniture. Two equally hideous reproduction side chairs from different Louis eras flanked the drab olive sofa, one end of which had become the depository for her collection of art catalogues.

She hadn’t had anyone over since she’d moved in, so hadn’t given much thought to how ugly the room was.

Either she could straighten up the room, or she could take a quick shower. Suspecting her date would be more impressed with a female who didn’t smell like a diner—grease and raw eggs—she headed for the kitchen.

Katie jumped when the kitchen wall phone rang as she walked past. Considering how few people had her number, it would have to be her parents. If she answered it, there would be no shower. With each unanswered ring, her guilt-index crept higher, until finally she hung the dry cleaning on a hook just inside the door and reached for the phone. Just as the ringing stopped.

Relief rolled over her. She’d tried, right? And she could just call her folks later. With the time difference, they’d still be up when she got home.

Enough light followed her from the living room into the kitchen that she didn’t bother to turn on the overhead light in the small room. The curtains for the window over the sink were in the washing machine, and she didn’t like the idea that anyone could stand outside and watch her movements.

After quickly unloading groceries onto the green-tiled counter, she grabbed a plate for the cheese and crackers. The soft tap of water against the sink bottom forced her to cross to the kitchen sink. Darn drip. If anything, it was worse.

She set the wine bottle on the counter and gave the faucet handle a hard turn. Leave it to her landlord to be so darned eager to conserve electricity while wasting water.

Behind her, the floorboard creaked. The old flooring under her feet gave slightly. Her lungs tightened as with sudden clarity, she realized she wasn’t alone. Worse, that she hadn’t been alone from the moment she’d walked in tonight.

Don’t panic. Think. The last thing she needed was to be frozen with terror. She’d taken a self-defense course. She knew what to do. Flee if possible. If that wasn’t an option…

“Lousy faucet,” she said softly, pretending to try it again. What did the intruder want? Not money. If he’d wanted cash, he’d have already taken it from her jewelry box. He wouldn’t be standing behind her now.

The hairs at the back of her neck stood out, and her back muscles, even her abdominals, clenched in fear.

From the corner of her eye, she glanced at the back door. Too far. She’d never make it. She looked out the window over the sink. Toward her closest neighbor’s house. The light in their side yard was barely visible through the trees. They wouldn’t hear or see anything.

And then she saw the silhouette in the glass. A large man. Moving toward her.

Still twisting the faucet handle with her right hand, Katie reached for the drawer to the left of the sink, the one where she kept knives. She slid it open and stuck her hand inside. She could feel the cool, solid hardness of the bone handle. She could do this. She had to do this. She had to protect herself.

An arm suddenly smashed across her ribs as a second locked around her throat. She was hauled backward. The drawer came with her, but the edge of the cabinet caught the knife and ripped it from her fingers.

Knives and ladles and spatulas clattered across the oak floor like pickup sticks in a deadly game. At the last moment, she grabbed for the wine bottle but only managed to knock it over. As it hit the floor, it exploded. A chunk of flying glass clipped her shin and warm wine splattered her legs.

Katie brought her heel down hard, but she was wearing soft soles. Her attacker shifted just enough to deflect the blow. Utensils clanked. Kicking them aside, the man lifted her off the ground, his muscular arm driving the air from her lungs. He swung her toward the hall doorway. Pain exploded as her kneecap slammed into the oak jamb. The blow dislodged the wall phone’s handset and it crashed toward the floor, and then leaped upward like a bungee jumper.

Glass ground beneath his boots, chewing the wood floor.

“No!” Katie latched on to the door trim.

Her fingernails bent backward, separating from their beds. She lost her hold. She jammed her elbow into his ribs. He barely flinched. She grabbed his ear, the only vulnerable area she could reach, and dug in her nails.

Grunting, the man slammed her headfirst against the hall wall and pinned her there. With her head turned to the side and canted upward at an angle, movement was impossible. His heavy body continued to press in on her from behind. And still she hung on to his ear, knowing that if she let go, he’d kill her.

It was then she smelled the candle wax. Shifting her gaze toward her barely opened bedroom door, she saw the candlelight playing across the scuffed hall floor.

How long had this man been here—in her house—preparing for what he was going to do to her? The horror of what was about to happen forced the last of the air from her lungs.

He leaned in harder. She felt the vertebrae of her neck strain.

She should have answered the phone, talked to her parents. Oh, God, she wanted to hear their voices one last time.

And then, when she was completely immobile, completely powerless, she heard his voice for the first time.

“Did you really think I’d let you live, Katydid?”

Chapter Two

Thirty-five minutes after leaving the shooting range and his brother, Alec parked in front of Katie’s bungalow. He’d tried phoning to cancel their date. But when he’d gotten her voice mail, he’d resigned himself to stopping by with a pizza.

His right hand propped on the steering wheel, he glanced at the cut flowers resting on the carry-out pizza box. He’d picked up the bouquet at the supermarket. The female clerk had thought him cheap for buying the very last of the mixed bunches. The center of some of the flowers had already turned brown. But his only other choice had been the old standby of red roses, and he couldn’t make himself pick them up.

“Say it with flowers.”

Grabbing the pizza and the bouquet, he climbed out of the SUV. Five minutes tops. He’d hand her the pizza and the flowers, wish her a good night and a good life.

The Azalea Park neighborhood, which had been built in the second decade of the last century, was one of those up-and-coming areas. Most of the people took care of their properties, but there were a few holdouts who seemed content with sparse lawns, overgrown shrubs and peeling paint.

Surrounded by an out-of-control hedge, the entry courtyard of Katie’s Spanish bungalow was dark. After knocking, he waited. When she didn’t answer, he checked his watch. Seven ten. He was early. Maybe she was running late getting home or was in the shower.

Alec changed the flowers to his other hand, and, lightly popping the cellophane-encased bouquet against his pant leg, debated just leaving a note.

A loud crash came from inside. Then breaking glass.

What in the hell was going on? He tried the door. “Katie?”

A woman screamed.

Tossing down flowers and pizza, Alec pulled the Glock from his shoulder holster. With a solid kick, he forced the dead bolt through the frame. The door slammed into the wall behind, the glass in the top half shattering upon impact.

Katie’s and her attacker’s shadows briefly filled the hallway.

Bursting low and fast through the open door, he chose the unlit room to the right. Reaching it, he pressed himself hard against the wall, trying to leave the suspect with as little of a target as possible.

Alec inched forward. A large chunk of plaster exploded several inches from his face. A second round immediately hit in nearly the same spot. A controlled double tap. This wasn’t some street thug. And it sure as hell wasn’t a Saturday night special.

