Their mission to catch a killer

may make them his next victims

Jake Lamont needs evidence to finally catch his twin sister’s killer, and blog reporter Monica Wright is the only person who can help him. Monica’s motive for justice may be different than Jake’s, but they both want the serial killer off the streets. As the stakes grow higher, Jake knows he needs to stay focused. Because letting down his guard may cost him the life of another woman he loves.

CARLA CASSIDY is an award-winning, New York Times bestselling author who has written more than one hundred novels for Mills & Boon. In 1995, she won Best Silhouette Romance from RT Book Reviews for Anything for Danny. In 1998, she won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series from RT Book Reviews. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write.

Also by Carla Cassidy

Desperate Strangers

Desperate Intentions

Scene of the Crime: Bridgewater, Texas Scene

of the Crime: Bachelor Moon

Scene of the Crime: Widow Creek

Scene of the Crime: Mystic Lake

Scene of the Crime: Black Creek

Scene of the Crime: Return to Bachelor Moon

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Desperate Measures

Carla Cassidy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 9781474093989

DESPERATE MEASURES

© 2019 Carla Bracale

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

About the Publisher

Chapter One

“And the winner of this year’s most innovative design in the Kansas City area goes to Jake Lamont of Lamont and Star Architects Incorporated,” the emcee for the night announced.

Jake rose as the people in the ballroom stood and clapped. He pasted on a fake smile, the same one he’d been wearing for the past couple of years, and made his way to the podium to retrieve the large shiny trophy.

He wove through the white-draped tables holding the remnants of a dinner that had consisted of a piece of dry chicken with a strange, mysterious green sauce over the top and potatoes and purple cauliflower on the side.

The meal had been horrible. The night already seemed endless, and he knew after the official itinerary was over there was still a cocktail party that would be filled with congratulations and glad-handing.

He should be thrilled with the recognition he’d just received, but it was an empty victory without Suzanna standing by his side. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stand beside him because she was dead. He shoved these painful thoughts away as he accepted his award with a short speech.

Twenty minutes later he stood in a circle of other architects talking about the huge renewal projects taking place in the Kansas City downtown district.

“I’ve got to admit it, your building at Tenth and Main is a real visual beauty,” John Davis said. “And you’re working on another one, aren’t you?”

Jake nodded. “Third and Main is also mine.”

“That’s going to be some addition to the skyline,” Richard Burke said. “What is it? Eighteen...twenty stories high?”

“Actually, it’s twenty-two stories,” Jake replied.

He stiffened slightly as Tim Lathrop joined the group. Jake and the dark-haired man with his cold blue eyes were often in competition for a job, and Tim had a reputation for not always playing nice.

“You know that award should have gone to me,” he said.

“You can take it up with the members of the committee if you think a mistake was made,” Jake replied.

Suddenly he was exhausted. He was tired of the fake smile he’d sported all night long. He wanted to rip off his gray-and-black tie and get out of his black suit and into something casual. The polite social chatter was wearing on him. He had so many other important things on his mind...things like murder.

It took another half an hour before he finally took his leave. He stepped out of the building where the celebration had been held and into the oppressively hot late-August night air. He made his way to his car parked down the block and as he walked he yanked to loosen the tie around his neck.

He couldn’t wait to get home in his own space. All he wanted at the moment was a drink and his recliner, where he didn’t have to smile or interact with anyone.

This was the first real social event he’d attended in the past two years and he’d found it beyond exhausting. He wouldn’t have attended at all if it hadn’t been for him receiving an award.

He’d only gone a short distance when a female voice called out from behind him. He turned and saw a petite, dark-haired woman hurrying toward him.

He frowned. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her and in any case had no idea what she wanted with him. She wasn’t one of the attendees of the night’s festivities, for instead of wearing a cocktail dress she was clad in tight blue jeans and a royal blue tank top.

Despite her casual dress, she was quite attractive, but when she drew closer to where he stood beneath a streetlamp, recognition slammed into his gut.

Monica Wright. Oh, hell no. What was she doing here? The last person he wanted anywhere in his life was the investigative reporter with her popular podcast. And why did she want to speak to him?

“Mr. Lamont, could I just have a moment of your time?” She finally reached where he stood.

Despite his initial impulse to turn and hurry away, he smiled at her and played dumb. “And you are...?” He looked at her quizzically.

“Monica Wright of The Wright News podcast.” She offered him a bright smile.

He’d found her attractive when he occasionally tuned in to her podcast, but in person she was even prettier. She was petite and shapely. Her eyes appeared more blue, a startling and beautiful contrast to her long dark hair. She had a heart-shaped face and full lips that were more than a little bit appealing.

“I see you brought home the big prize,” she said with a gesture to the large trophy he held.

He relaxed. Maybe that’s why she wanted to speak to him. “Yes, I’m very honored.”

“The building you won for is a real beauty.”

“Thank you. It’s always nice when people recognize your hard work.”

“And how did you feel when Max Clinton was murdered two nights ago?”

He stiffened, gut-punched by the unexpected question. “No comment.” He turned on his heel and once again headed in the direction of his car.

“Mr. Lamont, I’d really like you to come on my podcast. I’m sure you have an interesting story to share.”

She followed him like an annoying, yappy Chihuahua. “You must have some thoughts and feelings about Max Clinton being murdered by the Vigilante Killer.”

