Captive

Twenty years after LETHAL…

Sylvie

Sylvie Hayes dug her polished nails into the stems of her maid-of-honor nosegay and stared down the church’s aisle. Faces peered expectantly from pews. Autumn chrysanthemums smothered the altar. The organ soared into Bach, rattling stained glass like thunder from an approaching storm.

It was her cue to start her measured march down the aisle.

But where was the bride?

Sylvie glanced around the narthex for any sign of her twin sister. Diana had said she needed a moment to check her makeup, to make sure everything was perfect for her wedding. But that had been over fifteen minutes ago.

She should be back by now.

Sylvie and Diana might not know one another as well as twin sisters who’d grown up in the same household, but since Diana had tracked her down six months ago, they had become close. Closer than Sylvie had dared to get to another person.

Sylvie couldn’t explain it. She’d always heard that twins were supposed to have a special connection, but she hadn’t believed it until she and Diana had been reunited. Since, she swore she felt a sense of lightness when her sister was happy. And an insistent hum in the back of her mind when Diana was in trouble.

Right now, that hum threatened to drown out the organ.

Sylvie squinted at the shadows to the side of the altar. Although she spotted the minister talking to the best man, she couldn’t see Bobby Vaughan anywhere either.

The groom was gone, too?

Sylvie turned away from the mouth of the nave and started for the lounge where she and Diana had dressed for the wedding. No doubt Diana was wrestling with her veil or her hair. Or maybe she and Bobby had argued.

At least Sylvie hoped it was something that simple.

Inside the lounge, makeup cases and dress bags cluttered the tables and draped to the floor. The spice of perfume still hung in the air.

But no Diana.

Sylvie opened the adjoining restroom door. The vanity was vacant, the wide mirror catching no reflection but her own. She peered down the row of bathroom stalls.

“Diana?” Sylvie’s voice echoed off the white tile.

She gathered the seafoam satin of her gown in a fist. Bending low, she looked under the stalls.

A wisp of white touched the floor in the large stall at the end, a dark shadow behind it.

“Diana? Are you okay?”

Only the organ answered, its bass tones trembling through walls and centering deep in Sylvie’s chest.

She raced down the row of bathroom stalls. Reaching the end, she knocked on the stall door. It moved under her fist. She grasped the handle and pulled.

A man lay prone on the floor, face against the wall. Wetness glistened in dark hair and trailed down the back of the tux. Motionless fingers clutched Diana’s veil, the antique lace red with blood.

“Oh, my God, Bobby!” Sylvie knelt beside him. Slipping her hand along the side of his throat, she felt for a pulse.

A thready beat drummed against her fingertips.

He was alive. Thank God, he was alive. But he needed help. He needed an ambulance.

And Diana. Where was Diana?

The hum in Sylvie’s ears roared loud as a freight train bearing down.

Diana

The hum of tires on pavement.

A gentle sway as the vehicle took a turn.

The light scent of blood, of carpet, of her favorite perfume.

Diana Gale tried to open her eyes, but her lids were heavy. So heavy. Her arm hurt… burned… She could tell it was dark… Must be late at night…

No. Something was over her eyes. Pressing down.

She tried to raise her hands, to touch her face, but she couldn’t move.

What was going on?

Think…

Think…

She’d been at the church. She remembered that much. Getting ready for her wedding. About to walk down the aisle. To marry Bobby. It was perfect. The music. The flowers. Her dress. Just the way she’d always imagined. Happy. Relieved. Nervous. Then… nothing.

She didn’t remember.

How could she not remember?

And then…

Then she was here.

Where was here?

The world swayed around her. She tried to breathe, to think, but she was tired, so tired. It blotted out everything.

She had to be dreaming.

Of course, that was it. She’d had nightmares the past few weeks. Mostly stupid things. Anxiety spinning and spinning through her mind, night after night. Walking down the aisle half dressed. Standing at the altar with no idea what to do, desperate for instructions, and Bobby laughing at her. The guests laughing at her. Her father laughing at her.

And now this.

She couldn’t see. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t remember. And all she wanted to do was sleep. Just sleep.

This had to be a dream…

Sylvie

Paramedics wheeled the stretcher down the long church hall and out to the waiting ambulance. Bobby was still unconscious. The white sheet cupped around him as if he was a child tucked into bed. Thick black straps hugged him to the gurney.

Sylvie wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to warm herself, trying to feel strong. Stains marred the long seafoam silk of her gown, rust-colored smudges of Bobby’s blood.

“You’re the one who found him?” a cigarette-roughened voice asked from behind her.

She turned around and faced a man with hard eyes and the jowls of a bulldog. “Excuse me?”

He let out an impatient sigh. “I need you to answer some questions.”

“And… who are you?”

“I’m in charge of this case. Detective Stan Perreth.”

Sylvie dropped her gaze to the floor. She had never felt comfortable around cops. Not since she’d been caught shoplifting a pack of chewing gum at twelve and the store manager requested she be “scared straight.” It had taken her a long time to warm up to Bobby, and even now there were times she felt guilty of something just being around him.

“The first officer to the scene said you found Bobby Vaughan.”

Sylvie forced a deep breath and made herself look the detective in the eye. “When I went to check on my sister.”

“Did you touch anything? Move anything?”

“Um… I checked his pulse. I ran out into the lounge. I went through Diana’s bag to find her cell phone.” And she’d grabbed her own purse. Had she touched anything else? She couldn’t remember.

He held out a hand. “Give me the phone.”

Sylvie looked down. Sure enough, Diana’s phone was still clenched in her fingers. She gave it to Perreth.

Perreth gripped it gingerly, his hands encased in clear plastic gloves. “Did your sister share her doubts about this wedding?”

“She’s been looking forward to marrying Bobby as long as I’ve known her.”

“Did she and Vaughan have a fight?”

Sylvie had wondered that same thing, but she wasn’t about to tell the cop. “They were both excited about the wedding. Anxious to get married.”

“Anxious.” He scribbled the word in his notebook.

“You’re taking this wrong. They were happy. They loved each other. They were eager to be together, to start their new life.”

He nodded, but he didn’t scratch out the word anxious.

Had Sylvie chosen that word subconsciously? Maybe. Diana had been anxious the past few months. But not about Bobby. At least, not that Sylvie knew. “I don’t think you’re understanding me.”

He glanced up at her from under bushy brows. “Oh?”

“Diana and Bobby were in love. They wanted to get married.”

“Did you notice any tension between them recently?”

Back to the same track. “Between them? No.”

“But you noticed tension.”

“Diana seemed tense about something, yes. But not about her marriage.”

He nodded, but she wasn’t at all sure he had heard what she said. Not all of it, anyway.

“Where does your sister live?”

Sylvie gave him the address.

“Apartment number?”

“Three B.”

He jotted it down. “Good, we’ll get a warrant and take a look.”

Unease niggled at the back of her neck. “If looking in Diana’s apartment will help find her, I can let you in.”

“Do you live with her?”

“I’m just visiting for the wedding.” Sylvie had been considering moving to Madison and subletting her sister’s apartment when Diana finished moving in with Bobby in Baraboo. Sylvie could just as easily wait tables in Wisconsin. But she hadn’t yet taken the plunge. “Diana gave me a key, though.”

“I need permission from someone with legal standing.”

“Why?” The buzz in Sylvie’s ears grew, making it hard to think. The only time she’d heard the term legal standing was on an episode of Law & Order. And then it had been used to argue the admissibility of evidence—evidence used against someone charged with murder. “You think Diana hurt Bobby?”

“I don’t draw conclusions until I finish looking at the evidence.”

“It sounds like you’re drawing a conclusion to me. A wrong conclusion.”

“I assure you that’s not the case.” He looked down at his notes. “But there was a history of abuse in your sister’s adopted family, isn’t that correct?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Adopted daughter showing up at school with bruises? Her mother, too. Walking into a doorknob? Falling down steps? Nice family, too. Plenty well off.”

“If you have a point, you’d better get to it.”

“They say women who are abused as children often choose men who—”

“Hold on right there. You think Bobby hurt Diana?”

The detective stared at her, a smug look in his deep-set eyes. “Like I said, I’m still looking at the evidence. But there’s a good chance your sister was merely defending herself.”

“Diana didn’t do anything.”

“A good attorney can probably get her off with a slap on the wrist.”

“She didn’t do anything.”

“You need to tell her to turn herself in, though. It would make things a lot easier for her.”

“What, have you already decided what happened without even looking at any of the facts? Some cop you are.”

Bushy brows lowered over hard eyes.

Sylvie shouldn’t have said that. And now that the words had left her lips, she couldn’t bite them back.

Footsteps approached from down the hall. A uniformed officer stopped behind Perreth. “Detective?”

“Can it wait?”

“I think you’re going to want to see this.”

“Stick around. I’ll want to talk to you further.” Detective Perreth spun away and followed the officer.

Sylvie groaned. She shouldn’t have insulted him, but she couldn’t help it. He’d been right about Diana’s adopted family, but that’s where it ended. His accusation was ridiculous. How could he possibly think Bobby had abused Diana? That Diana had struck back? It would be laughable, even pitiful, if this Perreth character wasn’t in charge of the case. If he wasn’t the one who was supposed to be figuring out what really happened. The one who was supposed to be finding Diana.

Down the hall, Perreth followed the officer into the lounge. As soon as he rounded the corner, Sylvie started for the church’s front door. She sure wasn’t going to wait for Perreth to railroad her sister. She would find Diana herself, starting with taking a look in her apartment before Detective Perreth did.

Bryce

Bryce Walker had spent so much of the past week tracking down Diana Gale that when her apartment door opened and an ice-blue eye peered over the security chain, it took all he had to keep from kicking the door in, pinning her to the wall and demanding answers.

“Can I help you?” Her voice carried soft and low tones better suited to a seductress than a murderess.

Of course, there was no reason she couldn’t be both.

