He lifted one eyebrow. “Is that what you think this is all about? Protection? Securing a witness?”

The pulse in her wrist ticked up several notches. Could he feel it? “I’m the only witness you have right now.”

He chuckled in the back of his throat, and the low sound sent a line of tingles racing down to her toes.

“The SFPD is not in the bodyguarding business. We’re not going to put you in the Witness Protection Program. Everything I’ve done for you has been off the books and off the clock.”

She twisted her own napkin in her lap as she tilted her head back to take in his imposing figure. “Why’d you do it?”

“Do you have to ask?”

The Bridge

Carol Ericson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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

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For Elise

and childhood imaginations

that run wild.

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

Endpages

EXTRACT

Chapter One

He wanted to kill her.

“Elise.”

The whispered name floated along the fog, mingled with it, surrounded her.

Her eyes ached with the effort of trying to peer through the milky white wisps that blanketed the San Francisco Bay shoreline, but if she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her.

And she planned to keep it that way.

A foghorn bellowed in the night, and she took advantage of the sound to make another move toward the waves lapping against the rocky shore. If she had to, she’d wriggle right into the frigid waters of the bay.

She flattened herself against the sand, and the grains stuck to her lip gloss. It now seemed ages ago when she’d leaned over the brightly lit vanity at the club applying it.

“Elise, come out, come out wherever you are.”

His voice caused a new layer of goose bumps to form over the ones she already had from the cold, damp air. Her fingers curled around the scrubby plant to her right as if she could yank it out of the sand and use it as a weapon.

If he caught her, she wouldn’t allow him to drag her back to his car. She’d fight and die here if she had to.

The water splashed and her tormenter cursed. He must’ve stepped into the bay. And he didn’t like it.

She drove her chin into the sand to prop up her head and peered into the wall of fog. The lights on the north tower of the Golden Gate Bridge winked at her. The occasional humming of a car crossing the bridge joined with the lapping of the water as the only sounds she could hear over the drumbeat of her heart.

And his voice when he chose to speak, a harsh whisper, all traces of the refined English accent he’d affected outside the club gone.

What a fool she’d been to trust him.

Another footfall, too close for comfort. She held her breath. If he tripped over her, she’d have to run, find another place to hide in plain sight. Or at least it would be plain sight if the fog lifted.

The damp cover made her feel as if they were the only two people in this hazy world where you couldn’t see your hand two inches in front of your face.

Who would break first? The fog? Her? Or the maniac trying to kill her? Because she knew he wanted to kill her. She could hear the promise in his voice.

“Elise?”

She wanted to scream at him to stop using her name in those familiar tones—as if they were old friends. Instead of predator and prey.

She didn’t scream. She pressed her lips together, and the sand worked its way into her mouth. She ground it between her teeth, anger shoving the fear aside for a moment.

If this guy thought she’d give up, he’d picked the wrong target. The Durans of Montana were nobody’s victims.

A breeze skittered across the bay, and debris tickled her face. White strands of fog swirled past her, and for the first time since she’d hurled herself from the trunk of her captor’s car, she could see the shapes of scrubby plants emerge from the mist.

She swallowed a sob. When she’d least expected or wanted it, the cursed San Francisco fog was rolling out to sea.

A low chuckle seemed to come at her from all directions. He knew it, too.

Time to make a move.

Elise pinned her arms to her sides and propelled herself into a roll. Once she had the momentum, the rest was easy as she hit a slight decline to the water.

Arm. Back. Arm. Chest. Around and around she rolled. She squeezed her eyes shut and scooped in a breath of air. Her preparations didn’t make the impact any easier.

When she hit the icy bay, she gasped, pulling in a breath and a mouthful of salty water with it. She choked it out and ducked her head beneath the small waves.

The bay accepted her in a chilly embrace, and she clawed her way along the rocky floor. Fearing the swift current, she didn’t want to swim away from the shoreline, but the water might just be enough to hide her from the lunatic trying to kill her.

She popped up her head and dragged in another breath. The wind whipped around her, blowing her wet hair against her cheeks.

The fog dissipated even more, and she could make out the form of a man loping back and forth, swinging something at the ground.

She took a deep breath and went under again. The current tugged at her dress, inviting her into the bay. She resisted, scrabbling against the rocks. The current snatched her shoes anyway.

She scraped her knees on the bay floor and lifted her face to the surface, taking a sip of air. The figure on land seemed farther away. Would he be able to see her head in the water? Would he come after her?

She submerged her head again and managed a breaststroke and a scissor kick to propel herself farther from the man combing the shore.

She’d have to get out of the water soon or she’d die from hypothermia. As if to drive this truth home, her teeth began to chatter and she lost the tips of her fingers to numbness.

Once more she poked her head up from the water. The steel buttress of the bridge was visible in front of her. Maybe she could clamber on top of it to escape the cold fingers of the bay.

She twisted her head around. The man had disappeared from view. A seagull shrieked above, cutting through the rumbling of a car engine.

Elise whipped her head around. An orange service truck trundled along the road fronting the shore, its amber light on the roof revolving.

Elise screamed for the first time since her ordeal began. She clambered from the water, her dress clinging to her legs. She bunched the skirt of the dress around her waist and waded from the bay.

“Help! Stop!”

The occupants of the truck couldn’t have heard her, but the truck pulled to the side of the road anyway. A door swung open.

Her frozen limbs buckled beneath her, but she willed them to support her. She rose to her feet and screamed again, waving her arms above her head. “Help! I’m in the water!”

The white oval of a face turned toward her.

Elise pumped her legs, hoping they were obeying her command to run. She tried to scream again, but her jaw locked as a shower of chills cascaded through her body.

The man in the orange jumpsuit started jogging toward her, and another orange jumpsuit joined him.

Her bare feet slogged through the sand and she kept tripping over the bushes dotting the shore, but she continued to move forward.

By the time she and the service workers met, her body was shivering convulsively.

“Oh, my God, Brock. I think we’ve got a jumper.”

She shook her head back and forth. Really? Would a jumper be able to swim to shore and run toward help?

Brock joined his buddy, shrugging out of his orange jacket. “I already called 9-1-1. It’s gonna be okay, lady.”

He wrapped his jacket around her, and she began to sink to the ground. He caught her under the arms. “Stay with us. The ambulance should be here soon.”

“How did you do it? How did you survive the jump?”

She licked the salt from her lips and worked her jaw. “I didn’t jump from the bridge.”

Brock tugged the coat around her tighter. “Then what the hell were you doing out there?”

As sirens wailed in the distance, she blew out a breath and closed her eyes. “Escaping a killer.”

* * *

HER TOES TINGLED and she took another sip of the hot tea. When the ambulance got her to the emergency room, the nurses had stripped off her soggy dress and wrapped her in warm blankets. They’d tucked her into this bed and piled an electric blanket on top of her as well as wedged some heat packs under her arms and behind her neck.

When she could sit up, they’d brought her a cup of tea. Now Elise inhaled the lemon-scented steam from the cup and tried to relax her limbs.

Someone yanked back the curtain that separated her bed from the other beds in the emergency room. A doctor approached her with a small tablet computer clutched under his arm.

He clicked his tongue. “It’s clear you’re not a jumper since you don’t have any injuries that would indicate you’d just hit the water at seventy-five miles per hour from a height of two hundred and twenty feet.”

Elise slurped the hot tea and rolled it on her tongue before swallowing. “I told Brock and the other city worker I didn’t jump. Didn’t they believe me?”