Thankfully by that time he’d reached his car. He opened the door. He then turned back to face her. “I told you no comment and that’s all I have to say on the matter.” He got into the car and slammed the door.

He ignored her presence as he started his engine and then roared out of the parking lot. He headed north and tried to keep his mind empty.

But of course, that was impossible. With a single question, Monica Wright had stirred up a lot of thoughts...all of them bad. Why had she singled him out? Had she talked to some of the other men who had found their personal justice through a pact forged in hell? How had she possibly learned about them...about him? The last thing he wanted was to get tangled up in any discussion concerning the Vigilante Killer.

Home was a four-bedroom brick house on an acre of land. He’d had it built three years ago. At that time, he’d believed the bedrooms would eventually be filled with children. He didn’t believe that anymore. He hadn’t believed in anything like happiness or family since he’d lost his sister.

He pulled into his garage and then entered the kitchen, where he placed the trophy on the countertop. Eventually it would find its way into his downtown office, but not right now.

The first thing he did was head to his bedroom, where he changed out of the suit and into a pair of jogging pants and a T-shirt. He went into the family room and to the minibar in the back corner. He poured himself two fingers of Scotch over ice, and collapsed in his black leather recliner.

He took a sip of the drink, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Instantly, a vision of Suzanna filled his head. Whenever he thought of her, it was with her head thrown back and her eyes twinkling with laughter.

She’d been so beautiful, with her short dark hair and sparkling green eyes. She’d had an exuberance, a love of life that had been intoxicating to the people around her. She’d been the star in Lamont and Star. She’d been Jake’s inspiration, his partner and his twin sister. And since her murder two years ago, Jake had been utterly lost.

He took another drink as his thoughts shifted to Max Clinton, the man who had killed Suzanna. He’d been Suzanna’s boyfriend. He should have been her champion, the man who had her back, and instead he had beaten and strangled her in a fit of jealous rage. Unfortunately, his lawyer had managed to put enough doubt in the minds of the jury that he’d walked away a free man.

How did he feel when he’d learned that Max was the latest victim of the person the news had labeled the Vigilante Killer? He’d felt so many emotions that it had been difficult to sort them all out.

There had been the intense relief that Max Clinton would never again be in a position to hurt another woman. There had also been a renewed grief as Max’s murder had caused a rush of memories to torment him...memories of his beautiful sister’s life and torturous memories of the brutality of her death.

Two nights ago, Max had been killed by the Vigilante Killer, who liked slitting his victim’s throats and then carving a deep V into their foreheads. Some would call Max’s death karma, but Jake knew better.

Max’s murder had come out of a meeting of Jake and five other grieving, angry men who had entered an agreement that assured them each a place in hell.

Finally, Max’s murder had evoked a chilling, confirming fear as Jake recognized that he and those men had unleashed a monster on the community.

* * *

MONICA CURSED BENEATH her breath as she slit the tip of her finger on a piece of paper. So far, she was having a horrible morning and it was only nine o’clock.

She’d been up far too late the night before, waiting for her police department source to return her call. She wanted anything new he might have on the Vigilante Killer. Unfortunately, he hadn’t returned her call.

Then first thing this morning her single-serve coffee machine had gasped and sputtered and refused to give up a cup of coffee. Her shower had spurted out only a trickle and had reminded her she’d been meaning to buy a new shower head. And when she walked outside to retrieve her morning paper, she stepped squarely in a pile of fresh dog poo.

And now this...a tiny cut that hurt like hell and refused to stop bleeding. She grabbed a tissue from the box on her desk and wrapped it around her finger, then leaned back in her chair and released a sigh of frustration.

And the source of her frustration wasn’t the events of the morning, but rather that she hadn’t been able to get Jake Lamont to be on her podcast that evening.

He would have made a compelling guest. He was the only surviving member of his family after his twin sister had been brutally murdered. The alleged perpetrator had walked scot-free and then two years later was murdered by a killer who seemed to be on a bloody journey of justice denied in the Kansas City area.

So far the police had admitted this particular killer had murdered four men, each of whom had been suspects in heinous crimes and each of whom had walked free due to glitches in the judicial process. And the killer seemed to be on a fairly fast track—four kills in less than two months and with no end in sight. So far he’d left no clues behind for the authorities to follow.

Monica wanted to be the one to break the case wide open. It was a lofty aspiration for a woman who had a nightly news podcast with just over twenty thousand subscribers and news that focused on the Kansas City and surrounding areas.

She wanted to break the case not only in hopes of expanding her visibility, but also to quiet the self-doubt that had driven her for most of her life. She needed to prove to her father that...

She jumped as her landline rang. She never answered this phone. It was a tips line of sorts that she advertised each evening when she ended her show.

So far, she’d received eleven marriage proposals, countless invitations to be a baby mama and several phone calls that had offered her the chance to be involved in strange sexual situations.

Lately she’d also been getting calls from Larry Albright, a local contractor. Monica had done an exposé on him three days ago when it came to light that he was scamming people out of thousands of dollars.

In the past two days he’d left dozens of nasty and threatening messages for her. She now chewed on the nail of the index finger that didn’t have the paper cut on it as she waited to see who was calling this time.

“Hi, Monica. My name is Janet McCall. You don’t know me, but I’m a huge fan of yours. Uh...but that’s not why I’m calling. I know you’ve been asking for any information anyone might have concerning the Vigilante Killer.”