Alec knew he was moving too fast, recklessly. He needed to slow down. He needed to get his adrenaline under control.

“FBI,” he yelled, but made no move to advance.

Nothing. No indication of movement anywhere in the house. Alec tried not to think about what that might mean. That Katie was already dead. Or seriously injured.

He wasn’t even sure what he was dealing with here—a burglary attempt that had hit the skids or attempted rape. Jesus. He had hoped never to face another situation like this.

“Put down your weapon,” Alec ordered.

No response again. He scanned what appeared to be the dining room for another entrance. Finding none, he realized he’d made a poor choice. With the only way in or out either this door or the front window, he was pinned down. Of course, at the time, a dark room had seemed a better choice than a well-lit one.

Alec’s heart hammered. With no other choice, he slid around the door frame and into the entry foyer again, into the light spilling from the living room. The house was cold and silent. A clock ticked somewhere, or maybe it was some type of drip. He’d once entered the bathroom of a murder victim, expecting to turn off a faucet’s slow drip only to discover the sound had nothing to do with plumbing.

He could hear movement now and advanced toward it. The wood floor creaked with the slightest of weight shift, making silent progress impossible. And having never been in this house, he didn’t know the layout, but assumed the hall led to bedrooms and at least one bathroom. There would also be a kitchen, which he would have expected to connect with the dining room, so there was no telling where it fell in the floor plan. But all these old houses had a second door, usually off the kitchen. Was the suspect trying to reach it?

Sensing he was about to step into the path of a bullet, Alec ran his left hand over his chest—the habit, a hangover from his Bureau days, was meant to assure him that his soft body armor was in place. Of course, he was a civilian now, and civilians had no need for the protective powers of Kevlar. Not unless they were going into a dark house, facing a shooter who obviously knew how to handle his weapon.

A soft whimper that was quickly squashed. Leading with his own weapon, Alec stepped from the foyer into the narrow hall leading toward the back of the house. The front door was open behind him, and the way the night air poured into the small foyer and down the hall suggested that there was another open door or window ahead of him somewhere.

The darkness was more complete here, the only light coming from beneath the closed door at the end of the hall. Alec ignored the room as a possibility, concentrated on the other three doors. In his head, he heard Monty asking which door it would be.

He held his position again, listening. With the elapsed time, it became more likely that the suspect intended to shoot it out.

A sharp clatter. Alec moved forward in a controlled rush. By the time he reached the door into the kitchen, fresh air poured through the opened back door, as did the glow from the side yard light. He caught a glimpse of the suspect fleeing down the steps. As much as he wanted to pursue the man, he needed to determine Katie’s whereabouts and condition, so he turned and faced the room.

“Katie?”

Even with the light penetrating only three or four feet inside, he could see the mess on the floor. The glittering shards of glass, the sheen of a dark liquid, the shine of stainless implements. The skeletons of overturned dinette chairs.

What he didn’t see, what he might not have seen at all if she hadn’t made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob, was Katie slumped against the old refrigerator.

She was drawn up in a near-fetal position. He kneeled down, but didn’t touch her; he was afraid that even that small contact might send her over the edge.

“Katie?” She lifted her chin slightly as if she looked at him, but he couldn’t be certain. “Katie, I need you to answer me. Are you hurt?”

She shook her head.

“I need to go after the man who did this to you. Do you understand?” He thought she nodded. “Call 9-1-1.”

He’d taken only a single step when she launched herself after him, her hands grabbing at his legs, her movements sending kitchen utensils clanging. “No. He’ll come back. He’ll kill me.”

Alec kneeled next to her again. “Easy. I won’t be gone long.” He picked up a knife and pressed it into her hands. “Hold on to this.”

Taking it, she scooted backward until she was once more plastered to the appliance.

Alec checked the side yard where legustroms and large oleanders blocked the house next door. He’d lost too much time in the kitchen. The suspect could be anywhere by now.

Frustration building, Alec circled to the front of the house to scan the street. Everything was quiet.

He reentered through the back door. He’d no sooner flipped on the overhead light, than Katie scrambled up from her position on the floor beneath the phone and turned it off. “No lights. He’ll see us.”

In the strobe of illumination, Alec had seen the mess, not just on the floor, but also throughout the room. The struggle had been both drawn out and vicious. The only surprise was, for whatever reason, Katie was still alive. She had somehow survived.

“Take it easy, Katie.”

After sliding his weapon into the shoulder holster, he squatted cautiously next to her. “Give me the knife.” She let him take it from her, and he placed it beyond her reach. When he touched her on the shoulder, she jerked and lifted her left hand in a defensive motion, as if to ward off any further attempts at contact.

Ignoring the broken glass, he carefully sat down in front of her.

“Katie, did you dial 9-1-1?”

She nodded. Using one finger, he caught her chin and urged it higher. Her face was wet. She was crying, he realized. He couldn’t tell much about her eyes in the dark, but when she trembled, he realized he didn’t need to see dilated pupils to know she was in shock. She was frightened beyond belief.

“Did you—” He had intended to ask her about the attack, but quickly stopped himself. Habits were hard to shake. Especially in stressful situations. He’d spent too many years in charge, accustomed to asking the questions. But it was no longer his job. And there was no reason to put her through it twice.

He was unprepared when she suddenly buried her face against his chest. He raised his arms, uncertain. After a brief hesitation, he wrapped them around her.

For the first time in eleven months, Alec held a woman. And sitting there in the darkened kitchen, he couldn’t help but think how different tonight would have been if he’d left that voice mail. If he hadn’t decided he owed her an explanation in person.

And how one moment in a man’s life, a woman’s life, could define everything that followed.

OH GOD, oh God, oh God.

Katie’s fist twisted tighter into Alec’s shirt as she burrowed her face into his shoulder. The sirens were just outside now. How long had she—had they—been sitting on the floor? Probably no more than six or seven minutes, but it seemed far longer.

Her body moved in a rocking motion, but she seemed powerless to stop it, or even to alter the timing of it. She wasn’t even sure if the motion was of her doing or of the man’s who held her. But the rhythm of his heart had become a calming metronome.

If she could just concentrate on the heavy, steady beat. If she could just stay here. In the dark. In these strong arms. She would be okay.

“Police,” a man’s voice called from the foyer.

She felt Alec moving away from her, physically and emotionally. Her fingers squeezed the material of his sleeve. If she let him go, she didn’t know what would happen.

“In here,” Alec called. “In the kitchen.”