“Bryce Walker. I’m an attorney. I need to ask you some questions regarding a case I’m working on.” His voice sounded as businesslike and detached as he’d hoped. As if this really was any case. As if he was merely doing his job for a client.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card and slipped it through the narrow opening.

She accepted the card. “I don’t think you want me.”

“You are Diana Gale.”

“Diana is my sister.”

He peered through the small crack, trying to get a better look at her. Blond hair, large blue eyes, a heart-shaped face any man would enjoy seeing on the pillow beside him. A silver eyebrow ring pierced through the elegant arch of one brow, bringing a touch of rebellion to the picture. She held a hand to her chest, spreading pink-polished fingers across cleavage exposed by a formal green gown.

“I’ve seen your picture. And I know you’re an only child.”

“I’m Diana’s twin. We were separated as toddlers.”

She sounded sincere. But then, whatever she said in that musical voice would probably sound sincere. “What is your name?”

“Sylvie. Sylvie Hayes.”

“And you live here?”

“I live in Chicago.”

“Where in Chicago?”

“Why do you want to see Diana?”

Normally he might think her abrupt duck of his question evasive. But there was something in her voice. He wasn’t sure what, but he got the distinct impression she was concerned. “Are you worried about Diana for some reason?”

“I want to know why you want to see her, that’s all. So I can pass along the message.”

A lie if he’d ever heard one. And in all the years he’d spent in the courtroom, he’d heard plenty. Not only was he sure she was worried, the prospect that she was telling the truth earlier seemed likely as well. Maybe she was Diana Gale’s twin.

“I have a case to discuss with your sister.” He peered over Sylvie Hayes’s blond head, trying to see into the apartment through the small space in the door. “Will you tell her I’m here?”

“What kind of case?”

“The confidential kind.”

“Well, Diana isn’t home.”

Was she telling the truth? Probably. “Where can I find her?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“When will she be back?”

“I don’t know that either. But maybe if you tell me a little more about why you want to talk to her, I can help.”

“If you don’t know where she is or when she’ll be back, I can’t see how.”

Her lips pressed into a thoughtful line. “You asked if I was worried about her?”

Maybe now they were getting somewhere. “Yes.”

“I am. If you tell me what this is about, maybe I can make some sense out of things. For both of us.”

Okay. He’d roll the dice. Since the client in this matter was actually himself, the case’s confidentiality was as flexible as he needed. “I came across your sister’s name yesterday. It was on the sign-in sheet at the Banesbridge prison. She visited an inmate there several times in the past year. I want to know why.”

Pale blue eyes rounded in surprise. “Diana Gale?”

“Yes, Diana Gale.”

Her eyebrows pinched together. “I don’t understand.”

“She signed in as part of a university research project under the supervision of a Vincent Bertram.”

“Bertram?”

He did his best to tamp down his frustration. He wanted answers, not to listen to her parrot his every word. “He’s a professor in the psychology department.”

“Diana is earning her Ph.D. in English. I can’t see her finding a lot of twelfth-century poetry in prison. Are you sure it was her?”

“The guards recognized her picture. The only other person it could have been is you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Of course, your sister might have used her affiliation at the university to gain access, and the visit was personal.”

“Personal? How?”

“I was hoping you might have some idea.”

“I’m sorry.” Through the sliver of the opening, he could see her throat move under tender skin. “What prisoner was she visiting?”

He hesitated. The idea of saying the man’s name to those delicate eyes already filled with fear felt cruel. And although his kid brother Tanner had accused Bryce of being heartless more than a few times when he’d hesitated to take his brother’s charity cases, Bryce was not an abusive man. “My cell phone number is on that card. Have your sister call when she gets home. I’ll be up late.”

The door slammed shut followed by the rattle of the security chain. A second later the door flew open and Sylvie Hayes jolted into the hall. “Wait.”

Bryce could tell she was attractive through the small space in the door, but he still wasn’t prepared for the full view. The green dress flowed over smooth curves like water. Cheeks flushed pink under translucent skin. Wide eyes flashed with light-blue fire and more than a little desperation. “You have to tell me who she visited.”

“It’s confidential.”

“I can probably pick up the phone and find out tomorrow.”

“Then do that.” At least he wouldn’t be the one to break it to her.

“Who did she visit? Please.”

Down the hall, a neighbor’s door creaked open. A young man’s spiked red hair poked out. Narrowing his eyes, he watched them with interest.

Bryce spared him a quick glance, then stepped toward Sylvie. “Invite me in.”

“Tell me his name.”

“Invite me in. We’ll talk.”

She backed into the apartment.

He followed her inside and closed the door behind him.

Sylvie stood her ground between the living room and a small dining area. “Okay. Tell me.”

“As long as you tell me everything you know about your sister.”

She nodded.

“Diana has been visiting Edward Dryden.”

He’d thought it impossible for Sylvie’s eyes to grow larger. He’d been wrong.

“The serial killer?”

“That’s the one.”

“No… Are you sure?”

“Your sister visited him once a month, starting seven months ago.”

“That’s a month before I met her.” Her eyebrow ring dipped in a frown. “She never said anything about it. About him.”

“You were worried about her. Before I came to the door tonight. Why?”

“She was supposed to be married today. But the wedding never took place.”

That explained the fancy dress—a dress, he now realized, marred with brown smudges. “Is that blood?”

She nodded. “Right before the ceremony, I found Bobby—the groom—unconscious and bleeding. Diana was missing.”

“You called the police?”

She curled her fingers to fists at her sides. “The police think she did it.”

“Do you know for a fact that she didn’t?”

She glared at the suggestion, as if considering leaving Bryce unconscious and bleeding if he didn’t zip it. “The cop in charge made up his mind before he knew anything about what happened.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know. But he didn’t care what I said. He’d already decided Diana was guilty, and I should convince her to turn herself in.”

“So why aren’t the police here? If they really suspect her, I would think they would be searching her apartment.”

“I imagine they’re on their way.”

“And that’s why you’re here? To search her apartment before they arrive?”

She looked down. Her fingers tangled together. Busted.

“Then why are we standing around wasting time?” he asked.

She stared at him a long moment, as if trying to decide whether she should trust him or not. Finally the press of time seemed to win out. “I thought I’d start in her office.”

“Lead the way.”

The office was a neat but obviously well-used workspace. White walls and desk gave the room a clean, fresh feeling. Papers rose in orderly stacked piles. But it was the splashes of color, the artwork and figurines dedicated to female superheroes, that made Bryce’s lips twist in an ironic smile.

Too bad Diana herself was no champion of justice.

Sylvie sank into the desk chair, woke the desktop computer, and typed in the password. She clicked on various folders, scanning the files inside.

Bryce read over her shoulder. Student evaluations. Files dedicated to research. Drafts of her dissertation. Sylvie had searched through most of the document folder when Bryce noticed an unmarked, old-fashioned paper folder tucked behind the monitor. “What about that?”

Sylvie fished it out and flipped it open. A photo stared up at them—ice blue eyes in a face that looked much younger than its years.

The back of Bryce’s neck prickled.

“This isn’t…”

“Ed Dryden,” Bryce supplied.

“He looks so normal.”

Bryce couldn’t argue. Some might even say he was good-looking. And that was exactly what made him so dangerous. God knew his civilized appearance had fooled Bryce at first. He tried to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. “What else is in the folder?”

Sylvie turned the photo face down. Piled behind it were copies of newspaper articles, some more than twenty years old. The first few detailed Dryden’s brutal murders of blond college coeds and his circus of a trial. Behind those were articles from ‘96 and ‘97 telling the story of his prison marriage to an eighteen-year-old girl named Nikki, his notorious escape, and his eventual recapture. More recent articles poked out from underneath in the original newsprint.

Bryce pointed to the photocopies on the top of the stack. “These look like they were made from microfilm.”

“What’s microfilm?”

“A way of storing outdated newsprint and magazines. Libraries used to use it in the old days.”

“Why would she copy all these articles?”

“Don’t know. Whatever the reason, she had to be pretty dedicated. It takes a lot of time to go through microfilm.”

A piece of paper stuck out from behind the stack of articles: an envelope addressed to Diana Gale, complete with canceled stamp and postmarked last month.

Bryce’s heart pounded so hard he could feel each beat in his throat. “Is that a letter?”

Sylvie let the copied article she was reading fall back into the folder and reached for the envelope.

A series of loud thumps sounded from the other room.

“Police,” a muffled voice shouted from the hall. “Open the door. We have a warrant to search the premises.”

Bryce met Sylvie’s desperate eyes. They’d barely scratched the surface. He needed to study the folder, to find out exactly what Diana Gale saw fit to collect, what she knew about Dryden, and when she knew it. And most of all, he needed to read that letter. If it was from Dryden and he had sent it last month, it might give Bryce everything he needed.

Sylvie stuffed the letter back into the folder and snapped it shut. “I can’t give them this.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“I don’t know. But I can’t just hand it over. Detective Perreth will only use it to twist things, not to find Diana.”

“You can’t take it. That’s removing evidence. It’s a criminal action.”

“It might be my only chance to find my sister.”

And Bryce’s only chance... No, he couldn’t.

Could he?

Sylvie ran her hands over her gown. “I was going to change clothes. Why didn’t I change clothes?”

There was no room in that dress to smuggle a folder, that was for damn sure.

Sylvie started for the door. “I’ll throw it in my suitcase. I’ll say I came to pack my clothes.”

“If this detective has a brain in his head, he’ll want to search your suitcase before he lets you walk out of here.”

Bryce heard voices and the jangle of keys.

Sylvie looked around the room like a trapped animal. “What am I going to do?”

Bryce was an officer of the court. He couldn’t interfere with a legal search warrant. He couldn’t.

But could he give up the only lead he had?

“Oh, hell. Give it to me.”

“What?”

It was crazy. Deluded. Definitely criminal.

Bryce watched his hand extend toward her, palm up, as if it was part of someone else’s body. “Give me the folder.”