“The first report was of a jumper, but the EMT said you were attacked.”

She wrapped her hands around the cup as her ordeal knocked her over the head all over again. “I went into the water to avoid him.”

“Boyfriend? Husband?”

Elise’s jaw dropped. Everyone sure liked making assumptions. “A killer. A stranger. He abducted me from the street. I escaped.”

The doctor nodded as if this was his second guess all along. “Based on the EMT’s report of his conversation with you, the police are on their way.”

“Here?”

“They want to question you immediately. Once you’re warmed up, you’re free to go.” He tapped the tablet screen. “The nurse indicated you have a bump on the back of your head, too.”

“He hit me, maybe with the cast he had on his arm.”

“Says here you’re not showing any signs of concussion and the skin on your scalp didn’t break. How’s the head feeling?”

“My head is the least of my worries right now.”

The doctor snapped the computer shut. “You’re lucky. A few more minutes in that water and you’d be dead. It was a crazy thing to do.”

“A few more minutes with that maniac and I’d be dead. I figured the water gave me a better chance.”

The doctor lifted his shoulders in his white coat and stepped beyond the curtain to practice his feeble bedside manner on another emergency-room patient.

Beneath her warm blankets, Elise shivered at the memory of the man stalking her. Would the police be able to find him based on her description? And how accurate was that description? The man she’d helped outside the club had spoken to her with an English accent. That accent had disappeared when he’d been searching for her on the sand. How much of his appearance was phony, too? The beard? The mustache?

“Knock, knock. Ms. Duran?”

A male voice called from outside the curtain.

“That’s me.”

The man brushed aside the curtain and pulled it closed behind him. “I’m Detective Brody. How are you feeling, Ms. Duran?”

“Elise. You can call me Elise. I feel...warm.” And it wasn’t because a fine specimen of manhood had just emerged from curtain number three. At least she didn’t think it was.

“That’s good after what you’ve been through.” He pointed to the plastic chair by the wall. “May I?”

“Sure. Of course.” It beat craning her neck to look up at all six feet something of him.

“They’re keeping you warm enough?” He tipped his chin at the space heater glowing in the corner.

She nodded, although she wondered if she’d ever feel warm again.

Detective Brody dragged the chair to her bed and slipped out of his suit jacket. He hung it over the back of the chair, smoothing the expensive-looking material. Hunching forward, he withdrew a notepad and pen from the pocket of his crisp white shirt.

“The EMT reported that you were out in the bay trying to escape from someone. Tell me what happened from the beginning, Elise.”

His dark eyes zeroed in on her face, making her feel as if she were the only woman in the world. She shook her head. He was a policeman and she was a victim—she was the only woman in the world for him right now.

She took a deep breath. “I was coming out of a club on Geary Street at two in the morning—the Speakeasy. Do you know it?”

“Private club, right? Stays open past two.”

“My friend got invitations from a member.”

“Was your friend with you at—” he glanced at his notepad “—one-fifty?”

“I was alone. I left her inside the club.”

“Had you been drinking?”

His tone got sharper and the muscles in his handsome face got tighter. She was glad she wouldn’t have to disappoint him.

“One drink’s my limit, and I’d had that at around eleven o’clock when we first got there.”

His spiky dark lashes dropped over his eyes briefly, and Elise knew she’d just passed some test.

“How were you getting home?”

“Taxi. There’s no parking in that neighborhood. I had the bartender call me a taxi, and I went outside to wait for it.”

“What happened next?”

Goose bumps rippled across her arms, and she pulled the blanket up to her chin. “I saw a man standing beside a car. The trunk of the car was open.”

“Did he see you? Speak to you right away?”

“I’m sure he saw me, although we didn’t make eye contact. He must’ve seen me come out of the club, but by the time I looked at him he was bending over the open trunk.”

“What kind of car? Make? Model?”

Was he serious? “I’m not sure. It was a small, dark car, old.”

“Then what? Did he talk to you?”

Elise licked her lips, and she could still taste the salt from the bay. “He seemed to be struggling with something. Then he poked his head around the open trunk and asked me if I could give him a hand.”

“Did you?”

“I guess I shouldn’t have.” She knotted her fingers, studying his face for signs he thought she was an idiot. She didn’t see any.

“I walked toward him, and that’s when I noticed his arm.”

Detective Brody’s dark brows shot up. “His arm?”

“It was in a cast.”

The pen dropped from the detective’s fingers and rolled under the bed. He ducked to retrieve it. When he straightened in his chair, his handsome face was flushed.

He cleared his throat. “The man’s arm was in a cast?”

“A full cast almost up to his shoulder, like he had a broken arm. When he asked me for help, I...I didn’t think anything of it. I wasn’t suspicious, and he looked...”

“He looked what? What did he look like?”

She shrugged and the blanket slipped from one bare shoulder. “Normal. He looked normal—blond hair, kind of on the long side, jeans. Normal.”

“We’ll get to the rest of the description in a minute. So, what did you help him with?”

“A box.” She folded her arms across her stomach, where knots were forming and tightening. “There was a box on the ground that he was trying to get into his trunk.”

“And you helped him with the box?” His hand froze, poised over his notepad, where he’d been scribbling her every word since retrieving the pen.

“I didn’t get the chance.” She clutched her arms, digging her nails into her skin. “When I bent over the box, he hit me on the back of the head.”

Detective Brody jumped from the chair, knocking it to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” His sudden movement had caused her to jerk forward, and the blanket fell from her shoulders.

“A man with a cast asked you for help and then bashed your head in. Did he stuff you in the trunk?”

“Yes, yes. Has this happened before?”

Closing his eyes, he stuffed the notepad in the pocket of his shirt. His lips barely moved as he mumbled, “A long time ago.”

“What? A long time ago? Last year?” She hadn’t heard about any crazed killers in the news lately. Were the cops trying to hide a serial killer from tourists?

He righted the chair, brushed off his jacket and dropped onto the hard plastic. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “How’d you get out of the trunk? How’d you get away?”

Did he plan to let her know whether or not somebody was running around San Francisco abducting women?

“M-my dress must’ve gotten caught in the trunk when he closed it. I came to, and there was a light in the trunk.”

“Wouldn’t there have been some indicator on the dash that the trunk was open, alerting him?”

“I told you. It was an older car. Maybe there was no indicator. Maybe there was and he didn’t notice it.”

“You pushed open the trunk and jumped out?”

“Not right away. When I woke up, I was a little groggy and a lot terrified. The car was going fast, too. I waited until he slowed down. Once he did—” she pushed her hands against the air “—I shoved open the trunk and rolled out.”

“Ouch.”

“It beat the alternative.”

“But he heard you.” He dipped into his pocket and retrieved his notepad again.

“Yeah, the trunk lid sprang up, so he would’ve seen it. After I hit the ground and rolled, I jumped up and started running toward the shoreline, running into the fog.”

“You had a couple of things going for you tonight—the dress getting caught and the heavy fog.”

“I could barely see the lights on the bridge, and we were right there.”

“The bridge?” A muscle ticked in the corner of his mouth.

“The Golden Gate. He was driving down that road along the strip of shoreline at the base of the bridge, or close enough to the base before you pull into the parking lot there.”

“I know it.” He tapped the end of the pen against his thumbnail in a nervous gesture. “You’ve described the car. What about the man? Did you get a good look at him?”

“He had shaggy blond hair.” She skimmed her hand on the top of her shoulder. “Long. He had a full beard and mustache.”