The woman paused and Monica leaned forward, the paper cut on her finger forgotten. “This might be nothing at all and I could be wasting your time. I run the Northland Survivor Group and I just thought it was an odd coincidence that the Vigilante Killer has killed four men who perpetrated crimes against four of the men who attended my group for a short period of time.”

Monica picked up the phone. “Janet, it’s Monica Wright.”

“Oh... I didn’t expect to speak to you in person.” She released a nervous laugh. “I’m a huge fan of yours.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it, but I want to make sure I understand what you’re telling me.”

“Okay...hmm...according to the reports, the Vigilante Killer’s first victim was Brian McDowell, who beat Matt Harrison’s mother to death. The second victim was Steven Winthrop, who raped and killed Nick Simon’s wife. The third kill was of Dwight Weatherby, who killed Troy Anderson’s daughter, and now this fourth victim was Max Clinton, who beat and strangled Jake Lamont’s sister. Matt Harrison, Troy Anderson, Nick Simon and Jake Lamont all belonged to the Northland Survivor Group for several months and then they all stopped coming to the meetings about the same time.”

There was a long pause as Monica slowly digested the information. Janet gave another small, nervous laugh. “That was clear as mud, right?”

“Not at all, I’m just trying to wrap my mind around it,” Monica replied. “Have you spoken to the police or any of the authorities about this?”

“No. I didn’t really know if the information meant anything or not.”

“Right now I don’t know, either, but I’d like a little time to check into it before you give it to the police,” Monica said.

“Of course,” Janet replied slightly breathlessly. “So you think this might mean something?”

“To be honest, I don’t know, but I really appreciate you bringing this to me.”

Minutes later, Monica reared back in her chair, her mind racing with the information she’d just been given. Was it just a coincidence that the Vigilante Killer had murdered the bad guys of four men who attended a small survivors’ group?

There were dozens of survivors’ groups around the Kansas City area, yet according to what Janet had just told her, the Vigilante Killer had focused in on this particular group. Why?

And now she had another reason to talk to Jake Lamont. Although she couldn’t see how this information worked in the puzzle she was trying to piece together, it definitely warranted further exploration. And that’s what she did for a living.

For the rest of the morning she worked on the material for her podcast that night, and then she left the house to shop for a few groceries and to buy a new coffee machine. There was no way she was going to go a full day without her coffee.

It was nearly three by the time she got back home. The whole time she’d been shopping, her brain had worked overtime on the information Janet had given her. She made herself a cup of coffee and once again sat in her office chair.

Rather than thinking about the killer, she found herself thinking about Jake Lamont. He was definitely one hot hunk of a man. His suit had fit perfectly over his broad shoulders. His dark hair had been slightly shaggy and his eyes had been the deep green of a primal forest.

She’d come home the night before and had done a search on him. She’d learned that he was single and a successful architect. She’d reread articles about his sister’s murder, and she’d also used a search engine that had provided both his work and home phone numbers and his home address.

At four she left her small ranch house and drove the fifteen miles to where Jake Lamont lived. She had no idea what time he got home from work. She didn’t even know if he did work today, considering it was Saturday. But she intended to go to his house and try to talk to him again.

She especially wanted to speak to him now, armed with the new information she’d received from Janet. If he wasn’t home when she arrived, then she intended to be there waiting for his return.

She still hoped to get him on her evening podcast and now she also wanted to ask him about the time he’d spent at the Northland Survivor Group and the other three men who had attended with him.

Jake’s house was a large, beautiful brick with a huge bay window in the front. The lawn was neatly manicured, with trimmed bushes and flowers surrounding a beautiful fountain. Both the oversize plot and the expanse of the house whispered of money and success.

The first thing she did on arriving was knock on his front door. When there was no answer she assumed he wasn’t home, and she pulled out of his circular driveway and parked down the street where she could see him when he arrived.

She’d taken him by surprise last night. She was hoping tonight he’d be more willing to talk with her. She’d just settled in to wait when her cell phone rang. There were only a few people who had this number.

Looking at the caller identification, her stomach instantly clenched tight with a familiar stress. “Hi, Dad,” she answered.

“What are you doing?” Neil Wright’s deep voice boomed over the line.

“I’m working.”

Her father’s dry chuckle twisted the nerves in her stomach even tighter. “I was hoping by the time you hit thirty you’d put that podcast silliness aside and get a real job.”

“Dad, this is a real job,” she replied, knowing it would do no good. She’d been a disappointment to her father since the moment she’d been born a girl instead of a boy.

She was the youngest of three girls and according to her father, was the last chance for him to get the son he’d desperately wanted.

It hadn’t been so bad when her mother had been alive to soothe the hurt her father sometimes caused, but her mother had died from breast cancer when Monica had been eight.

“So, what’s up?” she now asked.

“I’m heading out early in the morning for a day of fishing with Harry and Frank, but those parts I ordered for my truck came in at the Liberty location so I was wondering if while you’re out running around tomorrow, you could pick them up for me.”

Monica stifled a deep sigh. “Sure, I can do that.”

“Great, just drop them off in the garage. I’ll be home late tomorrow night.”

When the call ended, she released the sigh she had stifled moments before. Her father often asked her to run errands for him and to her it was just another indication of how little he respected her and her job.

She knew she could gain his respect if she went back to school and became a nurse or a lawyer, like her two sisters had become.