Sylvie handed it to him.

He tossed his briefcase onto the desk, popped the locks and stuffed the folder inside. “Go ahead and pack your clothes. Quickly. I’ll answer the door.”

Sylvie

Sylvie jammed jeans, sweaters and toiletries into her suitcase. Her fingers were shaking so badly, she could barely grip the zipper and force it closed. In the other room she could hear the hum of voices. Perreth’s blunt rasp followed by Bryce’s level baritone.

When Bryce had hidden the folder in his briefcase, she’d been shocked. Sure, she’d asked for his help, for an answer to her dilemma, but she hadn’t been expecting him to give her either. She certainly hadn’t expected him to stick out his neck for her. No one had ever stuck their neck out for her.

So why had he done it?

Sylvie was sure he had his reasons, but she didn’t have time to figure it out now. She finished closing the zipper and set the suitcase on its wheels. It was time to get out of here and get back to finding Diana.

Before it was too late.

Sylvie marched out of the office and down the hall. A small handful of police officers had already fanned out in the living room. Near the center of the room, Detective Perreth glowered at Bryce. Sylvie could smell his cologne of stale cigarettes.

“Nice to see you again, Ms. Hayes.” He glanced at a uniformed officer who had begun sorting through the drawers in the coffee table. “Schmidt?”

“Detective?”

“Take a look through Ms. Hayes’s suitcase, will you? We wouldn’t want her removing anything other than her personal clothing from the suspect’s apartment.” He grinned, showing nicotine-yellowed teeth. “It’s all right if he takes a look, isn’t it?”

Giving him an equally phony smile, Sylvie left her suitcase at the mercy of the officer and reached out a hand to Perreth. “I want to see the warrant.”

“I already showed it to your boyfriend here. And the super.”

Bryce gave her a confirming nod.

“I asked you to stay at the church,” the detective said. “Care to explain why that didn’t happen?”

“I had things to do.”

“Like what? Rushing to your sister’s apartment to remove evidence?”

Hot pressure built in her head until it made her ears ring. This whole situation was so stupid. A judgmental cop throwing his weight around. And all the while, Diana was in danger. He should be finding her, not blaming her.

“I came back to change out of this dress and move my things to a hotel. That’s all.”

He eyed her gown. “What stopped you?”

“I did,” Bryce said. “We had some things to discuss.”

Things to discuss? Sylvie bit the inside of her cheek. Why would Bryce make a vague claim like that? Surely the detective would want to know more. Maybe enough to detain him for questioning. Or search his briefcase.

Next to her, the officer finished turning over her clothes and makeup.

“See, Detective?” she said. “Nothing. Can we go now?”

“Not so fast.” Perreth focused his glare fully on Bryce. “What did you have to discuss that was so urgent?”

Bryce shrugged. “Doesn’t that go without saying? Sylvie’s sister disappeared.”

“And what do you have in the briefcase?”

Bryce offered the detective a bland smile. “Papers.”

“Maybe we should take a look at those papers.”

“Sorry. Can’t let you do that.”

Perreth raised bushy brows. “Oh?”

“My briefcase is not listed in your warrant, for one thing.”

“Maybe not. But if I suspect you of removing evidence from the scene…”

Bryce shook his head. “As an officer of the court, I can assure you that’s not the case.”

“You’re a lawyer?” The detective pronounced the word as if it were composed of four letters.

Bryce gave him a cool nod. Turning to Sylvie, he cocked his head in the direction of the door.

Letting out the breath she was holding, Sylvie grabbed the handle of her suitcase and took a step toward escape.

“Not so fast,” Perreth barked.

Sylvie’s pulse pounded so hard it made her feel as if she was wobbling on her feet. Now what?

“Ms. Hayes still hasn’t answered my questions. She’s coming to the station with me.”

The hum echoed through Sylvie’s head, drowning out the beat of her pulse. She couldn’t waste time sitting around the police station answering Perreth’s pointless questions. Didn’t they say that the first few hours were crucial to locating a missing person?

Bryce reached into the outside pocket of his briefcase and pulled out a business card. He held it out to Perreth. “Like I said. I’m a lawyer. Sylvie’s lawyer. And my client will be happy to talk to you. If you give my office a call, we’ll set something up.”

Val

Valerie Ryker hadn’t worked weekends since her days as police chief of the tiny Lake Loyal police department. But when she ventured into the bar of The Lake Loyal Supper Club on this cool, fall evening, it wasn’t to wait for a table to open up.

She spotted Harlan Runk bellied up, clutching his usual brandy old fashioned sweet. The man always looked as if he’d just wandered in from a multi-week hunting trip in the wilderness. Tousled gray hair. Ruddy skin. And eyebrows that resembled a bramble of wild blackberry. At least that hadn’t changed.

His delight at seeing her hadn’t changed either.

“Sweet buns! I missed you!” He kissed her on both cheeks, awkward, inappropriate, and somehow chivalrous all at the same time.

“I saw you at the grocery store just last week, Harlan.”

“And it’s been too long. You have to have dinner with me. Saturday is prime rib night, you know. Join me.”

“I’d love to, but I’ll have to take a rain check.”

“Until after you’ve dumped that firefighter and admitted your undying love for me?”

Val chuckled, not sure what to say to that. “Lund sends you his best.”

“I’ll bet he does.” Harlan raised his glass. “Buy you one of these?”

“I’m afraid I’m working.”

“The sheriff’s department now has its consultants pulling weekend overtime?”

“Not officially.”

“But?”

“I was working on a case of Bobby Vaughan’s.”

Harlan rocked back a little on his stool. “How is Vaughan?”

“Stable but still unconscious.”

“Poor bastard. Damn crazy shame to have something like that happen on his wedding day. I told him he should get married up here in Lake Loyal. Nothing like that happens up here.”

Val wasn’t so sure about that. She’d lived through some pretty insane stuff in Lake Loyal. And seeing that Harlan had been coroner of the county long before Val had moved to Wisconsin, she was sure he’d seen even more. In fact, one of those past times was the reason she needed a word with him now. “Listen, I know he was planning to go over something with you and—”

“You want my help finding out who attacked him?”

“I think the Madison police are handling that.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course, they are. So what can I do ya for?”

“I was wondering if you could compare a couple of autopsies for me.”

“Autopsies I performed?”

“Yes. Maybe I could stop by tomorrow or Monday morning, if—”

“Nonsense. I’ll do it now.”

“I hate to take you away from your dinner.”

Harlan’s bushy gray eyebrows pulled low. “Why would I need to leave my dinner?”

Val had seen him eat full meals in the morgue before, and it was an experience she’d rather not live through again. “Tomorrow or Monday would be fine. You can access your notes and—”

“Notes? I don’t need notes. I can do it from memory.”

“You don’t even know what cases.”

“I can guess. Try me.”

“Uh, okay.”

“The body that was found in the nature preserve five days ago and one Farrentina Hamilton, victim of Ed Dryden.” He paused, as if letting the accuracy of his guess sink in.

Val nodded. “Those are the cases.”

“Of course they are. And I’d love to talk to you about them all night, honey lips. So since you don’t want to take me away from my prime rib, I guess you’ll have to have dinner with me after all.”

“Not in the morgue…”

“Of course not. Here.”

Val gave in and let the hostess show them to a table. As a civilian, she couldn’t do much in terms of actual law enforcement, not like the old days. She didn’t have arrest powers and didn’t carry a service weapon. Her official title was investigative consultant, but in fact her job wasn’t a traditional job at all but a spot created specifically by a sheriff who was fond of her and said he didn’t want the county to lose her expertise.

Expertise that was compromised by a body she could no longer trust.

Val pushed thoughts of her multiple sclerosis to the back of her mind. As long as her medication and health regimen kept her symptoms at a manageable level, she preferred to never think of the disease at all and focus on what work she was still able to do. So far, that philosophy had served her well. At least, when she stuck to it. The not dwelling on what she’d lost was the most difficult part.

After they’d ordered their prime rib specials, wolfed down a small appetizer of deep fried cheese curds, and returned from a trip to the salad bar, Harlan looked up from his “salad” of banana suspended in red Jell-O and asked, “So about those autopsies, what do you want to know?”

“You already answered that, in part,” Val answered, picking at the beet pickles on her plate.

“I answered? How so?”

“You think the two bodies are related. Our new victim and a woman Ed Dryden killed twenty years ago.”

Harlan’s face broke into a wide grin. “Well, that was even easier than I expected. Case closed. You sure you don’t want a cocktail? Maybe an old fashioned?”

Val held up a hand. Alcohol was one of those former pleasures she largely avoided now, along with hot showers and being a cop. “What I need to know is how.”

“It’s sort of a Wisconsin thing. Brandy old fashioned, sweet. You know, Wisconsin drinks more brandy than—”

“The bodies, Harlan. How did you know those were the two I would ask about?”

“Well, your current victim is the first homicide we’ve had in the county in a little while, so it only makes sense you would ask about her.”

“But why Farrentina Hamilton? It’s been twenty years, and her killer is in prison.”

Harlan considered for a moment. “I think it would be easier to show you.”

That was what Val had assumed from the beginning. “I can be at the morgue tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I can show you tonight.”

“After dinner?”

“Don’t be silly.” He smiled up at the waitress who was walking toward them with a full tray hoisted above her shoulder. “I can show you right now.”

She set the steaming plates in front of them: rare prime rib swimming in au jus and topped with a dollop of horseradish, a baked potato ready to be split open, butter and sour cream on the side, and spears of tender asparagus kissed with, of course, more butter.

It smelled divine.

Val picked up her fork, ready to dig in.

Harlan held up a hand. “I’m that bastard Ed Dryden. I like thinking of women as animals. I also like thinking of myself as a hot-shot hunter. So I kidnap college girls, strip off their clothes, and let them loose in the forest. Then I take my hunting rifle and go after them.”