Heavy footsteps moved down the hall. Flashlight beams stabbed and probed until they found them. The light switch, a relic from the twenties, made a sharp click.

Three men, Police Chief Jack Blade and two young deputies whose names she didn’t know, stood in the doorway.

Squinting against the sudden glare, she pushed herself off Alec’s lap and onto the floor, wincing as broken glass bit into her palm. She kept her eyes averted, was afraid that, if she looked at any of the men who now stared at her, she’d lose the little bit of self-control that she’d managed to regain over the past few minutes.

“Katie?”

Looking up, she realized Alec was on his feet now, and was offering her a hand up. His face was grim. For the first time she registered the shoulder holster and the gun. She’d never seen him with a weapon of any sort, so she was put off by it. Which was really ridiculous, considering what had happened tonight. When his warm fingers closed over her frigid ones, she realized that even that small contact made her feel safer.

Once she was standing, he kept a hand locked around her arm as if he didn’t trust her to stay on her feet. And maybe he was right to, because she felt woozy.

“You out riding patrols tonight?” Alec asked his brother.

“No. Just in the area when the call came in.” Chief Blade looked at Katie. “Do you want a ride to the hospital?”

“No. I’m fine.” She touched the side of her face, testing the soreness. Well, maybe not fine, but the hospital was still out. She hated anything to do with them.

The chief nudged the closest officer—a young kid who looked as if he should still be in high school. “Take the front door. I don’t want anyone coming in until Martinez is done processing the scene.” His glance skipped to the second officer. “Fitz, get some more manpower over here to check the neighborhood. I want everyone who’s available.” As the man walked away, he added, “And get the pizza box and flowers off the front porch. Throw them both on my floorboard.”

The police chief swung his attention back to his brother. “I’m assuming you brought both?”

Alec ignored his brother’s question. “I’m not sure how he got in, but he went out through that door.” He nodded toward the still open back one. “I went after him, so you’ll find my shoeprints out there, too.”

The police chief frowned. “Did you check the other rooms?”

“No. I figured you’d be showing up soon enough. That the fewer people walking through the house, possibly disturbing evidence, the better. You’ll find a couple of bullets meant for me near the dining room entrance and my fingerprints from the front door on through to the kitchen.”

“Martinez will need comparison prints.”

“Whenever he wants them.” Alec lifted Katie’s right hand. “He’ll probably want to check out her fingernails just in case some of that blood belongs to the suspect.” He let her hand go. She wished he hadn’t.

Chief Blade gave a sharp nod. “Helpful, as always, Alec.” There was an edge to his voice that Katie didn’t understand. But then she didn’t know him. Maybe it was the situation. Situation? Now there was a euphemism for what had happened to her.

Once she was seated on the sofa, Alec brought her a glass of water. Glancing down, she caught sight of her black and blue left knee and felt the first hard throb of pain.

It was as if her body was a computer that had been shut down, but now booted up, each program reporting its status at regular intervals. Now the face. Now the neck. And now the knee. She suspected the worst was yet to come.

And not just physically. There would be questions. Ones that she would find difficult to answer.

Jack pulled up a chair opposite while Alec chose to stand at the foyer door. As irrational as it sounded, she would have liked to have Alec sitting next to her while his brother asked his questions, but didn’t know how to make the request without appearing needy.

Who was she trying to kid? She was needy. But she could handle her own neediness.

The police chief waited until she swung her gaze back to him. Jack Blade was younger than Alec by a few years, and with his blond hair, he looked more like a lifeguard than a lawman. She had heard rumors that he’d worked undercover in a big city before he’d come to Deep Water. But Deep Water’s rumor mill was wrong more often than right. She only had to look at what they said about her to know that.

“Katie, I need you to start at the beginning and tell me everything you can remember.”

She nodded, but swallowed roughly. Her neck and throat hurt from the choke hold.

“Any possibility that you know your attacker? Have you ever seen him before?”

She shook her head. “No. At least I don’t think so.”

“When you came home, was he already in the house?”

“Yes. But I don’t know where. Maybe in my bedroom. Or in the hall closet.” She ducked her head. Not meeting his eyes made it easier to talk about. “He…he came up behind me while I was at the kitchen sink and…. and—” She couldn’t seem to go on. When the police chief reached out to touch her in a comforting gesture, she moved her hand just beyond his reach.

He acted as if he hadn’t noticed the movement, but she knew he had. “Take your time. There’s no hurry.”

She nodded her understanding. Instead of easier, she was finding it more difficult to control her emotions. Maybe it was due to the adrenaline. But she didn’t like the way she was right now. She didn’t want to be this person.

“He wanted…” He wanted to kill her. She still couldn’t believe it, but it had to be true. There was no other explanation. “I got away. Made it to the back door. But he’d taken the key.”

After taking a small sip of water, just enough to moisten her tongue, she managed to continue. “I used a chair to break the glass. He…he got to me before…I could get out. He dragged me into the hall.”

She turned to Alec. “That’s when you showed up.”

“Any chance you might recognize him if you saw him again?” the police chief asked.

“Maybe.” She heard the doubt in her own voice, and realized that she was shaking her head slowly. “I’m not sure, it…was dark. He didn’t really allow me to see his face.”

“I understand. Was he tall? Big?”

“Both,” she said, thinking about the hard mass of his body.

Alec straightened in the doorway, but kept his arms folded. “He was six-one or two, probably went two-twenty or more.”

“You got a look at him?” Chief Blade asked his brother.

“Not a very long one, and, as Katie said, it was dark.”

Chief Blade turned his attention back to her. “Caucasian?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“No. Maybe if he hadn’t been wearing gloves.”

“Tell me about the gloves.”

“They were latex. The kind doctors wear.” She hugged her arms across her middle and tried not to think about how his gloved hand had closed over her throat.

“How about his voice? Did he say anything?”

“He called me—” She broke off to take a deep breath. God. She didn’t want to think about what that meant.

“What did he call you?” Jack prompted.

“Katydid,” she answered softly. As she waited for his next question, she studied the glass of water she held. She was okay. She was in control. She was a big fat liar.

“Katydid? Is that a nickname?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Karen, my twin sister, gave it to me.”

“Is she the only one who uses it?”

“My father did sometimes.”

“Anyone else?”

She didn’t want to say his name. Even inside her head, she’d been avoiding it. Because saying the name aloud would make it too real.

“Katie, did anyone else call you by that name?” Chief Blade asked again, his voice still kind, but slightly louder this time. As if he thought the reason she’d failed to answer him was because she hadn’t heard the question.