But news was her passion and she absolutely loved what she did. Always in the back of her mind was the notion that if she became big enough, if she reached a certain number of followers or one of her stories got picked up by a national news source, maybe then she’d be good enough for her father to love.

All insecurities and thoughts of her father flew out of her head as Jake Lamont’s car passed hers and turned into his driveway.

She started her engine and followed behind him, her heart beating with the excitement of a potential story. He stopped outside his garage door and got out of his car.

She quickly parked behind him and did the same. Good lord, the man had been a hunk in his suit last night, but he was even hotter in his jeans and a navy T-shirt that showcased his muscled chest and flat abdomen.

“You’re trespassing.” His handsome, chiseled features were taut with obvious anger.

“I thought with a night to think about it, maybe you changed your mind about being on my podcast.” She offered him her most charming smile.

“My mind hasn’t changed,” he replied, and headed toward his front door.

She followed closely behind him. “Since the latest man murdered by the Vigilante Killer is tied to you and your sister’s death, I’d really like to get how you feel about the murder on the record.”

“What don’t you understand about no comment?” he replied tersely. He unlocked his front door and then turned back to look at her. “And now it’s time for you to get off my property.”

“Just one more thing,” she said hurriedly. “Can you confirm to me that you attended meetings at the Northland Survivor Group at the same time Nick Simon, Troy Anderson and Matt Harrison attended?”

He appeared to freeze. Once again he turned to face her. The anger that had ridden his features appeared to relax. “Okay, I’ll give you five minutes. Come on in,” he finally said, and to her surprise he opened his door wider.

Chapter Two

She’d shocked him. How in the hell had she managed to learn about the four men attending the Northland Survivor Group together? And what other information might she have?

His need to know what she knew was the only reason he invited her inside. Watching her podcast the few times he had, he’d recognized she was tenacious and ambitious...two dangerous traits when it came to her digging into the Vigilante Killer case.

He guessed the killer was one of two men, but he needed to know what Monica knew about the case, because if the truth came out he’d be charged as an accomplice.

Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer, he told himself as he ushered her into his family room. “Drink?” he asked as she eased down onto his sofa and he walked over to his minibar in the corner of the room. Maybe he could get her relaxed enough she would give up all the information she’d already gleaned about the case.

She gazed at him with a sudden wariness in the depths of her amazing blue eyes. “I just want you to know that my producer and my cameraman are in a car just up the street. Warren and Wally always have my back and they know I’m here. And with that said, I’d love a cold glass of water.”

What did she think? That he’d invited her inside to kill her? He had no idea if she really had a Warren and Wally just waiting to run to her rescue, but he certainly had no intention of harming her in any way.

He handed her a glass of ice water and then carried his Scotch and water to the recliner chair opposite her. “Let’s get one thing straight right now—I’m not going to be on your podcast,” he began. “But I’ll tell you off the record how I felt when I learned that Max Clinton was murdered by the Vigilante Killer.”

“Do you mind if I record this?” She pulled a cell phone out of her oversize bright red purse.

“Actually, I do mind,” he replied. He didn’t want anything about this on tape. “I told you this was off the record. Besides, I’m not sure you need a recording for what I’m going to tell you. When I heard that Max Clinton had been murdered I felt nothing except for a bit of relief that he would never harm another woman again.”

“Yes, I’m so sorry for your loss,” she replied.

He nodded and for just a moment his thoughts were filled with Suzanna. They had always seemed to know what the other was thinking or about to say. “It’s a twin thing,” they’d say to their friends. He’d felt gutted since her death, as if half his soul had been stolen and would never be returned.

“And where were you on the night that Max was murdered?” Her question made the here and now slam back into him.

But, God, she was attractive. Today she was clad in a pair of black jeans that hugged her legs and a red tank top that matched her red heels and hinted at a bit of cleavage.

How many men had lost themselves in the depths of her blue eyes or in the utter charm of her smile and spilled their guts? She smelled of something citrusy with mysterious spices that were incredibly evocative.

“Where were you when Max was murdered?” she asked again.

He mentally shook himself and focused on the question, not on how sexy he found her. “I was at Doug’s Tavern in a meeting with the mayor, half a dozen city councilmen and some local architects. We were discussing the renovation and renewal project going on downtown. Then I came back here and slept.”

“Alone?”

He gave a curt nod. “Yes, I was alone.” He knew Max’s time of death was sometime between midnight and two in the morning. And that meant he had no real alibi for the time of the murder. He’d been questioned briefly by the police the day after the murder, but he hadn’t heard anything more from the authorities.

“And how did you learn about Max’s murder?”

“I read it in the newspaper like most of the people in Kansas City.”

“Would you like to tell me something about your sister?” Her features radiated a soft sympathy.

Oh, he’d love to talk about his sister...about the loving, wonderfully magical woman she had been. But it would cheapen Suzanna to talk about her to this stranger who was only looking for her next scoop.

“No,” he answered simply. “Why are you here talking to me?”

“When Max Clinton was murdered, and a V was carved in his forehead, I knew he was a fourth victim of this particular killer. The police tried to keep the V out of the new reports from the very beginning, but somebody leaked it to the press.”

He looked at her in surprise. “How do you know that?”

“I have a friend on the police force,” she replied.

“You mean you have a snitch.”

“Friend...snitch...whatever you want to call him, he occasionally gives me a little inside information that keeps me up to date with what’s going on with the crime in Kansas City. I also heard there’s going to be a news conference tomorrow and the police are going to ask the community for their help in catching this person.”