Val glanced around the restaurant to make sure no one was picking up Harlan’s rather odd and disturbing monologue. So far, so good. “Go on.”

“Sometimes I shoot them, not to kill them, just hobble them. Sometimes I can catch them without wasting bullets. Sometimes I torture them just because it gets me off, sometimes I don’t.”

The couple at the closest table lowered their voices to whispers. Val could feel their fervent looks.

Harlan didn’t seem to notice. “Either way, they all have ligature marks. And they all have scrapes and cuts on their bodies, since they’re naked while they’re running through the woods. And forest debris is sticking to the blood, particularly on their feet, knees, and palms.”

“And both bodies shared all those characteristics.”

Harlan beamed at her like she was his star student. “I’m waiting on analysis of the debris from that recent body, but from the look of it, it’s from around here, just like it was with the Hamilton woman. Sand, pine needles, and the like.”

“That doesn’t seem like enough—”

“That’s because we haven’t gotten to the meat of it yet.” Harlan picked up a steak knife. “The hunt is only part of what a hunter’s gotta do. The next step is field dressing the carcass.”

He brought the tip of the knife to the top of his slab of prime rib. “Ever see a hunter who really knows his stuff?”

Val shook her head.

“He, or she, is really fast with the knife. Decisive. They know just where to cut. First, they cut around the anus and free it, like coring an apple.” Harlan slashed at the bottom of the roasted beef, slicing off a chunk of fat.

The couple next to them shifted in their chairs. Someone on the other side giggled nervously.

“Then he does a vertical cut, a little like the Y incision I use for autopsies.” He sliced down the length of the meat, then spread it open with the blade. Blood oozed over the knife’s serrated edge.

“Then he cuts through the diaphragm muscle and lastly the windpipe.” He made a horizontal slash two thirds up the prime rib and another at the top. “And when all that’s done, all he has to do is grab the trachea and pull, and all the organs come out with it.”

Val was relieved Harlan had no way to demonstrate that little move. She glanced at the table next to them, seeing the same revulsion in the couple’s expressions as she felt in the pit of her stomach. She mouthed the word sorry then returned her attention to Harlan. “So those steps were evident with both bodies?”

“Yes. But they didn’t just use those steps. Both killers used exactly the same variations on those steps.”

“I’m not following.”

“Different hunters have different approaches to field dressing. Where they make their first cut, for example. Or how they free the anus. Or what they do with the entrails after. Some of ‘em think of it as putting their stamp on the carcass, making it their own. But with Dryden, this was an even bigger deal.”

Val suspected she knew where Harlan was going with this, but she wanted him to clarify anyway. “Bigger, how?”

“According to those Silence of the Lambs dudes, Dryden got off on the gutting more than all the rest. It was his art and his porn, if you know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, she did. And judging from the horror on their neighbors’ faces, they had an idea, too.

She tossed them another sorry, then homed in on the answer she needed most. “So it couldn’t be an accident that the two bodies were this similar?”

“If one was found on the other side of the planet, I might consider it a coincidence. But in the same area of the same county as the last one?”

“And these details…” Val gestured to the mutilated prime rib. “They wouldn’t have been in the media.”

“Nope.”

“So, it would have to be someone who knew all about Dryden.”

“Yep.”

She had another thought. A horrible thought. “And what says it wasn’t the same person who killed both women?”

“For one, Dryden is in prison. For two, we know it wasn’t someone else who killed Farrentina Hamilton, because there was a witness to her murder. For three, there’s one more thing I haven’t shown you.” Harlan gestured to Val’s prime rib. “May I?”

Not hungry in the least after this little show and tell, Val handed him her dinner plate. “Be my guest.”

He plopped her slice of prime rib in front of him and brandished the knife. “Remember how I cut my meat? Fast? With confidence?”

Val nodded.

“Well, that was the murderer twenty years ago, the one we know was Ed Dryden. And this? This is how our new mystery man accomplished his field dressing.” Harlan started making the same cuts as before, only this time he moved his hand slowly, pausing, starting again. It took him three times as long, but he finally slid the mutilated meat in front of Val.

“See the difference?”

“You didn’t know what you were doing, not like before.”

“Right. And when you cut like that, you leave what we call hesitation marks. The recent murderer didn’t have a lot of experience. He wasn’t the master chef. He was just following the recipe.”

“We’re looking for a copycat,” Val said.

Harlan nodded. “You’re looking for a copycat.”

Sylvie

Safely outside Diana’s building, Sylvie lowered herself into the plush passenger seat of Bryce’s BMW. The scent of leather interior with a hint of cologne enveloped her, an atmosphere of luxury and male that made her feel as though she’d just stepped into a foreign world.

She’d rather walk.

Sylvie wasn’t used to people taking care of her, doing her favors, making her indebted to them. She didn’t like it. It reminded her too much of the way she’d felt as a child, begging her foster families to take her into their home, wanting so badly to be able to trust them to care about her, and being let down every time.

She strapped on her seatbelt and held her satin clutch in both hands. She didn’t have a lot of options. Not with Diana’s folder still locked in Bryce’s briefcase. And although she was grateful to him for helping her smuggle the folder out of Diana’s apartment, she didn’t intend to take his kindness at face value. She’d learned that lesson before she hit puberty.

After loading her suitcase in the trunk, Bryce circled the car, opened the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel. “Comfortable?”

She forced herself not to fidget. “How could I not be?”

“Car’s for sale if you want it.” He slipped his key into the ignition and the engine purred to life. Turning his attention to traffic, he shifted into gear and merged with the flow.

Sylvie eyed his profile in the dimming light. In all that had happened back at Diana’s apartment, she hadn’t been very aware of how attractive he was. From short golden-brown hair that held a slight wave to sharp hazel eyes to broad shoulders that looked good in a suit, Bryce Walker was what most women considered a hunk. Add ringless hands that gripped the steering wheel and he became a favorite for most eligible bachelor.

And somehow, that status only made Sylvie more uncomfortable. “Should I give you a retainer or something?”

He kept his focus on the traffic ahead. “Not necessary.”

“What if Perreth finds out you’re not really my lawyer?”

“Say you fired me.”

“Why did you say it in the first place?”

One side of his lips kicked into a grin. “He was about to haul you downtown, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Why would you care? You don’t know me. And you sure don’t owe me anything.”

He turned his attention back to the road. “We have the same goal.”

“Which is?”

“Finding your sister.”

Ah, yes. His case. “Do you lie to the police and smuggle evidence to find witnesses in all your cases?”

“Not hardly.”

“So what makes this different?”

A shadow crossed over his face. Evening had crept in while she’d been in Diana’s apartment. But from Sylvie’s angle, it looked more like a shadow of emotion rather than a simple trick of the light.

Bryce flicked on his blinker and took a left turn. “I’m not going to discuss my case, Sylvie.”

“At least tell me what you want in return.”

“You don’t trust easily, do you?”

“And you don’t answer questions.”

“We both need to find your sister. Period.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Staring straight ahead through the windshield, she watched the glare of oncoming headlights. There was more he wasn’t telling her. There had to be. Yet somehow that wasn’t what concerned her most.

What concerned her most was that she couldn’t afford to refuse his offer.

Bryce

Bryce pulled an extra chair up to the tiny desk in Sylvie’s hotel room and set his briefcase on the laminate surface. For the first time, he had something tangible at his fingertips. Now, he was finally getting somewhere.

He lowered himself into the chair next to Sylvie. Her scent teased at him, flowers with some sort of spicy edge that made him want to inhale more deeply. The jeans and sweater she’d changed into did nothing to diminish her attractiveness. She might look like the photo he had of her sister, yet Sylvie had a freshness in the pink of her cheeks and the light sweep of her lashes that he’d never noticed in another woman. Even her pierced eyebrow suggested the spunky rebellion of a teenager. At the same time, she seemed so guarded and distrustful, he couldn’t help but wonder why. He couldn’t help but want to know more.

Shaking his head, he unlocked the briefcase. He couldn’t afford to notice the way she smelled, the way she looked. He couldn’t risk her becoming even a minor distraction. Forcing his attention where it belonged, he dropped the folder on the desk and flipped open the cover.

Ed Dryden stared at them from the five-by-seven photograph.

Sylvie flipped it face down. “I don’t know how Diana could have stood being in the same room with him.”

As someone who had been in Dryden’s presence, Bryce couldn’t help but wonder the same thing. But there were women who were drawn to serial killers. Why not Diana Gale? Dryden had certainly attracted more than his share of female fascination in the past.

Hell, years ago he’d convinced a woman to marry him in prison.

“No return address,” Sylvie said, plucking the envelope from the pile of photocopies and clippings. She slipped the letter out and unfolded it. Reaching to the lamp, she canted the shade to shed more light.

The lamplight slanted toward Bryce and glared off the white paper, making it impossible to decipher the handwriting. But judging from the abrupt shape of the letters, it appeared to be written by a male hand. He waited for her to read it out loud.

“‘You have no idea of the horror I’ve been through. My life is over. Ruined. And he will never pay. Not enough. So, you will pay for him.’” Sylvie looked up from the page, eyes stricken.

A din of questions swirled in Bryce’s head. “Is it signed?”

“No. Do you think it’s from Dryden?”

“Hard to say.”

“Why would she keep it in this folder if it wasn’t?”

“Why would Dryden threaten to make Diana pay? And who was she paying for?” He blew out a frustrated breath. “May I see it?”

Sylvie handed it to him.

It was just a single sheet of typing paper with the words she’d read scrawled across the white surface. He read it over again to himself. “He will never pay. Who is he?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Who does Edward Dryden hate?”

“A lot of people.” Including Bryce. He picked up the envelope and looked at the postmark again just to make sure. Almost exactly a month ago. After his brother Tanner’s death.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” He handed the paper back to her. Was he wrong about Diana Gale? Was she another victim of Dryden’s charm and brutality? Or had she merely outlived her usefulness? “Did your sister give any indication she was being threatened?”