She nodded again. “Carlos Bricker. My ex-boyfriend. He’d use it to upset me.”

“Why would it upset you?”

“My sister…she’s dead.”

He seemed to study her face. For the first time, she wondered what he saw when he looked at her. The side of her face ached from where she’d hit the wall. She was probably pretty bruised. When she talked, there was a searing pain on the left side of her lower lip, which probably meant it was busted.

What he saw…what anyone looking at her would see was the face of a victim. The demeanor of a victim. And she hated that even more than her physical appearance.

“Katie?”

For a second, she couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about, then it came to her. About her sister. About the nickname.

“No one besides your family and Carlos knew about the nickname?” the police chief repeated.

She took another sip of water and hoped no one would notice her tears. “No.” Admitting defeat, she wiped them off with her hands.

“When was the last time you saw Carlos?”

“A little over two months ago. I had just broken off the relationship and told him I was moving my paintings to another gallery. When I went to get them, he’d locked them up.”

“What did you do?”

“I hired an attorney. But Carlos called later that same night. Evidently, my attorney had already contacted him. Carlos said that I’d regret my decision. I assumed he meant professionally.” She took a deep breath. “Three nights later, he was waiting for me when I got home. I didn’t see him until it was too late. I wouldn’t have gotten out of my car if I had. He tried to drag me inside the condo. When a neighbor came out, Carlos took off. The neighbor never got a good look at him, though.” She swallowed. “I filed charges. He produced a witness who said he was with her when the attack happened. The charges were dropped. I moved up here.”

“So you believe Carlos Bricker hired someone to harm you?”

“Yes.” She rubbed her forehead. Her head was really beginning to ache. Which wasn’t a bad thing. If it hurt enough, she wouldn’t be able to think anymore.

Chief Blade turned his attention to his brother. “Okay, Alec. What can you add to Katie’s statement?”

“He’s right-handed and knows how to handle a gun. Either military or police training, or maybe he’s just heavy into weaponry. He placed two shots within inches of each other and over my head in a darkened house. Right-handed because of where he was standing at the time he fired and the trajectory of the rounds. My guess is a 9 mm auto. The fact he didn’t panic suggests he’s been in similar situations.”

At that moment, the young deputy at the door let in a man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned with the words Grateful Dead. He had a short, neatly trimmed and nearly black beard. A tape measure rode his belt and he carried a large leather case. Just inside the door, he stopped to pull paper covers over running shoes—the kind doctors and nurses used in the operating room—then looked toward the living room and his boss.

“Martinez, I think you know my brother,” the police chief nodded at Alec, then motioned with a hand toward Katie. “This is Katie Carroll.”

Katie managed a weak smile and received a nod from the young Hispanic man.

The police chief stood. “I’ll have more questions, Katie, after I’ve had a chance to look around. We’ll need the clothes you’re wearing. I’ll get you some to change into in a minute, but for now, try to relax. We’ll try to get through here as fast as we can.” He looked at his brother. “Perhaps you could get a list of anyone who may have been through the house recently. We’re going to need to get their prints, too, for elimination.”

He joined the technician in the foyer and they moved into the back hallway and the kitchen.

Alec sat in the chair Jack had vacated. “I know you said no to the hospital, but you really should go and get checked out.” He reached out, pushed the hair away from her left cheek, his concerned eyes briefly studying the bruising. “I’d like to be able to tell you that it looks better than it feels, but I’m afraid the opposite is true.” His smile was small, patient and fleeting. “You could have a minor concussion. And if nothing else, the doctor could give you something to help you sleep.”

Sleep? She didn’t think she’d be doing that anytime soon.

She struggled with a small smile of her own, one she intended to make her appear stronger than she was feeling. “I’m okay. Or will be when this is over.”

“Shouldn’t take much longer,” he assured her, repeating his brother’s words.

She nodded. “The idea that someone hates me enough to want me dead…” She shook her head slowly. “I think it would be easier if I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because then I could tell myself that it had nothing to do with me.”

She was starting to feel flat. As if she’d been up too long and was suffering from sleep deprivation. Able to function, but not very well.

Alec removed a small notepad from the inside pocket of his jacket. “It’s just the adrenaline. It’s not unusual to feel high one moment and then the next start to feel tired. Perhaps while you’re still up to it, we should make that list of who’s been inside the house.”

She placed the glass of water on the table in front of her. “When you first busted in here, you yelled FBI.”

“I was with the FBI. I’m not any longer.” He didn’t allow her to comment. “Who has access to your home?”

Because of the way he’d answered and how he seemed to want to brush by his past employment, she figured something had happened. That or he was anxious to fulfill his duties and leave. She wasn’t looking forward to that moment.

“He was wearing gloves.”

“But we can’t be certain how long he’d been in the house. He may have removed them at some point.”

She recalled the candlelight in her bedroom. Maybe he was right. Perhaps her attacker had removed his gloves to light them.

“Just the landlord. I think he hired an electrician to fix the electric panel box in the kitchen, but you’ll need to check with him.”

“We’ll be asking him these same questions. How about friends? Coworkers?”

She lifted her gaze to his. “No. I’ve mostly kept to myself.” Tonight was to have been the first foray into dating since she’d moved up here. She’d seen it as the beginning. A new start with new friends—a brand-new life where anything was possible. She liked Deep Water. Liked the people even more. They seemed less complicated than her Miami friends. More genuine.

She should have known it wasn’t going to work.

Alec ripped out the page. “If you think of anyone else who’s been through here, be sure to tell Jack.”

When he started to stand, she stopped him with a hand on his jacket sleeve. “Thanks. For everything.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled, and this time his eyes seemed warmer. “For everything.”

Her hand still rested on his arm. She was trying to work up the courage to ask him to stay with her for a few minutes more when Jack returned.

Self-conscious, she withdrew her hand, and as she did, Alec stood.

She swung her gaze toward Alec’s brother. The police chief refused to meet it.

“Alec, you need to take a look at this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the bedroom.”

Katie started to get to her feet. Alec’s hand resting on her shoulder kept her seated.

“Why don’t you stay put for now?”

Chapter Three

Crime scene technician Andy Martinez stood in front of what Alec assumed to be the door to Katie’s bedroom. He appeared to check the settings on the video camera he held. A 35 mm hung on his shoulder.

He glanced at his watch, and Alec wanted to ask him where he needed to be, but it wasn’t any of his business. Maybe he had a hot date, or a wife to get home to. But the action reminded Alec that he’d also had other plans for tonight. He checked the time. Passengers would be embarking in twenty-five minutes, which meant he’d have to catch a flight in the morning.