Interesting. Jake would definitely like to know what was going on in the investigation into the Vigilante Killer, and Monica Wright just might make an interesting partner of sorts.

“You still haven’t told me what, specifically, you want from me?” he said.

“Initially I thought you would make a good human interest story for my podcast, but then I got a tip about you and the three other men attending the Northland Survivor Group.”

“Who was your source for that?” he asked.

She smiled and her eyes gleamed with both intelligence and wit. “I don’t give up the name of my sources. So do you know Nick Simon, Troy Anderson and Matt Harrison?”

“I do. You’re right, we all attended meetings there around the same time, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“So it’s just an odd coincidence that the killer has gone after the men who ruined all your lives?” She shook her head and once again her eyes shone with keen intelligence. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe in those kinds of coincidences. The killer seems to have a connection to the survivor group, and that means you might know him.” She leaned forward. “If you know something about the killer, then please tell me.”

“Why should I tell you anything?” he countered. “I don’t even know you. You’re just somebody who showed up unannounced on my doorstep.”

“So why did you invite me?” she countered.

“Because you caught my interest when you mentioned the survivor group and the other men.”

“Have you ever seen my podcast?”

He took another sip of his drink before replying. “I’ve caught it a couple of times.”

“Then you should know I’m good at what I do. I dig into investigations and there’s nobody in this city who wants to identify this killer more than me. I want this... I need this to prove to everyone that I’m here to stay, that what I do with my podcast is a real job.” Her cheeks flushed pink, as if she hadn’t meant to say so much. She leaned back.

He studied her for a long moment. “Then we both want the same thing. I want this killer caught and I intend to bring him down. He’s obviously unhinged and enjoys killing, and I don’t see him stopping anytime soon.”

She frowned, the gesture doing nothing to detract from her attractiveness. “He’s smart and he’s thorough. He hasn’t left a single clue behind for the police to work with. They are frustrated by their lack of leads. Right now he’s killing what most of society would deem bad guys, but that still makes him a murderer.”

“I totally agree.”

She gazed at him for a long moment. “What’s your story? You’re a successful, award-winning architect. What would make you want to suddenly become a killer-hunter?”

He certainly wasn’t ready to trust her with the details of the murder pact six men had made in the woods behind an abandoned baseball field.

To give the information he had to anyone presented a huge risk, not only to himself but also to the four other innocent men in the group. He felt responsible for the birth of the Vigilante Killer and he had to somehow figure out how to point a finger for the police. But first, he had to see which one of the remaining two men was the guilty one. And the only way to do that was to do some investigating of his own.

“Let’s just say I feel a moral obligation to go after him,” he finally replied.

She narrowed her eyes. “So you do know something.”

“I might,” he admitted.

Her eyes lit with an obvious hunger, and he momentarily wondered what it would feel like if her eyes lit up like that when she looked at him as a man and not just as a source for a big story.

“If we both want the same thing then there’s no reason why we couldn’t partner up. I can share with you all the information I have and you could share with me.”

The offer surprised him. He had to admit there was a part of him that had longed to talk about what he knew with somebody. But he’d never dreamed he’d share any of this with anyone, especially not with an ambitious reporter.

“I need some time to think about it,” he finally said.

“How much time?”

“I don’t know...give me twenty-four hours.” He wanted to stop the Vigilante Killer, but he’d certainly never thought about having a partner who may have some resources to help him achieve that goal.

She checked her wristwatch and then stood. “Okay, twenty-four hours it is. I’ve got to get home now to do my podcast.”

He rose as well. “I hope nothing we discussed here is in your podcast tonight,” he said as they walked to his front door.

“Contrary to what you believe about me, I know how to keep secrets. How can I catch up with you tomorrow?”

“How about you have dinner with me at D’Angelo’s. Do you know where it is?” Even as he asked the question he wondered what in the hell he was doing.

“I do. What time is good for you?”

“Shall we say around six?”

She nodded and then smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Tell Wally and Warren I said hi.”

Her smile turned slightly sheepish. “Will do. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that she turned and hurried out to her car.

He watched until she pulled out of his driveway and then he closed and locked his front door. His brain spun wildly as he returned to his recliner and picked up what was left of his drink.

What in the hell was he doing even thinking about sharing what he knew with her? And he’d definitely lost his mind in inviting her out to dinner.

If he was going to work with her in any way, it would be a fine line he’d have to walk to make sure he didn’t incriminate himself or the others. But she was a wild card in this whole mess and he knew she wasn’t going to stop digging. At least if he worked with her he might be able to guide her investigation on a path he wanted to keep it on.

Still, he had to remember that she would throw him under the bus in a minute to get her story.

* * *

IT WAS JUST after five thirty when Monica angled her car into a parking place down the street from D’Angelo’s Restaurant. It was a popular place to dine with great Italian food and reasonable prices, but on a Sunday evening there would be fewer diners.

She’d come away from Jake’s house last night with the gut-burning certainty that he had some knowledge that would help move the investigation forward.

There had been shadows in his deep green eyes that had whispered of secrets, secrets she definitely wanted him to share with her.

Had she worn her royal blue cold-shoulder blouse tonight because she’d had several people tell her she looked sexy in it? Had she decided to wear her black skinny jeans because she knew they hugged her thin but shapely legs? Was it all in an effort to use her womanly wiles on him?