“Height and weight?”

“I have no idea. He was kind of stooped over when I joined him at the car. He could’ve been short, but I think he was probably medium height because he was bent over. I think he only straightened up when he was behind me.”

“And was he a thin guy? Big?”

“Seemed heavyset, but he was wearing a jacket so it was hard to tell.”

“Other clothing?”

“Jeans, dark shirt, that bulky gray jacket.” She snapped her fingers. “Wait. He was wearing a jacket with elastic at the sleeves and had both sleeves pushed up. That’s how I saw the cast. And on the other arm, the one not in the cast, he had a tattoo.”

“Perfect. What was it?”

“It was a bird, a bird with wings spread open.”

The detective lifted his gaze from his notepad and drilled her with his dark eyes.

A chill zigzagged down her spine. Had she hit on something? He must know this killer. This had happened before.

He unbuttoned the left cuff of his pressed white shirt and pushed it up. “Do you know what kind of bird it was?”

“No—dark colors. It was hard to see. I just noticed the bird’s wings.”

Then he extended his forearm toward her. “Was it like this?”

A tattoo of a dark blue bird spreading his wings, his claws rising from a flame, decorated the detective’s forearm.

Elise clapped a hand over her mouth and jerked back against the bed. “Exactly like that.”

Chapter Two

The tattoo on Sean’s arm tingled and burned. Some killer had the same tattoo? And why this killer? The M.O. of someone luring women to his car by feigning an injury and then hitting them on the head was all too familiar to him.

Familiar and painful.

Now he’d gone and scared the color out of the victim—Elise, who was shrinking against her pillow, her face as white as the sheets. He’d already startled her when he jumped from his chair, knocking it over. No need for both of them to be freaking out right now.

Sean scooped in a breath and shook down his sleeve. “Similar to that, huh?”

“Similar? Exactly the same.”

Her blue eyes took up half her face, and she eyed him like a trapped animal.

He should’ve never shown her his tattoo. He’d completely misplaced his professional demeanor during this interview. A bird with spread wings—lots of tattoos like that out there.

“I doubt it’s exactly the same, Ms. Duran.”

“Elise.”

“Elise.” At least she still wanted him to use her first name. “You said it was dark. A bird is a bird.”

She chewed her lip and then relaxed her shoulders. “Can I see it again?”

He hadn’t buttoned his cuff, so he shoved the sleeve up his arm again and rotated his forearm.

She leaned forward and her blond hair tickled the inside of his elbow. She smelled salty—not at all what he expected from this blue-eyed blonde with the peaches-and-cream skin.

She wrinkled her nose. “I guess it could’ve been different. He had a bird tattoo. You have a bird tattoo.”

He smoothed down his sleeve and buttoned the cuff. “I’m glad we got that out of the way. I wanted to show you mine to see if it would prompt any more detail.”

Actually, he hadn’t been thinking at all. What did it matter if he and a killer both had a tattoo of a bird on their arms? Unless someone was trying to pin something on him.

Just as someone pinned something on Dad.

“I...I really didn’t mean to imply that I thought it was you out there.” She twisted her damp hair into a rope over her shoulder. “The similarity just startled me. You have to admit it’s a coincidence.”

Despite the warmth of the space, he slid into his jacket. “Yeah, a coincidence. A lot of people have tattoos today, but that detail might make it easier to find this guy.”

“I hope so. I’m not his first, am I?”

“I can’t say for sure, Elise.” He tucked his notepad into his jacket pocket. “Is the hospital releasing you soon?”

“The nurse is coming back to check my temperature. If it’s at a safe level, I’m free to go.”

“It’s almost morning. How are you getting home?”

“Taxi.” She hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. “My purse. It must’ve fallen on the ground outside the club.”

“Or he took it.”

She widened her baby blues, which seemed to get even bluer. “My license is in there, my phone, my credit card.”

He has her address and her contacts and God knows what else.

“If he tries to use the card, we can track him.”

“He knows my address now. I got away. I can give a description of him.” Her hands clawed at the sheets.

He resisted the urge to take one of those small fists in his hand. “Maybe he left the purse at the scene. We’ll call the club to see if anyone found it. We’re going to canvass outside the club anyway, see if he left any evidence, question the employees.”

Still clutching the sheets, she said, “I’m sure he has my purse. He called my name wh-when I was hiding from him. I never told him my name.”

A nurse peeked around the curtain and tiptoed to the bed in the small space. “Excuse me, Detective. I need to take her temperature.”

Sean scooted his chair back to give her room, and the nurse leaned over Elise, pinching a thermometer between her fingers and wheeling the machine on the stand closer to the bed.

“I’m just going to put this under your tongue and we’ll see how you’re doing.” The nurse made a tsking noise. “They could’ve done a better job drying your hair.”

Elise twirled a damp lock around her finger and shrugged.

The nurse peered at the thermometer. “You’re good to go. How do you feel? How’s the head?”

“I’m warm, I’m dry and my head hasn’t hurt since the last ibuprofen I took.”

“Then I’ll bring your clothes and have the doctor sign your release. I’m sorry we have to kick you out of the emergency room. You should see your own doctor as soon as possible for a once-over.”

“I will, thanks.”

When the nurse left, Elise clasped her hands in her lap, looking...lost.

Sean cleared his throat. “Since you don’t have your purse, can I give you a lift home? Unless you want to call a friend.”

Or a boyfriend? Husband? Surely this woman had someone in her life, someone to keep her safe.

“I’ll take the ride, if you don’t mind. My best friend is the one I went to the club with. I doubt she’s going to be up at this time of the morning. I doubt she’s going to be home.”

“I’m assuming you lost your keys, too. How are you going to get into your place?”

“I hide a set outside.”

“Not a great idea.” He started to shake a finger at her, and then snatched it back. She didn’t need one of his lectures on safety.

Color rushed into her pale cheeks as she dropped her gaze to her folded hands. “I guess it wasn’t a great idea to approach this guy at two in the morning on a deserted street, either.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Elise. He’s clever. Why would you think he’d be a danger with a cast on?”

He’s not the first killer to use this ploy, and he won’t be the last. He had to remember that, too. The M.O. wasn’t unique, just as bird tattoos weren’t unique.

“I should’ve known. My friend, Courtney, would’ve known. Street smarts she’d call it.”

“Is Courtney the one who stayed at the club past two and may not be home this morning?” He raised one eyebrow.

“Yeah.” A smiled hovered on lips.

“Doesn’t sound too street smart to me.”

“Here are your clothes.” The nurse had a plastic bag hanging from her wrist and a black dress dangling from her fingers. “We did our best to dry them, but I think the dress is ruined.”

“Oh, well. Small price to pay.” Elise took the dress from the nurse and shook it out.

Sean pushed up from the plastic chair. “I’ll be in the waiting room.”

It didn’t take long for Elise to get dressed. After he’d circled the waiting room twice and inspected and rejected the vending machine in the corner, Elise shuffled into the waiting room, hospital slippers on her feet and a snug black dress hugging her curves.

She crossed her bare arms, and Sean strode across the room, shrugging out of his jacket. “Can’t the hospital loan you a blanket for the trip home?”

“I think the nurse expected someone to pick me up and bring a change of clothes.”

He draped his jacket around her shoulders. “Do you want me to call someone for you?”

“It’s too early in the morning to call anyone.”

“Family?”

“None here.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Nonexistent.”

At least he’d gotten that out of the way. He pulled the jacket tight under her chin. It was as if her assailant had known she was alone. Maybe this wasn’t a random attack.