Sylvie frowned, her eyebrow ring dipping low. “She’s been worried the last several months. Anxious. I asked her about it, but she blamed it on problems with wedding plans. Do you think she reported this?”

“Maybe.”

“Perreth didn’t say anything.”

“Maybe she didn’t report it to the police.”

“The university?”

“Maybe.”

Sylvie pushed her chair back and shot to her feet. “What was the name of that professor? The one who arranged for her to visit Dryden?”

“Vincent Bertram.”

She pulled out her phone and started a web search.

“What are you looking for?”

“A residential listing for Bertram. Maybe he knows why Diana got involved with Ed Dryden in the first place. And why he might have threatened her.”

Bryce paged through the photocopies chronicling Dryden’s sordid history. His murder of blond college coeds. His capture twenty years ago at the hands of the FBI. At that point, other than an article here and there, the news coverage skipped some years to a flurry of stories about Dryden’s prison marriage and subsequent escape. The stories highlighted the way Dryden had focused on his new intended victim, Risa Madsen, a mentor of Vincent Bertram’s. The stories continued with the trail of death Dryden had left until Professor Madsen and the FBI profiler who’d originally caught Dryden had joined forces to subdue him again.

“Maybe he is the FBI agent who caught Dryden.”

Sylvie looked up from her phone. “Could be.”

The next articles were more recent, clipped from their original newsprint. The headlines Bryce knew all too well. Headlines he’d thought he’d wanted. They blared from the clippings, stinging his eyes.

He’d been so stupid, so wrong, so naive. And he’d paid with more than his life.

He’d paid with his brother’s.

Bryce sucked in a breath, trying to control the rush of grief, of rage, as he paged through the articles. The stories outlined Dryden’s lawsuit against the Supermax prison, how attorney Bryce Walker had taken the killer’s case, how he’d alleged mistreatment, how he’d won a transfer to another facility. Bryce flipped to the last article. A black-and-white picture stared from the newsprint, his brother Tanner in the black suit that made him look like an innocent milk-fed farm boy planning to hunt aliens with Tommy Lee Jones.

Bryce’s throat closed.

He’d been willing to sell his soul to get good press for the law firm, for himself. He’d never guessed Tanner’s life was part of the deal.

It seemed to Bryce that he’d paid enough. But maybe not to Dryden.

Bryce glanced up at Sylvie. She sat with her back to him, still scrolling through her phone. Hunching forward, she copied something on a scrap of paper.

What if her sister didn’t have anything to do with Tanner’s murder?

What if Diana was merely a misguided woman? A woman who never would have been able to worm her way into visiting Dryden if he was still housed in the ultra-security of the Supermax where he belonged?

What if Bryce’s representation of Dryden had not only led to Tanner’s death, but indirectly to Diana Gale’s abduction as well?

Weight bore down on Bryce’s shoulders like a yoke of stone. If he really wanted to set things right, maybe he shouldn’t be asking himself if he could afford to help Sylvie Hayes. Maybe he should be asking if he could afford not to.

Diana

By the time the vehicle had stopped, Diana had been more coherent. By then, she’d figured out her wrists were bound in front of her with some kind of rope. Ankles too. A blindfold covered her eyes. And when large hands had hauled her into a building, deposited her on a bed, and secured her wrists to the frame, she’d been so afraid, she could barely breathe.

That had been hours ago.

Since, she’d just been lying here blind. Helpless. Whatever drug had incapacitated her at first had worn off, and there was no longer anything masking her terror.

This was no nightmare. Not in the dreaming sense. She’d been kidnapped.

Kidnapped.

Her mind still couldn’t wrap around that.

She rubbed the back of her head against the mattress, slowly working the blindfold higher. Higher, until she could see a sliver of the room that was her prison. Cheap wood paneling covered the walls. Ruffled curtains framed a window in dingy white. The dimming light of evening filtered through dingy glass, leaving shadows hanging in corners. The room’s door stood open, nothing but darkness visible beyond.

No, wait.

Something shifted in the doorway.

Someone was out there. Watching her.

She tried to suppress a shudder. “Hello?”

No answer.

But she was sure now—the movement, the soft sound of breathing—it wasn’t her imagination.

“Please… you don’t want to do this. Please, let me go.”

She managed to move the blindfold a little higher. She could see the bed now and the white of her wedding gown. The bodice gaped open, delicate fabric torn from her neckline almost to her waist.

Diana had wanted to be sexy, for Bobby, for their wedding night. She never imagined some stranger would be staring at her instead, eyeing the pink of her nipples, well defined through the white lace bra.

She moved to cover herself, but her hands stopped short, the rope pulling against the steel bed frame.

“Oh, God, please. You’ve got to let me go. Please.” Diana hated the begging tone of her voice. The pleading note she’d had to use too often as a little girl.

It hadn’t worked then either.

“My fiancé. He’s a cop. He’s going to be looking for me.” As Diana said the words, a memory jiggled at the edge of her mind.

Bobby rushing to help.

Bobby hurt.

Bobby bleeding.

She tried to stifle a sob, but the sound eeked out in a strangled whimper. She had no one to protect her. No one to save her. And no clue how to save herself.

Tears clogged the back of her throat, but this time, she let them come. The pounding of her heart blotted out everything.

She was out of control.

She was helpless.

She was going to die.

Sylvie

With Professor Bertram’s address stuffed in her jeans pocket, Sylvie crossed the hotel lobby with Bryce by her side and stepped through the revolving door and onto the sidewalk. Saturday night had fully fallen. The neon glow of nearby shops and restaurants, and the jangle of people walking down State Street turned the city into a confusion of sights and sounds.

Stepping to the curb, Sylvie glanced at the rush of headlights flowing down the one-way street. “Thanks for your help, Bryce. When I find Diana, I’ll let her know you want to get in touch with her.”

Bryce looked at her as if she were speaking in tongues. “I’m going with you.”

“Not necessary.”

“You need someone to drive.”

“That’s okay. I need to rent a car anyway.”

“I have a car right here.” He pointed to his car parked fifty feet away as if she’d forgotten what it looked like.

“Really, I’m used to doing things on my own.” It had been disconcerting enough to be forced to rely on Bryce to get out of Diana’s apartment with the folder. Having him in her hotel room, bouncing ideas off him, had only made her feel more jangled.

“How are you planning to find a car rental office? There aren’t too many of them around here.”

“I’ll take a cab.”

He arched his brows. “And how are you going to find a cab?”

What, was he playing games with her? “I’ll hail one. It’s not hard.”

“You might find it a little harder in Madison.”

She scanned the street. Not one cab spotted in the flood of personal vehicles. He might have a point. She pulled out her phone. “Okay, I’ll Uber.”

“What are you trying to prove, Sylvie? Driving you around is the least I can do. Besides, you need to find your sister, and I need to talk to her. We have shared goals here.”

“Listen, it’s not that I’m not grateful. But...”

“You don’t like me?”

“I like you fine.” Maybe too much. She doubted she’d ever been around a man this attractive before in her life.

“You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t want to be left in the lurch.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Listen, you might have had bad luck with people in the past, but when I give my word, I keep it. No matter what.” He gestured to the BMW. “Now are you going to get in, or do you want me to throw you in?”

“If you try, you’ll get more than you bargained for.”

He held up his hands, palms out. “Kidding. Listen, Sylvie, we made a deal. You help me with my case, I help you find your sister.”

They had made a deal. A deal she wasn’t comfortable with. Not in the least.

He glanced at his watch. “It’s already pushing eight. Do you really want to stand around here and argue about this, or do you want to find your sister? It’s up to you.”

Diana had been missing for four hours. Four hours and the clock was ticking.

“Okay. For now.”

Minutes later, Sylvie gripped the leather armrest and scanned the homes scrolling by, trying to spot the house numbers. When she’d first visited Diana in Madison, she remembered thinking the way the downtown funneled into an isthmus between two large lakes was charming. But after more than half an hour with Bryce negotiating hilly, winding one-way streets in the dark, the charm had worn off.

She finally spotted the address. A beautiful stone Tudor lit with artfully arranged spotlights and covered in ivy. “There it is.”

Bryce piloted the car into the home’s narrow drive, parked, and they walked up the cobblestone sidewalk. Bryce stabbed the doorbell button.

Chimes echoed through the house. A moment later footsteps tapped across a wood floor inside and an eye peered through the peephole.

“Yes?” A woman’s voice.

“My name is Sylvie Hayes and this is Bryce Walker.” Sylvie projected her voice, hoping the woman could hear her through the door. “We’d like a word with Professor Bertram. Is he home?”

“No.”

“Do you know when he will be home?” Bryce asked.

“No.”

“Is this Mrs. Bertram?”

Silence.

Strange. Wisconsin Heights was not a neighborhood that seemed to call for a lot of security. Mostly home to university professors and well-to-do business leaders in Madison, it seemed like a safe neighborhood in an area overflowing with safe neighborhoods. Except for the nighttime visit, which would make anyone wary, there didn’t seem to be a reason for Mrs. Bertram’s apparent fear.

Sylvie couldn’t help but wonder what or who had spooked her.

Bryce raised his eyebrows at Sylvie. “We need to talk to Professor Bertram about a graduate student who is working with him on one of his research projects.”

“My sister, Diana Gale,” Sylvie added.

“He doesn’t live here anymore. He hasn’t for many years.”

“You’re divorced?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Disappointment seeped into Sylvie’s bones like the chill of approaching winter. “Do you have his address?”

“Of course I have it. That doesn’t mean I’m going to give it to you.”

“We really need to talk to him. My sister has disappeared.”

“And you think Vincent can help you?”

“We hope so,” Bryce answered.

“What project was your sister working on for Vincent?”

Sylvie hesitated. “Diana interviewed Ed Dryden.”

She could hear Mrs. Bertram’s sharp intake of breath even through the door. Silence followed that was so complete Sylvie thought the woman might have walked away.