“I’ll shoot the video first, and then get the stills. Then bag up.” Martinez pulled a large pad and a pencil from a side compartment of his case. “Anyone here want to do the sketch? I flunked first grade art. Never could get the arms and legs the same length on those stick figures.”

He didn’t know Martinez, but thought the kid seemed a bit nervous. As if something in the room had made him uncomfortable.

Jack motioned for Martinez to step away from the closed door. “That can wait a few minutes.”

Alec looked at his brother, at the closed door Jack stood in front of. “I take it you found something out of the ordinary?”

“Depends on which town you’re in.” With a grim expression, Jack nudged the door open.

Candlelight reached every corner of the small space. Not that anyone stepping inside would notice the candles, considering the rest of the room.

There were no pillows on the double bed, no top sheet, either. Just the fitted bottom sheet. The center of the bed was strewn with a path of red rose petals, as if flung there by a flower girl following a bride down the aisle. The remaining roses—at least two dozen—filled a vase on the dresser.

A seduction scene. If you could ignore the surgical tubing tied to the headboard. And the looped ends that could be quickly slipped around wrists and ankles, and which would only become tighter as the victim struggled. Since there was no footboard, the tubing had been attached to the legs of the Hollywood bed frame. Square knots, again, tied by a right-hander.

Three of the red rose petals had missed the bed entirely and resembled a blood trail.

Alec’s gut twisted. Everything inside him wanted to deny what he was seeing. No one could look at the room and not be shaken by it. Not think about the woman who was to have been lashed down and terrorized. Murdered. It was what nightmares were made of. For Alec it was even more personal than that. It was the nightmare he couldn’t escape. It represented not only the degradation that one human being could inflict upon another, it also represented Alec’s own failure.

He stepped carefully into the room. One narrow path in and the same path out. He’d been working crime scenes for enough years that it had become second nature.

Without even counting, he knew there would be twenty-seven candles—the cheap variety, which accounted for the heavy scent of wax. Just as he knew the brand of box cutter on the nightstand—Swain. Just as he knew the picture over the bed had been removed to make room for a different kind of artwork.

The kind that required blood.

Eleven months ago, his flight into Philadelphia International had been delayed because of a snowstorm. When he’d landed, he’d thought about calling Jill, but she would have been sleeping. She was a teacher and got up early. The roads were a mess, and it had taken him seventy minutes to go twenty-eight miles. The house had been dark. He’d come in through the garage, stopped in the kitchen long enough to drink a glass of milk—his dinner—and to add kibble to the cat’s dish.

He’d left his suitcase there, figuring he could undress in the dark and climb into bed without waking Jill. He’d thought the house cold, so had dialed up the thermostat as he passed.

He remembered that he’d hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, looked up into the familiar darkness above. He’d sensed something wasn’t right, but had quickly written it off. He was just beat.

He’d taken only the first two steps when he’d smelled it…the heavy scent of blood. His grip on the railing tightening, he’d tried to convince himself he was wrong. That the smell of death had been with him for so many days he was no longer capable of breathing air that wasn’t tainted with its stink.

And then he’d seen the bloody paw prints left by the cat.

Alec had taken the remaining steps two and three at a time, his weapon drawn.

But he was too late.

The attack had taken place midafternoon—the medical examiner had never been able to put an exact time on it because of the cool temperature in the house and the ceiling fan. Blood had soaked all the way through the mattress, forming a puddle on the wood floor beneath the bed.

“Alec.” Jack had followed him into the room, and now interrupted the too-vivid memory. “Talk to me.”

Talk to him? Alec realized he would give anything to talk to his brother. Not about police work and crime scenes, but about coming home, finding his wife murdered. To know deep down inside that he was the reason she was dead. That her death hadn’t been the work of a sexual sadist, but of someone out to destroy Alec. Someone seeking revenge for some perceived wrong.

But he couldn’t talk to Jack. Not because Jack wouldn’t listen, but because Alec couldn’t make himself say any of those words aloud.

“Alec?” This time Jack squeezed his brother’s shoulder.

Alec stepped out from under what was meant to be a comforting gesture. The pink cotton rug deadened the sound of his hard soles. He looked down at the bed. At the blank wall above. In his mind, he saw the bloody message the killer had left him eleven months ago.

REMEMBER.

And he did remember. Every second of every day, he remembered.

Alec looked back at his brother, at the young crime scene tech Martinez. “He’s grown tired of postcards. There’s nothing visceral in paper and ink.”

Stunned silence followed those words.

“But why now?” Jack remained unmoving.

It was as if the question threw some kind of switch inside Alec. He was no longer the grieving husband…desperate to right an unrightable wrong. He was the man who had spent years in the FBI facing the unimaginable. One of Quantico’s best. In reality, he was beginning to believe that he wasn’t all that much different from the men he’d hunted. Of late, he’d started to realize that he was more comfortable staring at photos of the dead than looking into the eyes of the living. He’d told his brother that tonight’s date was just pizza and conversation, but it hadn’t been. It had been a test. To see if he could sit across from an attractive woman and pretend that he was okay.

“Why now? Maybe he sees my leaving Philadelphia as a sign I’m moving on. He can’t let that happen.” Alec continued to examine the room, seeking subtle changes in the scene—a new twist—that might suggest that the killer was evolving.

Alec placed his hands in his pockets. For the first time in his career, they were shaking, not just with anger, but with fear, too. For the woman in the other room. He immediately closed out that line of thought, wouldn’t allow himself to go there quite yet.

“He needs to maintain control. Control is very important to him. You can see it in the precision of everything he does.” Alec checked out the top of the dresser, the room’s small bookshelf. “He tidied up in here. Dusted. Rearranged her books. Probably went through them. He’d want to know everything he could about her.” Not because he was interested in her, but because he wanted to know what had drawn Alec to her.

“How can you know that?” Martinez asked, his voice filled with skepticism.

Alec swung his gaze to the man briefly. “Because the mantel in the living room hasn’t been dusted recently. The end table showed signs that someone attempted to swipe away the worst of it with a hand, but didn’t shift the lamp aside to be thorough—probably Katie when she got home tonight. Books are piled on the end of the sofa. The ones that fell onto the floor have been left there.”

Alec closed his eyes in an attempt to stave off the headache building behind his right eye. “Living rooms are usually kept ready for company, but our bedrooms, that’s where we can be ourselves. We can toss the magazine we’ve been reading in bed onto the floor, get up in the morning and step over it and never concern ourselves with the possibility that we’re slobs.” Several magazines were neatly stacked on the corner of the nightstand.