He pointed to her feet. “Can you walk in those things?”

“If I don’t pick up my feet, they’re surprisingly comfortable. My shoes have been swept out to sea by now.”

Sean had parked his unmarked car in the small driveway in front of the emergency room entrance. He guided Elise to the car with a hand on the small of her back. Comfortable or not, it looked as if she could trip over those slippers at any minute.

He opened the front passenger door for her and she ducked in the car, tugging at her short dress. Had it shrunk after her dip in the bay? The black, sparkly material barely covered her assets—not that he minded.

He cranked on the heater after cranking on the engine. “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m fine.” She wiggled her toes and tapped on the window. “Maybe we’ll get some clear weather today.”

“That fog saved you last night, or rather earlier this morning.”

“It did.” She pinned her hands, completely covered by the sleeves of his jacket, between her bouncing knees.

“Where to?” He rolled away from the curb, looking over his left shoulder.

“Sunset District. I live in a house—the owner has the upstairs and I get the downstairs. It was divided into two apartments.”

“Okay, just give me directions as we get closer.” He scratched his chin. He didn’t want to keep bringing up the attack, but that’s why he was here, wasn’t it?

“We need you at the station sometime today to work with a sketch artist. Even if the guy was wearing a disguise, maybe we can get down the shape of his face or some other distinguishing characteristic.”

“Like the tattoo.”

The pulse in his throat jumped. “Yeah, like the tattoo.”

“Do you mind if we stop on the way for a coffee or something hot? Just a takeout.”

“Sorry.” He drummed the steering wheel with his thumbs. “I should’ve thought of that. You probably still need something warm to drink.”

As he swung into a U-turn, Elise said, “Hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate it is.”

“With whipped cream.”

“Of course.”

She bit her lip. “I suppose I should learn to like coffee like a grown-up, but there’s something so comforting about hot chocolate.”

“After the experience you had, you deserve comfort.” And protection. And whipped cream.

“I don’t have to go in like this, do I?” She yanked at the hem of her dress, which had hitched up around her thighs.

“I’m parking right out front. You can wait in the car.”

“One of the perks of riding with a cop.”

He parked the car illegally at the curb and hopped out. Even though the sun was rising on the busy street and people bustled in and out of the busy coffeehouse, Sean kept his focus on his car and Elise’s profile through the window.

She must’ve been terrified coming to in that trunk. Despite her soft, feminine appearance, she had to be made of steel to have waded into the San Francisco Bay to avoid her captor.

Holding a cup of hot chocolate in one hand and a coffee in the other, he nudged open the door and strode toward the car. Before he reached the door, Elise hopped out and took both cups from him.

“Which is which?”

“Yours is on the right.”

She bent over into the car to secure his coffee in the cup holder. As she did so, her skimpy dress slid up dangerously high.

She backed out of the car, one hand flattening the dress against her thighs. When she straightened up, she rolled her eyes. “This dress was a lot longer when I started out last night.”

“I believe you.” He rubbed her arms as if to erase her goose bumps. “You shouldn’t be out here without my jacket, anyway.”

“I couldn’t figure out how to roll down the window. Must be locked.” She licked her lips and gave a little shiver—more like a wiggle.

It was the sexiest combination of moves ever aimed at him, and she didn’t even mean it—didn’t mean it as a come-on anyway.

“Get back in the car and wrap your hands around that hot chocolate. I asked for extra whipped cream.”

She scurried around to the other side of the car and huddled in his jacket again, one hand darting out to grab her cup.

She slurped a sip through the lid and closed her eyes. “Perfect.”

“Are you up for a few more questions?”

Her slim fingers tightened around the cup, but she nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Have you been having trouble with anyone? Gotten into any arguments? Coworkers? Neighbors?”

She snorted. “You think someone put out a hit on me?”

“Just covering all bases, Elise. What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m a teacher, a kindergarten teacher.”

Her students must love her sweet sincerity. You couldn’t fool kids that age.

“No trouble at the school?”

“Everyone’s great, no politics on the playground.”

“What about your landlord?”

“Oscar? He travels a lot. We get along great. I pay my rent on time and don’t have any wild parties. He’s my friend’s brother. That’s how I met her, Courtney.”

“Ex-boyfriends? Ex-husbands?”

She sipped her cocoa—too long.

“No.” She sucked in a breath. “It’s beautiful.”

“What?” He jerked his head to the side.

“The bridge. I’ve been here for almost a year now, and it always takes my breath away when I get an unexpected view of it.”

Sean grunted.

“They thought I was a jumper, you know.”

He gripped the steering wheel. “Who?”

“The city workers who discovered me. They thought I’d jumped from the bridge. How crazy is that?”

Sean’s eye twitched and he dug his knuckles into his eye to stop it. “Crazy. Chances are you wouldn’t be walking out of the water if you had.”

“I know there have been a few survivors, but I don’t think they swam to shore on their own.” She snuggled deeper into his jacket. “What would make someone do that?”

Sean lifted his tight shoulders. “Only they know. Right or left?”

She blinked her eyes. “Keep going straight, and then make a right at the next signal.”

“So, no bad blood between you and anyone?”

“No. I...I don’t like to fight—typically.”

Except for her life.

She guided him the rest of the way to her house, and he parked on the street. Single-family homes lined the block, but he could tell several of them were conversions.

She shrugged off his jacket and shoved her feet into the paper slippers. “Thank you, Detective Brody. Will you call me to let me know what time to come down to the station? If you give me something to write on, I’ll jot down my home phone number. I guess my cell is gone.”

Did she really think he’d drop her curbside while some lunatic had her purse, her address and her keys?

“I’ll walk you up.”

She thrust her arms into the sleeves of his jacket and scrambled from the car, holding on to her cup.

She led him to the side of the house and through a gate onto a brick walkway. Holding up her finger, she dipped beside a planter. She raked through the dirt and pulled out a key.

He’d seen better hiding places, but at least she hadn’t stashed the key beneath the welcome mat.

She puckered her lips and blew on the key before inserting it into the dead bolt. It clicked.

The key scraped when she pulled it out of the lock, and Sean’s stomach knotted with the sound. He cinched her wrist as she reached for the doorknob.

“Wait. Me first.”

Her gaze darted to the door and back to his face. She dipped her chin and stumbled back.

He withdrew his weapon from his shoulder holster and edged open the door. Coiling his muscles, he stepped into Elise’s house.

The rising sun filtered through the slats of her blinds, throwing a vertical pattern across the deep blue carpet on the floor. A low light glowed beneath a whimsical lampshade painted with flowering vines. Colorful children’s books littered a coffee table in the shape of a piece of driftwood.

Sean eased out a slow breath and took another step into the inviting room. “Everything look okay in here?”

She peered around his body, nudging his arm with her head. “Looks fine to me.”

Something scratched at the sliding glass door, and Elise grabbed his biceps, digging her nails into the material of his shirt. She released a noisy sigh along with his arm and pointed to the door. “My mangy friend is looking for a handout.”

A gray-and-white-striped cat pawed at the door again, flicked his tail and walked away.

“How many rooms?”

“This one.” She waved an arm in front of her. “You can see the kitchen, and then there are two bedrooms and a bathroom down the hall. That door leads to the garage.”

“That would be a good place to start.” Sean swung open the door to the garage. A little hybrid crouched in the center of the garage floor and well-ordered shelves surrounded it. A washer and dryer were tucked in a corner. Not many places to hide here. He took a look under the car for the heck of it.