Suddenly the clack of two deadbolts sliding open cut the quiet. The door inched open and Mrs. Bertram peered out. Skin nearly as white as her hair, she blinked even in the darkness, like a mouse venturing out of a safe, dark hole. “Stop by Vincent’s office. He’ll be happy to help all he can.”

“I was really hoping to talk to him before Monday,” Sylvie said.

The woman glanced at her watch. “He’s probably there now.”

“On a Saturday night?”

“He usually stops back after dinner, says it’s quieter then, better for concentrating. But if your sister’s disappearance has something to do with that monster, he won’t mind the interruption. He’ll do everything he can to help.”

Sylvie wished she could shake the woman’s hand, something to let her know her appreciation. But Sylvie got the feeling that a touch from a stranger wouldn’t be welcomed. She settled on a smile. “Thank you so much.”

The woman gave her a nod and retreated, closing the door behind her.

Sylvie glanced up at Bryce, eager to get his impression of what had happened.

He was looking past her, in the direction of the street.

She followed his line of sight. The one-way street was quiet. Except for an older man walking a dog and a blue service van pulling into a side street, it looked as though the entire neighborhood was spending Saturday night either out or snuggled in their living rooms. “What do you see?”

“I’ll tell you in the car.”

Sylvie had just enough time to climb in the BMW and secure her seatbelt before Bryce pulled away from the curb. “Okay, out with it.”

Eyes flitting to the rearview mirror, he slowly wound through the quiet neighborhood. “Did you notice the van?”

“Are you thinking it’s strange for a service van to be driving around on a Saturday night?”

“Yes, but that’s not all.”

“I hate playing guessing games. Will you just tell me?”

“It belongs to a food service. The type of business that provides produce, meat and canned goods to institutional settings like nursing homes.”

That was about as straightforward as another riddle. “Okay, I’ll bite. You’re wondering what a food service van was doing in that neighborhood?”

He nodded. “On a Saturday night.”

Okay, so that did seem odd. But there could be a perfectly innocent explanation. “Maybe a higher up in the company lives there.”

“Did you see the driver?”

“No.”

“Remember the redheaded guy who was listening in on our conversation in the hallway of your sister’s building? Diana’s neighbor?”

She hadn’t paid much attention to him, not enough to pick him out in a crowd. “He’s driving the van?”

“It’s dark, but yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s him.”

Sylvie twisted sideways in her seat as if she was talking to Bryce. Covertly she glanced out the back window. Sure enough. Several car lengths back, she saw the hulking shape of a panel van. “Why on earth would Diana’s neighbor be following us?”

Bryce veered right. “I don’t know. But I aim to find out.”

Bryce

Bryce let up on the gas and watched the distance between them and the van shrink. He didn’t want to lose Red. Not yet.

“What are you going to do?” One hand clutching the armrest and the other bracing against the padded dash, Sylvie looked as if she expected him to take off cross country, four wheeling it through manicured yards and flower gardens.

There was a day when he might have been arrogant enough to try something like that, just for fun. But that Bryce had died along with Tanner. “I’m going to set a trap.”

He drove several blocks before the narrow road branched off to the left. He flipped on his blinker, making sure their red-haired shadow got a good look before he turned.

“What kind of trap?”

Bryce drove slowly down a road flanked by forest-shrouded homes. “This drive loops in a circle. Once our guy follows us in, there will be no way for him to drive out without going past us.”

No need to explain how he knew this, how he used to pass the little jog in the road sheltered by trees every day on the way to the office—the place he now planned to lie in ambush. Driving through this neighborhood was reminder enough of things he wished he could forget.

The road split into two branches, one gliding straight up a hill, one turning sharply into a copse of trees. Bryce chose the hill.

Sylvie twisted in her seat. “He’s turning in behind us.”

“So far, so good.” He kept his speed steady, climbing the hill and driving along the crest. He glanced in the rearview mirror. The panel van was hanging back, waiting until they crested the hill before following. Red didn’t want to be seen.

Too late for that.

“What are you going to do once you trap him?”

“Ask him why he’s following us.”

Up ahead a real estate sign attracted his attention. The windows in the mansion behind it were black and as empty as soulless eyes.

Bryce focused on the road ahead and kept driving. He’d drop the price again if it didn’t sell after the open house tomorrow. Hell, he’d give the sucker away. Anything to be rid of it. To be rid of the man he once was. And then he’d junk his boat and this car for good measure.

They crested the hill and curved down the other side. Reaching the sharp turn near the creek, he pulled to a stop in the cover of trees. From here they could see both branches of the loop. And anyone following couldn’t see the BMW until they were nearly on Bryce’s bumper.

Bryce unhitched his seatbelt. “Stay here.”

“What if he has a gun?”

“I’m just going to talk to him.”

“And that’s going to keep him from shooting you?”

“Why would he have a gun?”

“I don’t know. It seems like everyone has a gun anymore.”

Bryce had to admit, it hadn’t occurred to him that Red could be armed, and now that it had, he wished he had a pistol of his own about now.

Too late for that. “Stay here,” he repeated, and climbed out. He heard the passenger door open before he rounded the back of the car.

Why did he ever think Sylvie would listen to him?

The sound of an engine coasted down the hill and wound toward him. Rounding the corner, the van emerged from the trees. Brakes locked up, rubber screeching against pavement. The driver stared through a bug-spattered windshield, his skin pale even for a redhead. He threw the van into reverse and hit the gas. The engine roared. The van shot backward and slammed into the trunk of a tree.

The sound of steel crumpling made Bryce wince. He’d meant to make an impression, not cause an accident. But the damn kid got what he deserved. Catching up to the van, Bryce yanked open the door.

Red held up his hands as if Bryce were pointing a gun at him after all. “I didn’t do anything. I swear.”

At least Red seemed all right. “Why are you following us?”

“Following you? I’m not following you.”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Red spotted Sylvie step alongside the panel van’s snubbed hood. She narrowed her eyes on him. “Who are you?”

“Louis…Louis Ingersoll.” He latched on to Sylvie with his gaze. “You’re Diana’s twin sister. She told me about you.”

“What do you know about Diana? Where is she?”

“Diana? That’s why I was following you. I hoped you’d know.”

Right. As if Bryce believed that one. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

“I was going to.”

“Come on out of the van and talk to us for a minute.”

The kid looked from Sylvie to Bryce and back again. “I don’t know anything about what happened to Diana. I just know what the minister told everyone in the church. I swear.”

Sylvie stepped toward him. “You were at Diana’s wedding?”

“Of course. She’s my neighbor. I might not have agreed with her marrying that Baraboo cop, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to show for the wedding if she wants me there.”

“You weren’t a big fan of Diana getting married?” Sylvie asked.

“She was too good for him.”

“Why do you say that?” Sylvie asked. “What do you know about Bobby?”

“Nothing. Just that he’s a cop.”

Bryce remembered Detective Perreth’s suspicions where Bobby was concerned. Suspicions Sylvie had written off as ridiculous but might be worth checking out. “Did Bobby and Diana fight often?”

Even though Bryce kept his focus on Red, he could feel Sylvie’s glare burn a hole just in front of his ear.

Red slid out of the van. Hitting the ground, he shifted one of his Reebok runners in the gravel. “You’re thinking the same thing that detective at her apartment was thinking. That he beat her up.”

“Did he?”

“If he had, I would have killed him.” He balled his hands into fists.

Bryce didn’t know Bobby Vaughan, but he would have to be pretty small to be overpowered by Red. Posturing aside, Red still hadn’t answered his original question. “Did they fight often?”

Red’s hands went slack by his side. “I never even heard them argue.”

“Did you tell that to the detective?” Sylvie asked in a righteous tone, shooting Bryce a glare.

“He didn’t seem to care.”

So maybe Sylvie was right about her sister and Bobby Vaughan. Maybe. Bryce had to admit that whatever the truth was, the longer he was around Sylvie, the more he wanted to believe her version. “So why do you think Diana is too good for her fiancé?”

“Do you know her, man? Have you ever met her?”

“No.”

“She isn’t just beautiful, she’s smart. You know, like lightning smart.” He stared dreamily, as if picturing Diana in front of him now. Only he was staring at Sylvie. “And she has this smile that seems like it’s only for you.”

Bryce hadn’t had much chance to experience Sylvie’s smile, but he could imagine what it felt like way too vividly.

He pulled himself back from that thought. “So you have some kind of puppy-dog crush on Diana?”

Red lifted his chin, defensive. “She was my neighbor. And my friend.”

Now he’d made the guy defiant. A great way to get him to open up. He needed to keep his head straight, remember what he was trying to do, not go off on mental tangents like pondering Sylvie’s smile.

Next to him, Sylvie focused on Red, nodding understandingly. “It sounds like you would know everything that went on in her life.”

“Not everything.”

“Maybe enough to help us find her? To help us save her?”

The kid drew himself up. Like any red-blooded guy with a crush, he liked the idea of being a knight in shining armor to Diana Gale’s damsel in distress. “How can I help? What do you need to know?”

With just a few words, Sylvie had tapped into Louis Ingersoll’s vulnerabilities immediately. Bryce stood back and watched, letting her take over.

“You said Bobby wasn’t good enough for her. Why?”

“He was there in the room where she disappeared, right? And he didn’t protect her. I would have protected her.”

“How did you know Bobby was there?”

“The detective. He told me.”

Perreth hadn’t been overly eager to share information with them. Why would he have confided that detail to Diana’s next-door neighbor? A next-door neighbor nursing a serious crush?

The uneasy feeling resumed its creep up Bryce’s spine. Thanks to Tanner’s penchant for helping abused and vulnerable women, Bryce had seen more than his share of injured male pride and thwarted male desire. This kid had it bad for Diana. And Diana was to marry another man. All the elements for disaster. “You could have done a lot of things for Diana Gale, couldn’t you?”

The kid stuck out a freckled chin. “Yeah.”

“But she wouldn’t let you.”