“And Katie?” Jack asked. “A waitress in a restaurant where you have breakfast? Why choose her?”

Alec thought back. “It’s been suggested that I observe Katie more than other people. A few, including you, Jack, took it to mean that I had a romantic interest in her. Perhaps the UNSUB saw the same thing.”

“He’d have to be damn close in order to do that,” Jack said. There was a grimness in both the words and his tone.

Alec suspected his brother wasn’t just thinking about tonight’s assault. Jack was thinking about the monster who walked among them. What it meant for Deep Water.

Turning, Alec glanced at his brother first, and then Martinez. The look in the tech’s eyes was wary now.

Alec had known it would eventually get out, the people in Deep Water would learn who he was. And once they did, they would look at him differently. Just as his coworkers had treated him differently when he’d returned to duty two months after he’d buried Jill. They were comfortable looking at the dead; accustomed to facing a victim’s family. But when the victim was the spouse of one of their own? Well, that wasn’t so easy for them. It forced them to recognize that they weren’t any safer than the rest of the population. That their families were equally vulnerable. And if there was one thing no agent wanted to feel, it was pregnable.

“Any possibility it’s a copycat?” Martinez asked.

Alec shrugged. “The scene’s incomplete—no blood, no body—which leaves open the possibility of a copycat.”

“But you don’t think it is, do you?” Martinez asked.

“No. Even the best copycat killer usually makes a mistake with at least one of the props. The number of candles is the same, the brand of knife, the use of surgical tubing…”

CALMER NOW that she was alone, Katie set down the glass of water on the side table. What was it that the police chief wanted Alec to see in her bedroom? The candles?

She carefully tested her right cheek again, tracing the bone with only her fingertips. Yep. Still hurts. As did her neck and back and rib cage. And then there was her left knee. She flexed the joint to test it. Not as bad as it looked. Of course, come morning that might change.

Maybe Alec was right about the trip to the hospital. And after the hospital? What then? Where would she go?

She’d get a hotel room. There was no way she was staying in this house tonight or any other night. Maybe once the bruises faded, she’d fly out and see her parents, spend some time with them.

She was going to get her life back for real this time. Just as she had after her sister’s death. It had taken some time and had been tough, but she’d done it. She was strong. That’s what her father claimed. Karen may have been the bold one, but Katie was the one with the real strength in the family.

She glanced around the room. So why was she cowering here? Standing, Katie limped to the foyer entrance. She rubbed her arms compulsively, but it wasn’t because she was cold. It was just the adrenaline still kicking around her system.

The front door was closed, but a breeze poured in through the broken glass of the upper portion. The young cop assigned to guard it stood with his back to her and didn’t look in her direction.

She got as far as the kitchen before stopping. Glancing inside, she saw that the back door had been closed, but the chair she’d used to break the glass in the upper portion still hung there, two legs inside, two outside. She allowed her gaze to take in the rest of the room slowly. Streaks of red ran down the front of the painted cabinets. Wine, but for a brief moment it almost looked like blood.

For as long as she could, Katie fought the urge to glance over her shoulder, then, when the small hairs at the back of her neck had climbed to attention once more, she gave in to the need. Of course, she was the only one in the room. Drawing a cleansing breath, she decided that she had every right to be nervous. That it was a perfectly normal response to what she’d been through.

The sound and strobe of a camera flash prodded her back into the hallway and toward her bedroom. What was it that they were doing in there? How many photos could you take of candles? And then it occurred to her that maybe her attacker had come in through her bedroom window.

The scent of candle wax lingered still, a second one accompanied it. Something sweet. She frowned. Perfume? Flowers?

Another flare of light. She could see Martinez now, just inside the door, the camera aimed toward her bed. He wasn’t talking, but she could hear the low murmurs of Alec and his brother. Martinez looked up when she was still five feet from the opening.

He lowered the camera. “Ma’am? You shouldn’t—”

“What is it?”

She hadn’t been able to see Alec from the hallway, but he managed to head her off before she could get to the door. He caught her by the shoulders and forced her backward, away from the door. His grip on her was firm but gentle. When their gazes met, she saw compassion in his eyes. She’d seen the same compassion two months ago in the eyes of the police officer who’d given her the news that the assault charges against Carlos were being dropped.

She tried to look past Alec’s shoulder. Martinez was still taking pictures. What had happened in her bedroom?

She forced her gaze to meet his again. He looked troubled, the lines in his handsome face more pronounced. “It would be best if you waited in the living room.”

“Best? This is my home.” She tried to push past him again, but he blocked her. This time when their gazes met, the look in his eyes was cool, remote. Professional. Just like the cop two months ago when he’d explained how restraining orders rarely worked, that a self-defense course and a thirty-eight would be more effective when it came to protecting herself. She’d taken the course, but had refused to buy a gun.

“You shouldn’t go in there, Katie. You have to trust me on that.”

“Why? What’s in there? What could be any worse than what has already happened to me tonight?” Even as she said it, she knew she wasn’t being rational. If they were trying to keep her out, there was a reason. And that reason was that they didn’t think she was strong enough to handle it.

She lifted her chin. “I’m not some weak female. If I was, I wouldn’t be standing here. I’d be huddled out there on that couch where you left me.” Raising her hands, breaking his hold on her, she backed away from him, and he let her go. “I’ve had a bad time of it. I admit that. But I’m strong enough to face whatever is in that room.”

Though he continued to block her way, he suddenly looked very tired. Worried.

“Whatever is in there, Alec, can’t be any worse than what’s going through my mind right now.”

His jaw hardened and the look in his eyes became one of unwilling acceptance. He wasn’t happy about her insistence, but he would comply. “Are you sure, Katie? Really sure?”

“Yes.” But she wasn’t.

As Alec started to step past his brother, Jack stopped him. “She’s been through an awful lot already.”

“I know. But daylight won’t make it any easier. It doesn’t end for her here tonight. It’s just the beginning.”

Those confusing words echoed in her mind as she forced herself to take the final step.

The white candles were the first thing she saw—not the one or two she’d expected, but too many to count—and then the rose petals, splotches of blood spattered across snow. Katie backed away a half step. She didn’t own white sheets. Had never owned a set. Which meant… Suddenly, she registered the plastic tubing tied to the headboard.

The trembling started deep inside. She hugged herself, her fingers digging into her arms. Images slammed through her. She was afraid to close her eyes, afraid if she did, she’d hear his voice again, calling her Katydid. Telling her that she was going to die.