“Let’s have a look in the bedrooms just to be on the safe side.”

“I’m all for safe.”

She led the way down the short hallway, and Sean tried really hard to drag his gaze away from her swaying hips and the dress that seemed to be shrinking by the minute.

The doors to both bedrooms yawned open, and after a cursory look at the rooms and in the closets, Elise assured him all was well.

She traipsed down the hall to the bathroom at the end, calling over her shoulder. “It’s a good thing I have a small house.”

She tripped to a stop at the bathroom door and gasped. “Oh!”

With his heart thudding, Sean took two giant steps to join her. The room tilted and he slammed a hand against the doorjamb to stop the spinning.

Elise hooked a finger through his belt loop. “Wh-what does it mean?”

Sean’s eyes burned as he read the words on the bathroom mirror in red lipstick: Here we go again, Brody.

“I don’t know what it means.”

Sean ran the back of his hand across his mouth.

Oh, but he did. He knew exactly what it meant.

Chapter Three

Elise’s gaze edged from the lipstick words on her mirror to the cop’s reflection. Brody—that was his name. Why had someone scrawled it on her bathroom mirror along with a cryptic message?

She loosened her hold on his belt loop and crept closer to the vanity. Wedging her hands on the tile, she leaned toward the words on the glass.

“Don’t touch anything.”

“Oops!” She snatched her hands off the vanity. “Do you think he left fingerprints?”

“Maybe.”

The color had returned to Detective Brody’s face, but his expression remained hard and tight, alert. The tension vibrating from his body wrapped her in its coils, creating an ache in her shoulders.

She coughed. “It’s him, isn’t it? The man who abducted me.”

“He has, or at least had, your purse and your driver’s license. He found your house and used your key to get inside.”

His matter-of-fact words socked her in the gut. She sank to the edge of the tub and folded over to pin her forehead onto her knees.

Detective Brody crouched beside her, curling one warm hand around her bare calf. “You need to get your locks changed and get out of here for now.”

Poor small-town girl lost in the big city. Everyone back home had predicted she wouldn’t last six months here. She’d doubled that and would continue to prove them wrong.

Hot anger cascaded through her body, and she curled her hands into fists. She jerked her head up and pushed the hair out of her face. Time to take control of this situation.

She hadn’t been Ty’s victim back in Montana, and she didn’t plan to be anyone’s victim here in San Francisco despite what her family feared. It started with answers. It started with Brody.

She planted a finger on Detective Brody’s granitelike chest. “Why is this guy communicating with you? How does he even know you’re on this case?”

He blinked, his spiky lashes and dark eyes momentarily distracting her from her purpose.

Her finger drilled farther into his starched shirt. “I want some straight answers. Is this guy a serial killer? Has he been communicating with you?”

Brody shifted away from the accusatory finger and rose to his feet, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his gray slacks. “The only serial killer we have at work right now in the city is a guy killing transients. You’re hardly his typical victim.”

She ground her teeth together. “I’m nobody’s victim. I got away, remember?”

“I do.” He raised his eyebrows.

She didn’t expect him to understand the vehemence behind her words, and she didn’t care what he thought about it. “So, why is this guy sending you messages via my bathroom mirror? How did he know you’d be here, in my house?”

“A lot of serial killers follow other cases.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and lifted his shoulders. “I’ve been a homicide detective in the city for several years. My name’s been in the papers a few times. He obviously knows who I am and correctly figured I’d be working this case.”

Her gaze slid to his forearm, where the sleeve of his shirt hid the bird tattoo. Then she looked into his dark eyes, shuttered and secretive. Weren’t the criminals supposed to be the ones with the secrets, not the cops?

“And he knew you’d be here?”

“Maybe not, but he assumed you’d tell the cops about his little message.” He pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “I’m going to call this in, get a tech down here to dust for fingerprints.”

His expression and tone told her she’d get nothing more out of him. She smacked her hand against the doorjamb. “And I’m going to get my locks changed.”

“You’re going to stay here, in this house?”

She wedged her hands on her hips. “Where would I go? I’m a kindergarten teacher, not an heiress like London Breck. I can’t afford to camp out in a hotel until you catch this guy... If you catch this guy.”

“How about staying with a friend?”

“Indefinitely?” She jerked her thumb at the ceiling. “I have Oscar.”

“Oscar?”

“Oscar Chu, my landlord.” She formed a gun with her fingers and pointed at him. “I also have my .22.”

“You have a gun?”

“It’s in my closet and it’s unloaded, but yeah I have a gun and I know how to use it.” A smile pulled at one side of his mouth, and Elise narrowed her eyes. “You find it funny that I have a handgun? I can assure you it’s all legal.”

“I find it...awesome.” He tilted his phone toward her. “Get someone out here to change your locks then, and I’ll get a tech to dust for fingerprints in case this guy got even more careless than writing a message on a mirror.”

She tiptoed down the hallway and ducked into her office to retrieve her laptop to look up locksmiths in the area.

“After you call the locksmith, why don’t you check around to see if anything is missing? I’ll take a look at your doors and windows.”

She tapped her computer and called out, “My laptop’s still here, and I don’t think you’re going to find any signs of a break-in. It’s pretty apparent he used my key to get in.”

“Look around anyway.”

She pulled open a drawer in her dining nook where she kept a camera and her MP3 player. Both were undisturbed. “I don’t think he was interested in stealing anything, just game playing.”

“Obviously, he used your key. I’m not checking your doors and windows to see how he got in.”

She returned to the bathroom door with the laptop tucked under one arm. “What for then?”

Brody balanced on the edge of her tub and peered at the small frosted window above it. “I’m just making sure he didn’t rig something so he can get back in once you change the locks.”

She shivered and hugged the computer to her chest. “I’m glad someone’s mind works that way.”

“Keep looking. Maybe he left something behind.” He jumped from the tub, surprisingly light on his feet for a big guy.

She settled the laptop on the kitchen table and did a search for locksmiths. She placed a call to one who worked weekends and made emergency calls.

While Brody continued checking the doors and windows, Elise rifled through her drawers and closets. She didn’t find anything amiss, but the thought of that maniac in her house gave her pause every once in a while, and she had to close her eyes to catch her breath.

She had no intention of telling her folks back home about this. She could picture the pinched faces and I-told-you-so’s already. They didn’t need to know. Of course, there’d be no hiding it if she wound up dead.

A figure moved across her window, and she gasped and crossed her hands over her heart. She crept closer and let out a long breath when she saw Brody poking around the plants by the sliding glass door.

She rapped on the glass, and he looked up. He’d tossed his tie over his shoulder and rolled up his shirt sleeves, his tattoo peeking from the cuff.

She wouldn’t mind seeing that sight out her window every morning.

She unlocked the window and shoved up the sash. Pressing her nose to the mesh screen, she called out, “Find anything weird?”

He thrust one arm into the tangle of flowers and withdrew a blue ball of glass. He cradled it in his hands, lifting it as if in offering. “Just this. What is it?”

Her face warmed, but he probably couldn’t see her heightened color through the screen. “It’s just some decoration.”

The woman at the psychic shop in The Haight had told her it would ward off evil. Guess the killer with the fake English accent hadn’t come through the backyard.

Someone knocked on the front door.

“That’s either your guy or my locksmith.”

“Don’t answer it yet. Wait for me.”

She slammed the window shut and rubbed her fingers together to brush away the dust.