The chin hardened. “Hey, it’s not my fault if she was fooled by that whole man-in-a-uniform thing.”

“You think Bobby fooled her? You think that’s why she wasn’t interested in you?”

“Diana and me… we were close. We talked all the time. I knew things she didn’t tell anybody else. Not even that cop.”

“Like what?”

“You think I’d repeat them to you?”

Sylvie stepped forward and laid her hand on his arm. “Will you tell me? Will you help me find my sister?”

Bryce watched the kid’s defiance fall apart like a bad court case. First the chin receded. Then his eyes softened to the consistency of that sweet creme inside fancy chocolates.

“Did Diana ever mention the name Ed Dryden to you?” Sylvie asked.

“Sure. I used to save clippings for her from the newspaper. She was fascinated with him.”

“Did she say why?”

“She didn’t need to explain. We have always been on the same wavelength.”

“Can you explain it to me?”

“Ed Dryden is…” He shrugged. “A lot of people find serial killers interesting.”

Sylvie shook her head as if she couldn’t understand the comment and refused to accept it would include her sister. “Do you think he has anything to do with her disappearance?”

“He’s in prison.”

“Do you know why he would want to hurt Diana?”

“Why do you think he wants to hurt Diana?” Shaking his head, Red offered Sylvie a reassuring smile. “No one would want to hurt her. Everyone loves Diana.”

The unease encircling Bryce’s throat gave a squeeze. Maybe everyone didn’t love Diana, but this kid sure did. To the point of obsession. And judging by the way he was looking at Sylvie, after this little chat his obsession might just include her too.

Sylvie

Fortunately, parking on the university campus was easy to come by on a Saturday night. But amidst the university-wide construction, finding the psych building was another matter. As uneasy as Sylvie felt about Bryce accompanying her, she couldn’t help but be grateful; at least he knew Madison. Had she been trying to negotiate the campus alone, she probably would have been walking aimlessly all night. Instead, Bryce led her through the maze of buildings with confidence, finally locating the temporary offices serving the psychology department while it appeared the psychology building itself was being torn down and rebuilt.

It was so quiet in the building, she was surprised to find the door unlocked. A glance at the directory inside the door told them which professors’ offices were being housed here and how to find them.

“No Risa Madsen. She must not be at the university anymore.”

Bryce tapped the glass covering the directory board. “But Vincent Bertram is here.”

They climbed the stairs to the second floor and wound through a narrow hall until they found his office.

Bryce knocked on the door.

No answer.

“We must have missed him.” They couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Since Diana had disappeared this afternoon, alarm had been blaring in Sylvie’s ears nonstop. She had to find her sister now.

“Are you looking for someone?”

Sylvie whirled toward the quiet voice.

A man only a few inches taller than she, but with the wide shoulders of a bodybuilder, strode down the long hall toward them. His blond hair was liberally sprinkled with white and tapered into almost fully white sideburns that matched his goatee. But the most striking thing about the man was his brown eyes. The dark irises were almost completely surrounded by white, making his gaze very intense. “Diana?”

She fought the urge to squirm. “I’m her sister, Sylvie.”

“Oh, forgive me. I didn’t know Diana had a twin.” He stuck out his hand. “Vincent Bertram.”

Sylvie barely contained a relieved sigh. “I need your help. It’s about Diana.”

His palm engulfed hers, enveloping her hand in a sort of fatherly warmth that contradicted the intensity of his eyes. “Of course. Come in.”

Professor Bertram slipped a key into the lock and gestured Sylvie and Bryce into a small, book-lined room barely bigger than Diana’s walk-in closet. The only thing that kept the room from inspiring claustrophobia was the single small window overlooking the lights dotting Bascom Hill. Thankfully he left the door open.

“I’m sorry for the cramped office. These are our construction digs. They tell me the new psychology building will be beautiful.”

Sylvie returned his smile and nodded at the window. “Your view is beautiful.”

“That, I’m afraid, won’t be quite so nice in the new building. Have a seat, would you?”

Sylvie and Bryce lowered themselves into chairs.

The professor leaned a hip on the edge of his desk and peered down at them. “Now, what can I help you with?”

Sylvie again found herself fighting the need to squirm. She’d hate to have Bertram as a professor. Sitting under those eyes made her feel as if he could see right through her. “I need to know why my sister is involved in your research.”

“The research on Ed Dryden, yes.” Seemingly Professor Bertram had no qualms about saying the killer’s name out loud. But then, that kind of comfort probably came with poring over what the man did and said on a regular basis. One grew desensitized.

Sylvie thought of the photo of Dryden and all the articles describing what he’d done. Had Diana become desensitized to Dryden’s evil too? Did the horror of what he was simply wear off over time?

Sylvie couldn’t imagine it.

“Our arrangement is very simple, actually. Diana asked to help, and I took her up on it.”

Bryce gave an incredulous grunt. “And you let anyone who asks waltz into a maximum-security prison and chat with a dangerous serial killer?”

“Of course not. Diana was different.”

“How?”

“I’ve done a lot of work studying serial killers, put in a lot of years. Studying Ed Dryden was going to be the crowning jewel of my career. I even talked to a publisher for my book on the subject. Then Dryden decided to be difficult.”

Bryce leaned forward in his chair. “Difficult? How?”

“He refused to let me interview him further.”

“So your book deal was dead.” The picture was coming clearer in Sylvie’s mind.

“More than that. All the research Risa Madsen had started and I had continued on Dryden came to a dead end.” He shook his head.

“Enter Diana?” Sylvie said.

“Somehow she’d found out about our work. She asked if she could be part of the program.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you let her.” Bryce’s tone was unmistakably condemning. But though Sylvie found the hints of protectiveness he’d shown her nerve racking, she warmed to the idea that he might feel protective of Diana as well.

“Diana said she was going to speak to Dryden whether I arranged it or not. So I arranged it. Why wouldn’t I? There was no program without her. No book. Not one of much merit, at any rate. Dryden wasn’t going to let me interview him. But here comes this intelligent woman who wants to give my work a chance at a second life. And Dryden agreed to speak with her.”

Sylvie couldn’t believe it was that simple. “Didn’t it occur to you that you might be putting her in danger?”

“Banesbridge might not be as restrictive as the Supermax, or whatever it’s currently called, but it’s being totally renovated. It’s secure.”

“It would probably be more secure if Dryden wasn’t allowed to communicate with anyone who wanted a chat.”

Bertram met Bryce’s comment with a bland look.

Sylvie shot Bryce a warning glance. Shifting in her chair, she returned her focus to Bertram. “Did Diana report a threatening letter she received from Dryden?”

“A letter?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “When?”

“About a month ago,” Bryce informed him.

“She didn’t mention it.” Graying brows hunkered low. “Why don’t you ask Diana these questions?”

“Diana has disappeared.”

“Disappeared? How?” He raked a hand through his hair, fingers trembling slightly. “Is that why you’re here? You think Ed Dryden somehow caused her disappearance?”

She wanted to say yes, but the answer seemed ludicrous. Ed Dryden was an evil man, but he wasn’t some sort of supernatural being. He couldn’t attack Bobby and kidnap Diana from his prison cell. “To tell you the truth, Professor, I came to talk to you because I don’t know what to think.”

“Have you reported this to the police?”

“Yes.”

“Have they found anything?”

“The detective on the case isn’t very forthcoming. I don’t know what he’s found.”

The professor raked his hair again. “I’m sorry. Is there any reason you believe Edward Dryden might be involved?”

“Just the threat she received.”

“The threat?” He shook his head. “She never told me he threatened her.”

“We’re not sure it was him.”

“Who else could it be? And why wouldn’t she have told me?”

“Maybe because she knew you wouldn’t allow her to see him anymore?” Bryce offered.

“I wouldn’t have. I want you to know that. If I thought she was in any danger at all, I wouldn’t have let her near him.” He looked to Sylvie. “I’m so sorry, Sylvie. You can’t know how sorry I am that any of this had to happen.”

She pushed herself up from her chair. “Thank you.”

He grasped her hand in his. “The police know their job. I’m sure they’ll find her.”

At least someone was sure. “If you think of anything at all, will you call me?”

Grabbing a pen from the desk, Sylvie jotted down her cell number. Bryce handed him a business card before following her out of the office.

They walked a short distance down the hall without saying a word. For a reason Sylvie couldn’t name, she wanted to get out of Professor Bertram’s earshot before chewing over all he’d told them—and more importantly, all he hadn’t.

Rounding the corner, they nearly ran headlong into a dark-skinned man wearing glasses with the largest lenses Sylvie had ever seen. Behind the glasses, the lines of middle age crinkled around sharp black eyes. “Don’t believe Bertram’s innocent act.”

“What?” Sylvie couldn’t have heard him correctly, could she? “Who are you?”

“Sami Yamal. Assistant professor. I couldn’t help but overhear. You want to know more? Come.” He motioned for them to follow and walked off down the hall.

Once they passed the stairs and rounded another corner, Yamal unlocked an office and led them inside. Cubicles and file cabinets jammed a room three times the size of Bertram’s office. As soon as they stepped inside, he closed the door behind them. “Your sister was obsessed with Ed Dryden.”

Sylvie thought of the file folder Diana kept on the serial killer. As much as she wanted to argue against his charge, she couldn’t. “Why do you think that?”

“Things she said. Things she knew.”

“Like what?”

He waved a hand, as if brushing the details away like stray crumbs. “Let’s just say she did her research before she ever set foot in this department. And that was just the beginning. She wouldn’t let it go. She grilled me.”

“Why would she grill you?” Bryce asked. “Why not go directly to the expert?”

“Expert? You mean Bertram?” He raised his chin, clearly prickly over Bryce’s question. “I might not have tenure like Bertram, but I was the one who kept the Ed Dryden research going in the years after Risa Madsen left. Diana did come to the expert.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“I answered her questions.”

“And suggested she talk to Dryden herself?”