Her knees weakened beneath her. She was shaking her head slowly, as if in denial. She should have listened! Why hadn’t she listened? As she turned to run, Alec caught her. Intent on escape, she shoved at his chest with her forearms, but he held on.

“Get out of my way!”

Instead of doing as she asked, he tightened his hold.

“I can’t,” he said softly, his voice raw with regret.

Not I won’t, but I can’t.

Suddenly she was holding on to him as she had in the kitchen, her fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, and then releasing their hold. Over and over and over again. As they had earlier, after several seconds, his arms tightened around her, and she found herself locked against his hard body, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

But all she could think about was the room behind her. How if Alec hadn’t asked her out tonight, or had been running late, she might be already dead.

“Come on.” He helped her out to the living room, sat her back down on the couch. The last time he’d sat her here, she’d thought her problems couldn’t get any worse. She’d been wrong.

When he passed it to her, she numbly took the freshly filled water glass, but just held it in her hands, rotating it as if she were suddenly blind and searching desperately for a Braille message on its surface. Some answer as to why this was happening to her.

How had she managed to get herself mixed up with a man like Carlos Bricker? She was cautious where people were concerned—especially since Karen’s death—and her instincts were usually pretty good. So how had Carlos managed to fool her so completely?

And more importantly, why hadn’t he come himself? If he hated her that much, why send someone? She thought she knew why, though. If she turned up dead, Carlos was bound to be a prime suspect. But then again, his new girlfriend might be willing to give him an alibi for the attempted assault of his ex-girlfriend. Carlos could be very charming and persuasive; he could easily convince the new girlfriend that the ex was just out to get him. But when it came to a murder charge, she might not be so willing to provide an alibi. Because new girlfriends eventually became ex-girlfriends. And what went around came around.

She didn’t look up when Alec sat in the chair facing her. She’d told him she was tough. That she could take whatever was in that room. Well, she wasn’t quite that strong.

Katie rubbed her forehead as if the action could erase what she’d seen. It wouldn’t. She suspected she’d be seeing that room in her nightmares for many years to come. Maybe for the rest of her life.

“How much money does it take to buy…to buy someone to do this?” She rotated the glass faster now. It was a stupid question really, but she still found herself wondering what it had cost the creep. Recently, he’d had money problems, so maybe he had even sold some of her paintings to pay for the hit on her.

“Your ex-boyfriend has nothing to do with what happened here tonight.”

It took a second for his words to sink in. When they did, she raised her gaze to his for the second time in seconds. “What are you saying?”

“This nickname. Katydid. Is there anything in your bedroom that has that written on it? The back of a photo? Inscribed on something in your jewelry box? In a book?”

She looked down at her hands, at the dried blood beneath her nails and at the sterling ring on her right hand. She fingered the band. Her sister had given it to her only weeks before her death. The inside was inscribed: To Katydid, My better half. It was the only piece of jewelry she owned with an inscription, and she never removed it.

“Maybe the back of a photo.” She tightened her grip on her hands. “But I don’t understand… Who else would want to harm me?” And then she saw it in Alec’s eyes. “You know who it is? Who did that to my room?” How was that possible?

“Yes.” He was composed. Too composed. Guarded.

“But how can you know who it is?”

Exhaling sharply, he looked away. When he looked back, his expression was even grimmer. “Eleven months ago, while I was still with the Bureau, I came home after two weeks on the road and found my wife murdered. Our bedroom looked exactly like yours does tonight.”

What was he saying? That the man who had killed his wife wanted to kill her? But why? That made no sense. She was shaking with the effort not to cry. Her fingers curled into her arms as she continued to fight for control.

“Why? Why would he come here to kill me?” Of course, she could guess.

Still seated in the chair facing her, Alec held his face in his hands for several seconds, and then, letting out a harsh breath, looked at her again.

Jack walked in at that moment and placed her jewelry box on the coffee table. The box wasn’t the department store variety, but a hand-painted wooden one done by an artist friend. A small chameleon peeked out from beneath the huge red hibiscus bloom covering the top. Now the outside of the box was covered in what looked like copier toner.

Alec slipped on latex gloves before lifting the lid with the end of a pen.

There was a small wad of tip money on top. Probably seventy or eighty dollars at most. He carefully lifted it by the edges and placed it in a plastic bag.

He looked at her. “I need you to go through and tell me if anything is missing.”

Still reeling from what he’d told her, she took the ballpoint he passed. Her fingers were shaking, but with some effort, she managed to steady them.

She had very few pieces of expensive jewelry. An aquamarine ring her parents had given her for her sixteenth, the expensive watch she’d purchased when one of her paintings had finally brought more than a thousand dollars, the gold bracelet her dad had surprised both Katie and her mom with on Valentine’s Day two years before.

She lined them up next to the box. The only other worthwhile piece was the locket. It was usually tangled up in the bird nest at the bottom of the box. She rooted around. When was the last time she’d seen it? She’d worn the gold bracelet last week and the necklace had been here then. She could feel the pressure building in her chest, the sense of her confusion spreading. It had to be here.

In desperation, she used the pen to lift out the wad of cheap necklaces and bracelets. The jewelry landed noisily on the table next to the box.

“Katie?”

“It has to be here!”

“What has to be?”

Calm down. “A locket. It belonged to my grandmother.”

“Any chance you mislaid it?”

“No.” She shook her head. She could feel her palms begin to go clammy. “I only wear it when I get dressed up, and I haven’t since I came here.” She’d planned to wear it tonight. On their date.

Why the locket and not the more valuable bracelet? How could her attacker have known which item meant the most to her?

She lifted her gaze to meet Alec’s. “Was there something… Did he take a piece of your wife’s jewelry?”

Alec nodded.

Chief Blade had been standing near the fireplace, but now broke in. “Maybe you should let me take things from here, Alec,” he said quietly. He sat on the opposite end of the couch. “I think at this point the best thing we can do is find you someplace safe. Is there someone you can stay with? Family? Friends?”

She hadn’t wanted her parents to see her bruised up. Hadn’t wanted to worry them. But given the situation, did she have a choice? She could stay with friends, but that would mean returning to Miami. And even if Carlos hadn’t hired someone to kill her, she wasn’t ready to chance running into him quite yet.

“My parents are out west. They’re in a motor home. Arizona, Utah—I don’t know where exactly because they’ve been moving around a lot. I suppose I could go out and…”

Alec interrupted. “He’ll just follow.”