Detective Brody stepped through the sliding glass door from the patio and strode to the front of the house. Leaning forward, he placed his eye at the peephole. “That’s my guy.”

He swung open the door. “You’re fast, Jacoby.”

“So are you.” The short, powerfully built man hoisted a black bag off his shoulder. “You haven’t even written your report yet and you’re working the case.”

Detective Brody pointed down her hallway. “The man who abducted Ms. Duran made his way back to her place and left a message on the mirror.” He gestured to Elise. “This is Elise Duran, the vic—the woman who got away.”

His words caused a warm glow in her tummy. A man who listened.

“I’m Dan Jacoby, fingerprint tech extraordinaire.” They shook hands and he squeezed her fingertips as if trying to get a read on her pads. “You’re one brave lady.”

“Nice to meet you, and I did what anyone would do to get away.” She waved a hand behind her. “Do you want to see the mirror first?”

“After you.”

Jacoby followed her so closely, she tugged on the hem of her skirt. She really needed to put on some clothes.

Elise led the two men to her bathroom and pushed the door wide, not that the small space could accommodate all three of them. Side by side, the shoulders of the two men could practically span the room.

Jacoby whistled through his teeth. “You failed to mention he’d left the message for you, Brody.”

“Yeah, one of these megalomaniacs seeking attention. He’s not happy just committing murder. He wants to make sure everyone knows how smart he is.”

“The joys of being a homicide detective. These nut jobs know your names, follow your careers.” Jacoby dropped his bag on the tile floor. “Give me my fingerprints and anonymity.”

While Jacoby unzipped the bag, Brody tugged on her arm. “Let’s give him some room to work, unless you want to watch.”

She backed out of the bathroom. “That’s okay. I’ll wait for my locksmith.”

She didn’t know if it was Jacoby’s muscles or personality, but his presence overpowered the bathroom.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

Again, Brody went to it first and peered through the peephole. He opened the door a crack. “Yeah?”

“Someone called for a locksmith.” The locksmith held out a card between two fingers.

Brody plucked it from his grip and showed it to Elise.

She nodded. “That’s the company I called.”

Brody widened the door, and the locksmith stamped his feet on the mat outside.

“Show me what you need.”

“All locks with a key, changed.” Elise twisted the doorknob. “Starting with this one, as well as the dead bolt. There’s an interior door to the garage, too. Same key.”

“Can you show me some ID?” He eyed Detective Brody. “You’re not the only careful ones around here. We have to look up the title to the house and verify the owner.”

Elise twisted her fingers. “I’m not the owner. The owner lives upstairs and he’s not home.”

The locksmith squinted at a piece of paper in his hands. “Who’s the owner?”

“Oscar Chu.”

“Yep. That’s what I have here.”

“I can give you his cell. He’ll vouch for me.”

Detective Brody stepped between her and the locksmith, whipping out his badge. “I’ll vouch for her. I’m Detective Sean Brody, and Ms. Duran needs her locks changed for security reasons.”

The locksmith scratched his jaw as he eyed the badge. “If you say so.”

Elise pressed her lips together as she led the locksmith to the door leading to the garage. While she felt grateful that Detective Brody had intervened and smoothed the way for her to get her locks changed, his take-charge attitude on her behalf left a sour taste in her mouth. She’d had her fill of it from her father and brothers.

Shaking her head, she rolled back her shoulders. This situation bore little resemblance to the way the male members of her family had tried to control her life. This was a matter of life and death, not marriage and betrayal.

And here she thought she’d gotten over the “all men are scum” stage.

She tapped the garage door. “Just match the dead bolts and door handle locks for the garage and the front door, and give me two keys—three. I’d better give one to Oscar.”

“You got it.” The locksmith dropped to his knees, his toolbox clinking and clanking as he set it on the floor next to him.

Elise wandered back to the bathroom, where Detective Brody was parked against the door jamb. “Anything interesting?”

Jacoby looked up, running a hand over his shaved head. “Nope. Looks like one set of prints, and I’m assuming they’re yours. Do you live alone?”

“Yes.” And that was all she had to say on the subject. She slid a glance at Brody, who was intently watching the tech’s work. She hadn’t brought a date back to her house since moving to San Francisco.

She didn’t trust these smooth-talking city boys much. If she couldn’t read a boy she’d known all her life back home in Montana, what chance did she have figuring out some metrosexual urban dweller?

Since Brody seemed consumed with interest in what Jacoby was doing, Elise took the opportunity to assess the detective—not the metrosexual type at all, although he had the clothes. After a year of hanging out with Courtney, she’d learned to recognize an expensive suit when she saw one. The drape of Brody’s suit screamed custom-tailored, but the fine material and precise cut couldn’t mask the naked power of the man.

He practically hummed with purpose and strength—a man’s man her brothers would call him. If her brothers approved of him, that might be reason enough to steer clear, but Brody didn’t possess any of the cockiness and good old boyness that characterized her brothers and Ty.

Steer clear? She’d let her imagination get way ahead of her. She didn’t have to steer clear of or move in on Detective Brody. He was a cop investigating a crime—a crime aimed at her. Heck, he could be married for all she knew. A surreptitious inventory of his left hand suggested otherwise.

Jacoby tossed the last of his implements in his bag, and Elise jumped.

Detective Brody made a half turn and cupped her elbow. “Still nervous? Even when the locksmith changes the locks, you don’t have to stay here. You don’t have anything to prove—to me.”

Elise swallowed. Had she been so transparent? “Is the SFPD going to foot the bill for my room at the Fairmont?”

“Uh, no.”

“Then it looks like I’m digging in here.”

“Before I take a look at the doors and windows, press your index finger on the pad and then roll it onto this card.” Jacoby held out a small white ink pad cupped in his palm and a card pinched between the fingers of his other hand. “Just want to have your fingerprints on file to compare with these.”

She plucked the pad from his hand and pressed her finger against the smooth ink. “I’m a teacher. My fingerprints are already on file.”

“That helps. And teachers are the best. My mom was a teacher.” Smiling, he put the card on the vanity, and she rolled her finger from right to left.

Jacoby tucked the pad and card in a side pocket of his bag and then patted it. “All set. I’m just going to take a quick look at the front door.”

They watched his work for several more minutes and then Detective Brody hovered over the locksmith, asking a million questions.

Elise smirked. The guy probably couldn’t wait to finish up this job.

Jacoby came in from the patio and hoisted his bag over his broad shoulder. “Nothing much of anything.”

“Thanks, Dan. Send me your findings, and I’ll include them in my report.”

When he reached the door, Jacoby turned. “I’m glad you’re okay. This could be the work of a serial killer. Your attack could be linked to that woman’s body we found dumped near the Presidio.”

Elise whipped her head around toward Detective Brody. “I thought you said there’d been nothing matching this M.O.?”

He shot a dark look at Jacoby, who shrugged. “We know very little about that murder. It could be related to the transient killings.”

“That woman had a bump on the back of her head, too. He could’ve hit her and stuffed her in a trunk before he did...other things.”

A frisson of fear tickled her spine, but Elise preferred to concentrate on the anger boiling her blood. “It sure sounds like it could be related. Why is the SFPD hiding these murders? Women have a right to know if they’re being hunted down in the streets.”

“Stop.” Detective Brody crossed his two index fingers, one over the other. “You’ve both made a lot of leaps here. We’re not hiding anything. That murder had a couple of columns in the paper. Maybe you skipped the front page that day.”