Maybe, but she had to admit part of it was for him to see Monica Wright not just as a sharp investigative reporter, but also as a desirable woman.

Which was completely ridiculous. The very last thing she wanted in her life was a relationship that would suck time and energy away from her work, but there were times she was lonely. It was really rather silly, but something about talking to Jake the evening before had made her think about her loneliness.

Maybe it was because from the moment she had met him, butterflies had danced in her stomach. And she hadn’t felt butterflies about any man in a very long time.

She raised a finger to her mouth and then dropped her hand back to the steering wheel. She was desperately trying to stop chewing her nails. It was hard to have pretty nails when you gnawed them ragged. Instead she now clicked them against her steering wheel as her thoughts continued to cascade in her head.

It’s about the story, stupid. This had been her mantra for the last five years, when she had really gotten serious about what she wanted to do. The advertising on her podcast paid her bills, but she wanted more than just financial security. She wanted respect. And identifying the Vigilante Killer and being responsible for his arrest would gain her that respect.

This was the first case where she didn’t just want to report the facts; rather, she wanted to make the facts. She wanted to hunt the killer.

It was definitely interesting to her that Jake had wanted nothing more than to kick her off his property until she’d mentioned the three other men and the Northland Survivor Group. He had suddenly become quite amenable after that.

He’d started out just being a possible human-interest story. Janet McCall’s phone call had changed all that. Talking to him last night had also changed that. He was so much more than a human-interest story. She had a feeling he might be the key to discovering the identity of the killer.

Her clicking fingernails stopped and she sat up straighter in her seat as Jake’s car pulled into a parking space on the opposite side of the street.

The butterflies took flight again in her stomach as he got out of the car and headed inside the restaurant. His black slacks fit perfectly on his slim hips and long legs, and he also wore a dark green short-sleeved shirt she knew would perfectly match his eyes.

She waited five minutes and then, ignoring the dancing butterflies, she got out of her car and headed for the restaurant’s front door.

It was cool and semi-dark inside. Scents of garlic and onion and rich Italian spices filled the air, and soft music played overhead. A pretty, young hostess greeted her. “Hi, is there just one this evening?”

“No, I’m meeting somebody here. Jake Lamont?”

The hostess smiled again. “Oh yes, if you’ll follow me.”

The hostess guided her through the main dining room and into a smaller private room with a table for two.

Jake stood as they entered, and for just a brief moment she wondered what it would be like if he had gotten the private room because he wanted to know her hopes and dreams...because he wanted to spend time gazing into her eyes and whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

Of course nothing could be further from the truth. He’d gotten the private dining room because they had things to discuss, things like murder and a serial killer working in her hometown.

“This is nice,” she said once the hostess was gone and the two of them were seated at the table.

“I figured it would be good to meet in a neutral place to have this discussion,” he replied. “But how about we eat first and then talk about the main issue.”

“That works for me,” she agreed.

He gestured toward the menu. “I’ve already decided what I want,” he said.

She opened the menu but as she read the offerings, she was acutely aware of his gaze on her. She made her decision, closed the menu and met his gaze.

He looked away and for a moment an awkward silence ensued. Thankfully a waitress entered the room and broke the silence.

She served them water and a mini loaf of garlic bread and whipped butter. She took both their drink and meal orders, and then left the room once again.

“How was your day?” he asked when they were alone again.

She looked at him in surprise. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had inquired about her day. “Do you really want to know or are you just being polite?” she asked.

“I’d really like to know,” he replied.

“My morning was rough. Most of them are rough. I’m not a morning person and everything that can go wrong in a day usually happens then. Yesterday my coffee machine quit working. I bought a new one and this morning I went to make coffee and realized I was out of pods.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Sounds disastrous.”

“Oh, trust me. It was. I am not a happy camper without my morning coffee. Anyway, the rest of my day was good. I’m working on several stories right now and things are coming together nicely on them. How did your day go?”

“It was quiet. I watched a little television and then sketched for a while. I hate Sundays, when the job site is closed down and there’s nothing much for me to do.”

“Do you have family here in town?”

“I don’t have family anywhere,” he replied. “My parents are gone and it was just Suzanna and me. What about you? Do you have family here?”

“My mother died when I was eight, but I have my father and two older, overachieving sisters. Addie and Elizabeth are the apples of his eyes.”

“Which implies that you aren’t?” He raised a dark brow.

“I’ve been his disappointment for years,” she replied, and fought against a hurtful hitch in her heart.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their meals. He’d ordered the spaghetti and meatballs while she had opted for cheese ravioli. “Oh my gosh, this looks yummy.”

“Can I cut you off some bread?”

“Yes, please.”

He cut her a piece. “Butter?”

“Definitely,” she replied.

He slathered the bread with butter and then handed it to her. As their fingertips touched, the butterflies in her stomach flew once again. Good Lord, what was wrong with her?

“I think Italian food is my favorite type of food,” he said as he cut himself a piece of the bread.

“Italian is good, but Mexican is my very favorite,” she replied. “There’s nothing better than chips and salsa and cheese enchiladas.”

For a few minutes they were quiet as they focused on their meal. On the one hand, Monica wanted to hurry up and eat so they could get to the conversation she wanted to have with him. On the other hand, there was a small part of her that wanted the meal to go slow so she could somehow pretend this was a normal first date between a man and a woman who were interested in each other.