Jack shot a look at his brother. “But if he doesn’t know where she is—”

Alec cut him off. “How long do you think it will take him to find out? You’ll just be putting additional people at risk.”

Katie looked at both men. “I won’t do anything that puts my parents or anyone in danger.”

“Okay.” Chief Blade glanced at Alec. “What do you suggest, then?”

“Twenty-four hour protection in a safe house.”

“For how long?”

Irritation flashed in Alec’s face, and his jaw hardened. “For as long as it takes.”

“Hell, Alec, we’re a small force. We don’t have the budget to cover that type of protection. The best move is to get her out of town.”

Alec rubbed the back of his neck. “There is no place safe.” Alec took a deep breath in an obvious effort to hold on to his temper. “This isn’t about Katie. It’s about control. Of me. If he lets her get away, he’ll have lost control. He can’t allow that to happen.”

She’d been numbly listening, but now stood on shaky legs. “I still…I still don’t understand. Why me?” She realized just how weak and whiny the question sounded, but she was beyond caring.

“Because,” Alec said, “he believes I have a romantic interest in you.”

“That’s ridiculous. We haven’t even gone out on a date.”

“Very true. But that wasn’t what it looked like two weeks ago when I had forgotten my wallet and you covered my breakfast check.”

“And you came back an hour later with money and daisies,” she added. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her.

Chief Blade looked at Martinez, who had just shown up at the foyer door. “I’m through in the bedroom. Now might be a good time to get the fingernail clippings and scrapings for DNA testing. And then we’ll let you go change out of what you’re wearing.”

Martinez made quick work of obtaining the samples while the other men watched. Standing, he again picked up his case. “I’ll go get started on the kitchen.”

Martinez started to turn away, and then stopped. “If you’re looking for a safe house, I just moved into a new place. Last owner was a security freak. This guy wouldn’t have any reason to look for her out there.”

The police chief seemed to consider the suggestion. “Okay. Perkins, Jamison and Thompson are backups. I want all four of you staying out there. At least for tonight.”

IT WAS WELL AFTER one in the morning when Alec and Jack sat down in Jack’s office. Deep Water’s police department, which was composed of nineteen commissioned officers and six non-com support staff, had recently moved into a renovated building, dating back to the turn of the century.

When most towns in Central Florida’s Cougar County were plowing down the buildings that reflected their mediocre start, Deep Water had embraced its heritage of cattle barons and citrus kings. Buildings that had been ready to fall down were shored up, restored. Layers of asphalt were removed from downtown streets to reveal the worn but beautiful bricks beneath.

The Big Freeze of 1895 had run off most of the citrus industry, but even today, cattle grazed on much of the land outside the city limits. The feed store, which still occupied a prime chunk of ground at the center of town, maintained a hitching rail, and it wasn’t unusual to see a cow pony tied there early in the morning.

A modern town with grace and integrity. And now a monster.

Alec slumped back in the chair, and, resting his head against the wall, closed his eyes. Without aspirin, the headache had gotten worse. A good night’s sleep usually took care of it, but he doubted he’d be getting one of those anytime soon.

He’d already supplied his fingerprints for comparison to those found in the house, as had Katie.

Jack propped his elbows on the desk. “I’ll send an officer around to get elimination fingerprints from the landlord. The evidence will go to the lab in the morning. Including the shoe cast.”

A fairly clear footprint had been found just outside the kitchen door. But even if it belonged to Katie’s attacker, it would have little value until they had a suspect in custody.

Deep Water didn’t have a laboratory of its own, so the evidence would be sent to the Florida Department of Law Enforcement’s lab in Daytona Beach for analysis. Alec didn’t expect them to come back with anything useful. This wasn’t the kind of killer who made mistakes.

“I should have seen this coming,” he said quietly. “I should have recognized the probability Jill’s killer would follow me to Deep Water. Nothing but damned arrogance on my part.”

“You always were arrogant. Even in high school and college. It’s what made you good.” Jack studied him. “As far as the rest, we all make mistakes.”

Alec scrubbed his face. “Not the kind that cost women their lives.”

Jack popped open a can of iced tea. After several long swallows, he set it aside. “But she’s okay. We just need to figure out how to keep her that way.” Jack stirred the dish of hard candies on the credenza behind him. He’d quit smoking several months ago, and now satisfied his oral fixation with cherry drops.

Jack tossed the wrapper toward the trash can. “With that in mind, maybe it’s time we start being honest with each other.”

“I wasn’t aware that we weren’t.”

“You’re right. It’s not really a matter of honesty, is it? It’s more a matter of letting it all hang out. Saying not only the easy things, but also the hard ones. We’ve never done that. We Blades aren’t really made that way, are we?”

“No,” Alec agreed. “Maybe you should tell me what it is you want me to be honest about.”

Jack leaned forward. “Is there another reason you might want to keep Katie in town?”

“Keeping her alive would seem like a good enough reason for most people.”

Jack nodded. “Yes, it would. But so does nailing the man who murdered Jill.”

“What are you talking about?” But he knew.

“It’s been eleven months, Alec. And we both know the stats. The longer a homicide goes unsolved, the less likely charges will be brought.” Rising, he paced to the window. “I’ve seen it in your eyes. You’re not so much tormented by Jill’s death as you are by the possibility that you may never catch this guy. You’ve helped put hundreds of his kind behind bars, but you can’t get this one. It eats you up inside. So much so that you might be willing to grab on to anything to turn the odds in your favor.”

Jack faced him. “And then suddenly you have it. Bait.”

Alec’s right hand curled into a fist over the arm chair. “You’re right. All of what you’ve said is true. Even the fact that I’m desperate enough to use any advantage. But do you really think I would place an innocent woman at risk?”

When his brother remained silent, Alec had his answer. “Well, you’re wrong. I have one woman’s death on my conscience. I couldn’t handle a second. And maybe you need to ask yourself how well you’re going to sleep if you cut her loose and he does go after her. If she winds up dead. Who would be the cold SOB then?”

Alec got to his feet. “Katie Carroll is in extreme danger. Get another opinion. Call Seth Killian. He’ll tell you the same thing. You fail to give her protection, and you might as well stake her to the ground like a sacrificial lamb.”

Jack looked up at his brother. “Call Seth? Your friend at the FBI? I guess I should trust his opinion. After all you two are tighter than brothers.”

Alec knew he should never have brought up Seth’s name. “Call whoever you want, just don’t put her on the next bus out of here without consulting someone else first.”

Jack studied him. “You’re that sure?”

“Yes.” Alec nodded. “I’m that sure.”

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