Elise sucked in her bottom lip. She didn’t even get the newspaper. She got most of her news from the internet, and she had to admit she didn’t search for murder stories.

“Miss?” The locksmith poked his head around the corner of the hallway. “The garage door’s done. I’m going to start on the front door.”

“Perfect.” Elise opened the door for Jacoby. “I suppose you’re not going to find anything from the evidence you collected. He wouldn’t go to all the trouble of letting himself into my house to scrawl messages and then leave a nice set of his fingerprints.”

“You’re probably right, but I’ll let Sean here know if I find anything out of the ordinary. He’s the man.”

He swung his bag from one shoulder to the other and saluted as he walked to the sidewalk.

Elise stepped away from the door, leaving it open for the locksmith. “What now?”

“I’ll wait for him to finish with your locks, and then I have to go back to the station to write up my report.”

“Do you want to tell me about that other woman? The one dumped by the Presidio?”

“Not really. You don’t want to hear the gory details.”

“How do you know?” Tugging at the hem of her dress, she sat on the arm of the couch. “I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

“I have no doubt about that. Anyone who can escape a killer by wading into the San Francisco Bay is hard as nails.”

“I would’ve done anything to escape him.” She folded her arms across her chest. “So why do you think I can’t handle the details of a murder?”

He rubbed his eye with his knuckle. “Because it’s ugly and sordid. Why invite that into your world when it doesn’t have to be there? There are some images that you can never erase from you mind.”

She gripped her upper arms, digging her nails into her flesh. He should know. Maybe she didn’t want to hear the particulars.

Voices at the door had Elise raising her eyebrows at Brody. He headed across the room first, blocking her view.

The locksmith rose. “This guy’s looking for Ms. Duran. Says he found her stuff.”

Elise’s steps quickened. “Really? My purse?”

A man dressed in running shorts and a sweaty T-shirt held up her small black bag from last night. “I found this on the street, a few blocks up. I looked inside, found your license and knew the address was back this way.”

She moved forward, hands extended. “Thank you.”

“Wait.” Brody handed her a white handkerchief. “In case he left prints.”

As she poked around in the purse, Brody asked, “What time did you find it?”

“Just now. Maybe five minutes ago.” The runner was already backing down the porch.

“Can I get your name and address?”

“Hey, man, I didn’t steal the purse.”

Brody held up a hand with his badge cupped in the palm. “I’m not accusing you of anything, just in case we have further questions.”

Hopping from one foot to the other, the man gave Brody his name and address and then took off at a sprint.

The locksmith pointed his drill at the runner’s retreating form. “Nervous, huh?”

Brody took her arm and steered her back to the kitchen. “Anything missing?”

“Let’s see.” She held up her hand and counted off from the first finger. “My money, my keys, my lipstick.”

“Your lipstick?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the bathroom.

“Different shade, but now that makes two of my lipsticks he’s stolen.”

“Even if he hadn’t kept your keys, you would’ve still had to change your locks since he got a look at your license.”

“I know.” She slipped her cell phone from the bag. “At least he left me my phone.”

She glanced at the display and noticed two text messages blinking. “Do you want something to eat or drink while we’re waiting for the locks?”

“Just some water, please.”

She placed the phone and handkerchief on the kitchen counter and went to the refrigerator to fill a glass with water from the dispenser. She clinked the glass in front of him and swept her phone from the tile.

She opened the first message, which Courtney had sent earlier this morning. One word—breakfast? If Courtney thought she had a lot to tell Elise about last night, Elise definitely had her beat.

She clicked on the next message from an unknown number. Someone had sent her a picture. A wisp of apprehension brushed the back of her neck as she touched the picture to expand it.

The eyes of the girl in the picture mesmerized her, and she felt darkness closing in around her.

Chapter Four

Elise dropped the phone. The corner hit the counter and bounced once before landing facedown. Her body convulsed, and then she began to sway.

“Elise?” He caught her with one arm, supporting her against his chest. He barely felt the pressure from her tiny frame. Was she having some kind of delayed shock or reaction to the hypothermia?

He started to lead her out of the kitchen, but she dug her heels in the floor.

“The phone.” The rasp in her voice made it sound as if she were choking.

“Sit first. I’ll get the phone in a second.” He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the couch. Her dress had hiked up nearly around her waist, exposing an expanse of smooth thigh and a pair of wrinkled black panties.

He settled her on the couch and dragged a colorful afghan across her lap. “What’s on the phone?”

He charged back into the kitchen. Had her abductor sent her a message, too? Good. The better to track him down.

Her teeth chattered. “I-it’s a p-picture.”

Sean snapped on a rubber glove and touched the screen, bringing it to life. He swore at the image—a young woman, bound, her eyes wide and terrified above her gag.

“Do you know her?”

“Wh-what?”

Sean sat beside Elise and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pressing her close against his body. Gradually, her trembling subsided.

He rubbed her arm. “Do you know the woman in the picture?”

She shook her head, and her hair, still stiff from the salt water, scratched his cheek.

“The number. Do you recognize the telephone number?”

“No.” She took a deep breath that caused a shudder to run through her body. “It came up as unknown. He sent that to me, that vile, horrible...” Her words broke off in a sob.

“Shh.” He wrapped his other arm around her so that he enfolded her in a hug, and still the ripples coursed through her.

She tilted her head back and stared into his face. “She’s in the trunk of a car, isn’t she? Just like me.”

“It looks like it. He’s an idiot. He’s allowed his hubris to get the better of him. We’re going to blow up this picture, trace the phone number. He’s just given us a bunch of evidence we didn’t have before.”

“And the girl? Do you think she’s dead?”

Of course she was dead. “I don’t know, Elise. It doesn’t look good.”

“That could’ve been me. That was me, only he didn’t tie me up. Maybe he perfected his technique after I got away.”

“We have no idea when this picture was taken. I don’t think he went out after you escaped this morning and found another woman.”

This morning. Did all this just happen today? She chewed on her bottom lip. “I want it off my phone.”

“I know you do.” He stuffed the phone in his pocket. “But right now the picture is evidence, and so is your phone. We need to find that girl.”

“Have there been any missing girls reported?”

“Always.” He didn’t plan to tell Elise about all the sad stories that crossed their desks, all the calls from desperate family members. He traced the edges of her phone with the pads of his fingers. Which family members would claim this one?

“Why did he send that to me?” Elise buried her face in her hands. “I’ll never be able to get that image out of my head.”

“He’s a sadist.” And somehow he’d dialed into him. Maybe the killer knew about his past, maybe he didn’t, but now they were tied together. That message on the mirror tied them together.

“Ms. Duran, I’m all done with the locks on the front door.” The locksmith poked his head around the front door. If he’d heard any of their conversation, he gave no sign.

Elise tried the locks and then settled the bill with him, but it was obvious her mind remained on that picture on her phone.

“He’s a serial killer, isn’t he? He’s a serial killer you don’t know about yet. He’s just getting started and he wants to play some sick game with you...and now me.”

It was a game he knew too well. He gestured around the small house. “Are you going to be okay here? I have to get to the station, turn in your phone and purse.”

She glanced over her shoulder toward the hallway. “I have to take a shower.”

“Do you want me to wait here? When you’re done, I can take you to the station with me and you can look through some mug shots.”

“Would you do that?” She was already moving toward the back rooms. “I won’t be long.”

He waved a hand. “Take your time. I’m going to call in and report this picture. Maybe they can get a trace started when I give them your phone number.”