Jeez, once again she wondered what was wrong with her. All she wanted from Jake Lamont was any information he might have about the Vigilante Killer. She wanted her big story, and that was it.

She had to stay focused and not get caught up in his beautiful green eyes with their thick dark lashes and the sexy slide of his lips curving into a smile. Okay, she found him vastly attractive, but she needed to maintain her emotional distance from him. She had to remember that he was nothing more than a means to an end.

“So, why news?” he asked as they continued to eat.

She shrugged. “Why architecture?”

“I loved the way buildings looked. I always knew I wanted to design amazing buildings.”

“And I was always fascinated with the women reporters on the news. I studied them and tried to figure out what made them popular. I always knew I wanted to be an investigative reporter and really dig into the stories I thought impacted the Kansas City area.”

“Why not work for one of the big networks?” He cut himself off another piece of the bread.

“It’s a whole new world. More and more people are getting their news from alternative sources and I wanted to be one of those alternative sources.” She offered him a smile. “Besides, I like being my own boss. I don’t always play well with others.”

He raised a dark brow once again. “Ah, good to know, especially when you want to partner up with me.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret about me...if you’re working with me, then I’ll be the most loyal person in the whole world to you.”

“Now all I have to do is believe you.”

“Trust me, you can believe me,” she said fervently. Their gazes locked for a long moment. She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not, but what she’d told him was the honest-to-goodness truth.

It was she who broke the gaze, finding it suddenly too probing...too intimate. “I’d go to prison before I’d ever give up the name of a source. Despite my ambition, I like to think I have a big streak of integrity inside me.”

“Integrity is a good thing to have,” he replied.

They finished their meals and he pushed his empty plate aside. “How about some dessert with coffee? I never miss a chance to have something sweet to finish off a meal.”

She flashed him a cheeky grin. “Nothing I like better than chocolate and murder. Let’s get to it then.”

* * *

HE HAD TAKEN the last twenty-four hours to think about what he was going to tell Monica. Could he trust her? Even though he had absolutely no reason to, his gut instinct was that he could. After all, they both wanted the same thing.

Or maybe it was because he desperately wanted to trust her. He needed somebody like her to know what had taken place in the woods that night...in case something happened to him. If she ran directly to the cops with what he told her and he was arrested, well, maybe that was okay as well. Maybe it was exactly what he deserved.

He ordered tiramisu and she opted for chocolate lava cake. They both ordered coffee, and once they’d been served and were alone again, he studied her closely.

Was he deciding to trust her because she looked amazing in the sexy blue blouse that bared her slender shoulders and matched her eyes? Was he weakened by the fact that when she smiled at him a crazy warmth filled him? No, he wasn’t that stupid. This was far too important to make that kind of a mistake.

It was the directness of her gaze and the honesty, and yes, integrity he sensed in her that finally made up his mind to confide what he could to her. Besides, he needed an insurance policy so that if something did happen to him she could take the information he gave her to the police and hopefully get the killer behind bars.

“Let’s just assume there were six angry men,” he began. “They had all suffered the loss of a loved one by bad men. Not only that, but due to jury nullification and technical glitches and other problems in the judicial system, those bad men all got away with their crimes.”

He stared down into his coffee as he remembered the killing rage and grief that had made him half-crazed after Suzanna’s murder. His rage had been further fired by the fact that Max Clinton walked away a free man.

He gazed back at her. “Anyway, these six men all found themselves at the Northland Survivor Group. They were all looking for ways to deal with their emotions. They were hoping to learn some new coping skills or something to help them with their overwhelming pain.”

“And did they find what they needed?” she asked softly.

“No, they didn’t. They met several times for drinks after the meetings, talking about their grief and their rage at the system, but they found no relief until they decided to hatch a plan.”

Once again he paused, this time to take a drink of his coffee and eat a bite of his dessert. It was tasteless and he knew it was because his mouth was filled with the taste of grief and shame and the enormous bitterness of deep guilt.

He still couldn’t believe he’d actually been a part of the plot they had all come up with on that crazy night. It had definitely been a moment of temporary insanity.

“Anyway,” he continued, “the more these men all got together, the greater their anger grew.” A knot expanded and twisted tight in his chest. “And then one night they all met in the woods next to an old abandoned baseball field. It was on that night they came up with a stupid plan.”

This was the part where he had to get a little inventive in order to protect not only himself but the other men who had come up with what now was a horrendous plot. He definitely believed that one of them was the killer, but that meant he and four others were innocent.

“A stupid plan?” She put her fork down and stared at him intently.

He was afraid to tell, but there was also a part of him that wanted to spill his guts to her about everything...a part of him that needed to get this burden off his chest.

“You have to remember that we were all crazy with grief,” he said, as if that somehow mitigated what they’d planned to get the justice they all wanted.

“This is a judgement-free zone,” she replied.

He released a deep sigh. “To be honest, I don’t know for sure who came up with the idea, but it was planned that we would each kill another man’s killer. For instance, I’d kill the man who murdered Nick Simon’s wife. Nick would kill the man who beat Matt Harrison’s mother to death, and so on.”

He paused and watched her features carefully, seeking a sign of shock and revulsion. But none was there. All he saw was open curiosity.