She ducked into her bedroom and then darted across the hall to the bathroom, clutching a bundle of clothes to her chest.

Sean let out a long breath and collapsed onto Elise’s colorful couch. What the hell was going on? Why did the guy who abducted Elise share a similar tattoo with him? Why did he write a message to him on Elise’s mirror? This had to be a coincidence.

Serial killers had toyed with homicide detectives way before his father’s time, and they’d continue to do so long after Sean’s career. When he saw the message, Dan Jacoby hadn’t jumped to any conclusions and Dan definitely knew the story of his past.

He was probably overreacting. That’s what his brothers would tell him, but as the eldest the burden had weighed most heavily on him. Hell, Judd could barely even remember the old man, couldn’t remember the life they’d had before...before everything had been sucked into the bay by a strong, merciless current.

He plowed his fingers through his hair and shifted to the end of the couch. The soft cushions made it tough to sit up straight, so he gave up and slouched against the back of the couch while he made his call.

When he heard the water in the shower shut off, he struggled off the couch and began to pace the small room.

Elise emerged from the bathroom on a cloud of fragrant steam. She’d pulled her blond hair into a ponytail and had replaced her ridiculously small dress with a pair of tight jeans and a beige cable sweater, giving her a blond-on-blond look that made her jaw-droppingly beautiful. He kept his jaw in place.

“Do you still think it’s a good idea to stay here on your own?”

“Probably not. I’m going to have to change my cell phone number when I get that new phone.” She slid a knotted scarf from the back of a chair. “I don’t want any more surprises from this guy.”

She headed to the door leading to the garage, and Sean stopped. “You’re not coming with me?”

“I think it’s easier for me to take my car, so I don’t have to bother you for a ride back here.”

“It’s no bother.” Bother? He didn’t want to let Elise out of his sight.

She slid her new key in and out of the dead bolt. “I decided I’m going to call my friend Courtney to see if I can crash at her place for a few days. If it’s okay with her, I’m going to head over there this afternoon.”

“Good idea. Follow me to the station, and you can park in the lot there.”

He sat in his idling car until Elise’s garage door opened and her little hybrid rolled down the driveway. He kept an eye on his rearview mirror, stopping at every yellow light.

He sure as hell hoped the killer’s fascination with Elise came to an end soon. He could bring it to an end sooner rather than later if he caught this guy. Then he could find out why he was sending him personal messages.

He cruised into the station’s parking garage with Elise close on his tail. The morning shift had already gone out, depleting the ranks of patrol cars waiting in their slots.

Sean swung into an empty space at the end of the row, and Elise parked next to him.

“We’re really in the bowels of the police station here, aren’t we?”

“Shh, don’t tell anyone we have all this parking down here.” He led her to the elevator, and after a short ride, the doors opened onto a corridor bustling with both cops in and out of uniform and civilians.

He nodded at a few people on his way to homicide, trying not to read suspicion in their eyes. He’d have to lose this paranoia if he hoped to catch this guy and help Elise. Because he did want to help Elise.

He pulled out a chair on the other side of his cluttered desk. “Have a seat. I’m taking your phone to the lab, and I’ll try to round up a sketch artist. We might have to call one in. Coffee? Water?”

“I’m fine.” She folded her hands in her lap, her wide eyes taking in the activity of the room.

Yanking a binder from his drawer, he said, “You can pass the time looking at mug shots.”

He left Elise running her finger across the plastic inserts in the binder. He dropped off the phone with instructions to print, blow up and distribute the picture the killer had sent. He put the word out for a sketch artist, and then he stopped by the coffee machine.

By the time he returned to his desk, Elise was halfway through the six-packs of mug shots in the binder he’d left with her.

Flipping a page, she looked up at his approach.

“Any luck?” He dropped into his chair and loosened his tie.

“No.” She tapped the book. “Who are these guys, again?”

“Killers, rapists, batterers.”

She flinched and jerked her hand back from the page. “Why are they out on the streets?”

“They did the crime and then did their time.” His hand tightened around his coffee cup. “I rounded up a sketch artist for you. Do you want to give it a try after you finish looking at those mug shots?”

“Sure, although I don’t know how much help I’m going to be. It was dark, and he wore a disguise—I’m positive about that. I should’ve realized that much facial hair was concealing something.”

Elise seemed determined to blame herself and her naïveté for the attack. He couldn’t sit back and allow her to browbeat herself.

He pushed away his coffee, and it sloshed over the edge. “The majority of men who have beards and moustaches are not criminals or trying to hide anything. That’s not a clue that anyone would’ve picked up on.”

Her face awash in pink, Elise smacked the book of six-packs closed. “None of these guys looks even vaguely familiar to me except one who’s the spitting image of my geometry teacher, and I’m probably just projecting because I hated geometry.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I doubt your geometry teacher is moonlighting as a criminal in San Francisco from...wherever it is you’re from.”

“Montana. Is it so obvious I’m not from the city?”

It was to him. She lacked that brittle edge so many urbanites had. But far be it from him to stoke the image she had of herself as the country bumpkin in the big, bad city.

He shrugged. “Not at all. I think you mentioned living here for just a year.”

Nodding, she relaxed her shoulders and slumped against the back of the chair.

Sean picked up the receiver of his phone and punched the button for one of the interrogation rooms. Tony Davros, the sketch artist, picked up. “You’re already there. You must be ready for the witness.”

Sean pushed back his chair as he stood up, dropping the receiver back in the cradle. “Let’s see what you can give us on this guy.”

Elise followed him to the interrogation room, her head cranking from side to side as they waded through ringing phones, shouts across the room and people crisscrossing the space with papers or files clutched in their hands.

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s noisier than a kindergarten classroom in here.”

“Probably about the same level of maturity, too.” He pushed open the door to the interrogation room and ushered her inside.

Davros stood up and extended his hand. “I’m Tony Davros, Ms. Duran. Wish we were meeting under happier circumstances.”

Sean raised one eyebrow in Davros’s direction. That’s the most words he’d heard from the artist’s mouth in almost two years. Davros had even pulled out a chair for Elise.

First Jacoby and now the sketch artist. He got it. Elise’s fresh-faced, angelic appearance spurred men on to chivalrous deeds, prompting them to pull out chairs and hand over jackets. Even the typically surly Davros wasn’t immune.

“Me, too.” She shook Davros’s hand and dropped onto the wooden chair. “I’m afraid the man was wearing a disguise—beard, wig, glasses, even a phony accent.”

“That’s not uncommon.” Davros swept his palm across a piece of sketch paper and caressed his pencil. “We’ll start with the shape of his face—what you could see of it.”

The two of them went back and forth for several minutes, the artist coaxing and praising as his pencil moved swiftly across the page in front of him.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Sean sauntered to where Davros sat hunched over his sketch pad, the tip of his tongue lodged in the corner of his mouth as he further defined the nose of the suspect.

Sean squinted at the face. Would someone be able to recognize him without the beard and moustache? Davros’s job entailed drawing another picture without the facial hair and glasses, perhaps with shorter hair.

“That’s close to what I remember.” Elise tossed her ponytail over her shoulder as she leaned over the drawing.

A sharp rap at the door interrupted them, and before Sean could even offer an invitation, it swung open and banged against the wall.

Sergeant Curtis from homicide, his eyes bugging out, thrust his head into the room. “We just got a call from patrol about a dead body, and I think you’re going to want to head out there, Brody.”

Sean’s heart slammed against his rib cage. “And why is that?”

“It’s the girl in the picture.”

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