“Looking back at that meeting in the woods, it seems like a bad dream, not something that really happened. But it did.” He paused and drew a deep breath. “And we all walked away from that meeting thinking we were going to act on that plan. But when it came right down to it, I would have never been able to kill a man, no matter what heinous crimes he’d committed, and I believe the others were just like me. Don’t get me wrong, the idea of the murder pact was appealing, but I didn’t believe any of it would really happen.”

The waitress’s entering the room with a coffeepot interrupted the conversation. She topped off their coffee, and he handed her his charge card and then once again she left the room.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I didn’t believe any of it was really going to happen until the first man was killed.” His chest tightened with tension as he remembered reading about the murder in the paper.

“Brian McDowell,” she said. “He’s the man who beat Matt Harrison’s mother to death.”

“Right. Nick Simon was supposed to kill him, but Nick didn’t kill him, and that’s when I believe the Vigilante Killer was born.”

“So, you believe the Vigilante Killer is one of four men?”

“I don’t believe that any of the men who got their so-called justice through the Vigilante Killer is guilty. I think the killer is one of the last two men. He’s either Clay Rogers or Adam Kincaid.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Her eyes were lit with an eagerness that made him second-guess his crazy decision to trust her.

Still, he figured in for a penny, in for a pound. “I’ve been thinking about it since Max Clinton was murdered.” An idea had been whirling around in his head since the morning he’d read about Max’s death in the paper. “I know all the murders have happened between midnight and two in the morning, so I figure the only way to identify the killer is to watch these two men during those hours until one of them makes a move.”

“And then what?”

“Once I know for sure who the killer is, then I’ll take him down. Hopefully I can subdue him and then contact the police. I need to get him behind bars.” He frowned. “I think this person likes to kill, Monica. And the carving in the foreheads of his victims speaks of a bloodlust that is absolutely disgusting.”

“I completely agree. There’s only one thing I ask. Once we identify the killer, I want time to break the story before anyone else gets it,” she replied. Her eyes gleamed brightly.

He didn’t miss her use of “we” in her sentence. “I can give you that,” he replied. “But this is something I need to do for myself and there’s no reason for you to get involved in this at all. I’ll let you know when I have confirmation on who the killer is and you’ll have your story.”

“But I am involving myself. I want to be a part of this. Jake, I want to do the surveillance with you,” she protested.

There was one more interruption by the waitress to bring back his receipt and credit card.

“Monica, this could be dangerous,” he said once they were alone again. “Whoever the killer is, the last thing he wants is to get caught. He’s ruthless.”

“I know that, but think about it—two people are better than one. We could do surveillance from your car one night and then from mine the next night to make sure nobody gets suspicious. We can wake each other up if we drift off to sleep.”

He shook his head. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. One of the reasons I told you all this is that I want somebody else to know in case something happens to me.”

“Why would something happen to you?”

“I don’t know, but if this man is as ruthless as I believe him to be, then all the rest of us in the pact are loose ends. If he catches wind that I’m hunting him, then there’s no question he’ll come after me.”

“I still want to be a part of this. I have the two names of the men you think it might be. I’ll just conduct my own surveillance if I’m not doing it with you.” Her chin shot up a notch and her eyes held a definite challenge.

“Don’t make me regret I told you all this,” he said. Damn, he should have never given her the names of the two men he suspected. That had been careless of him.

“Then don’t try to cut me out of the action,” she replied. She reached out and covered his hand with hers, the unexpected pleasant touch sparking an electric jolt in him. “Please, Jake. Don’t try to shut me out of this.” She pulled her hand back. “Why don’t I plan on being at your house tomorrow night at eleven thirty and we can get started.”

“Okay,” he finally relented. The last thing he wanted was for her to go off all half-cocked and either screw things up or get herself killed. He already had enough guilt in his heart to last a lifetime. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

“I am,” she agreed.

He’d already taken care of the tab, so they left the private room, walked through the main dining area and then stepped out into the hot night air.

“Hey, bitch,” a deep voice shouted from behind them.

They both turned and Jake got a quick look at a dark-haired scruffy-looking man standing on the sidewalk. The man raised his hand and threw something.

Jake grabbed her to his chest and whirled her around to protect her as a beer bottle shattered on the sidewalk next to them.

“What the hell?” With Monica behind him he turned to confront the man. But he was gone, the sound of his running feet on the pavement letting Jake know the man was retreating. A few moments later a car door slammed in the distance and then a car roared by them.

“Bitch!” the man yelled out of the window as he drove by.

“What was that all about?” he turned and asked Monica.

“That was Larry Albright. He’s a local contractor I did an exposé on a couple of days ago. He had ripped off dozens of homeowners, mostly elderly people, by telling them they needed new roofs. He then not only overcharged them but also used substandard materials. Needless to say, he’s not happy with my reporting.”

“What’s he doing? Stalking you?” Jake asked in alarm.

“Apparently that’s what he did tonight.”

“Have you called the police?”

“No, I don’t think he’s a real threat to me. And in any case, he’s been charged with half a dozen crimes and he was released on his own recognizance. He knows one phone call to the police from me and he’ll wind up in jail to await his trial. He’s just blowing off some steam. And now, thank you for dinner, and I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

He watched as she walked to her car. She looked gorgeous with the last gasp of sunlight playing in her dark hair. She walked with a sexy confidence despite the height of her heels.

Still, no matter how attractive he found her, no matter how eager she was or how much he implicitly trusted her, he couldn’t help but feel this whole situation just might have disaster written all over it.

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