Yamal held up a hand. “I told her not to go near him. Bertram pushed that.”

“Bertram?” Sylvie glanced back in the direction of Bertram’s office. Had he lied to them? Why? “He said Diana insisted she would visit Dryden whether he arranged it or not.”

“Diana was eager to know about Dryden, no question. But that was it. She never asked to visit him. Until Bertram decided she was the savior of his book deal.”

Bryce arched his brows. “So you’re saying Bertram pushed her into visiting Dryden?”

“Bertram used Diana. And she was happy to let him.”

Sylvie nodded. That much Bertram had told them, if not in so many words. “He implied Dryden agreed to talk to her because she’s a woman.”

Yamal let out a short, barking laugh. “Not just any woman.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever seen pictures of the women Dryden killed?”

The faces from the news articles Diana collected filtered through Sylvie’s mind. “Some of them.”

Yamal’s smile made her want to squirm. He opened a file drawer and pulled out a folder. Carrying it to a nearby desk, he removed a stack of photos. “One look at these and you’ll understand.”

A nervous flutter lodged under Sylvie’s ribs.

Bryce stepped up beside her. He placed his hand lightly on her arm, as if to offer support.

She pulled her arm away. She could make it on her own. Whatever Sami Yamal was about to show her, she’d deal with it as long as it led her closer to finding Diana.

One by one, Yamal spread a variety of shots of smiling blond women across the desktop. “These are Dryden’s first victims, the ones he killed before he was captured the first time. Notice the similarities? They’re all young. They’re all blond.”

Sylvie didn’t have to look hard to see what he was talking about. “And they all look like Diana.”

He pulled one of the pictures from the rest and held it in front of Sylvie’s nose.

She nearly gasped. The woman in the picture could be her third sister—not identical, but frighteningly close. The style of the woman’s blond hair and the puffy sleeves of her jacket dated the picture. No doubt the woman would be quite a bit older than them—if she had lived. “Is that his first victim?”

He shook his head. “His last. Well, until his later prison escape. But she is the most significant of his early victims.”

Bryce nodded. “His wife.”

“Adrianna Dryden. The theory first developed by Risa Madsen is that Dryden had felt controlled by her, a control he couldn’t fight against, a control that emasculated him. So he killed women who looked like her to claim back the power he felt she stole.” He gestured to the collection of photos with a sweep of his hand. “In effect, he used these other murders to fantasize about torturing, murdering, and mutilating his wife. When he finally worked up enough confidence and excitement, he did what he’d aimed to do all along.”

Sylvie swallowed into a dry throat. “And Diana looks just like her.”

“Exactly why Bertram knew Dryden would talk to her. And Diana wasn’t interested in taking credit for the research or the book. A match made in heaven.” Bitterness turned his voice as brittle as a crust of ice. “Diana Gale never should have been put in that situation. She didn’t know Dryden. She might have hit the microfilm, but she didn’t do the years of research required to learn how to handle someone like him, if it’s even possible. I don’t know if Ed Dryden is responsible or not for your sister’s disappearance, but if he is, the blame lies squarely with Vincent Bertram.”

Val

Val smelled the body before she saw it. The sweet, putrid odor of decay threaded through scents of autumn leaves, nighttime, and lake. She signed in with the officer maintaining the crime scene record, ducked under the yellow tape, and followed the lights illuminating the forest path.

“Glad you could make it down here so fast,” a bulldog of a man said. He motioned her to follow. “Coroner wants to cut her down asap. Rain coming.”

“Detective Perreth, I presume,” Val said to the Madison cop.

“Sorry. Call me Stan. I recognized you from your picture. You know, a few years ago.”

For a while there, Val’s face was all over the media, local and even nationwide. A statement like Stan’s was usually followed by a battery of questions about Dixon Hess and the hell that had unfolded in Lake Loyal. She wasn’t eager to walk down memory lane. “Tell me about what you found.”

“I’ve done some deer hunting in my day, and what he did to her…” Stan paused, as if gathering his composure. “It’s messed up.”

Val nodded. Murder was messed up. And an investigation was always emotionally stressful. As long as she kept it compartmentalized, as if this murder were more a mind puzzle than a horrible tragedy, she could function. Later, after her job was done, she would tackle the job of processing. Now her focus had to be on finding whoever was committing these horrible crimes and helping law enforcement stop him.

“So are you saying she was field dressed, the way a deer would be?” she asked Stan Perreth.

“That’s why I called you. I was a rookie at your county sheriff’s department back when Ed Dryden went on his last spree. This seems a bit too familiar for comfort. And then I heard you have another one, a recent one…”

“You heard right.”

“Copycat?”

“Seems likely. Maybe our county coroner could consult with your M.E?”

“Sure thing. Appreciate it.”

They kept following the trail, the smell growing stronger with each step.

“Was there anything else you noticed?” Val asked.

“He went to certain lengths to hide the victim’s identity.”

As far as Val knew, that was a new twist. “What lengths?”

“Cut off her fingertips.”

Val’s fingers ached in response.

“Took a baseball bat to her face.”

Her cheekbones could almost feel the blows.

“And he… uh, he removed her teeth. The uppers with the bat, the lowers by taking off her jaw.”

Val clamped her teeth together hard.

“I didn’t see anything like that in the reports about your murder.”

Val shook her head. “No, nothing like that. That makes me wonder if the killer knew her.”

“I feel I need to warn you…”

“Warn me? About what?”

“We have a possible victim.”

“How does that require a warning?”

“You might know her.”

A tightness gripped Val’s chest. She’d lost too many people she knew already. If she hadn’t talked to her niece Grace this morning, she’d probably be suffering a full-on panic attack right now. “You have an I.D.?”

“Nothing official. Not yet. But a woman went missing yesterday, and…”

“A woman I know?” Val thought for a moment. She hadn’t been invited to the wedding, but a congratulatory card had been circling through the county sheriff’s department. “Bobby Vaughn’s fiancé?”

The pained look on Stan’s face confirmed her guess. “So you do know her. Sorry.”

“I’ve met her, but no, not really. Bobby Vaughan was the lead on our Jane Doe case, though. Until yesterday. Small world.”

“You don’t know how small. Vaughan’s assault and his wife-to-be’s abduction? I’m running point on that investigation.”

“Busy man.”

“Tell me about it. I first pegged Diana Gale as a suspect, the way she disappeared and all. But now…”

“Now you think this might be her.”

“She has the same hair color and same build as the body you’re about to see. And that’s not all.”

They followed a bend in the trail. A clearing opened before them. Floodlights highlighted twisted branches of oak. And hanging from one of the thick branches of the largest tree was a woman’s bloody body, head down, tied by the ankles.

Like a crime scene photo straight out of the past.

Val approached the body, noting each of the cuts Harlan had demonstrated on her dinner.

“Thoughts?” Stan Perreth finally said, breaking the silence.

“I’m glad you called,” Val managed to push from dry lips. The probability that their copycat killer had now taken at least two victims they knew of was disturbing enough. The thought that this woman might be Bobby Vaughan’s fiancé was too personally tragic to contemplate. “What else makes you think this might be Diana Gale?”

“Diana was part of a long-term research project at the university. And at various times, that project included interviews with Ed Dryden. Interviews she conducted.”

“You think he might have directed this from prison?”

“A woman visits him and then ends up dead? In just the way he liked to kill his earlier victims? Seems possible, doesn’t it?”

Val felt sick to her stomach. “Has Bobby Vaughan regained consciousness?”

“Last I checked, they were keeping him under.”

“Does Diana Gale have family? Someone who can help with DNA?”

“As a matter of fact, she does. A twin. She came to Madison for the wedding and she’s still here.”

“Good. How about the university study?”

“I’m in touch with the professor running it.”

“And the FBI?”

“I have a call in.”

Val pulled out her phone, took several shots of the body and the surrounding area, and traded phone numbers with Stan Perreth.

“Want to go with me to talk to the twin? I could use a woman’s touch.”

Death notifications, whether Diana was actually dead or not, were one of the worst parts of a law enforcement officer’s job. And if Val could no longer have the best parts, she was sure not volunteering for the worst. “I’m afraid you’re on your own for this one.”

“Coward.”

Val gave him an apologetic shrug.

Besides, she had a stop to make. And broaching the subject of Ed Dryden with the person she was about to visit was going to be tough enough for one night.

Bryce

Bryce held the door and ushered Sylvie out of the building. The cool slap of autumn felt refreshing after the stifling heat inside. He peered down the vacant slope of Bascom Hill stretching down to Library Mall and onward to State Street, and eventually the glowing white dome of the state capitol.

It was a beautiful night. Too bad they couldn’t enjoy it.

“Do you think it’s possible?”

For a moment, Bryce thought Sylvie had been reading his thoughts. Then reality came crashing back. “That Ed Dryden is behind Diana’s disappearance?”

“There’s no way he could have that kind of reach in the outside world, is there? I mean, if he was involved in organized crime, that would be another thing. But he’s just one man.”

Bryce had thought the same thing, before Tanner’s death.

“I mean, Sami Yamal seemed pretty bitter,” Sylvie went on. “Maybe he kidnapped Diana to discredit Bertram.”

“Seems like there are easier ways for him to do that.”

“Or maybe Bertram did it.”

“She was helping him with his research. He has no reason to want her to disappear.”

She blew out a stream of air in frustration. “Well, he seems like a more likely candidate than a serial killer who is behind bars.”

“You’re scared.”

She didn’t say a word, just started walking faster.

“It’s okay to be scared, Sylvie. I’d be worried if you weren’t. Dryden is a scary guy.”

“Are you scared?”

“Yes.”

“Then why go out of your way to help me? Why not walk away?”

“What do you mean?”

“Smuggling that folder out of Diana’s. Coming with me to talk to Bertram. You didn’t have to do any of that. Nothing is keeping you here. If you’re scared, why not walk away?”

He wasn’t sure if he was that transparent or if she was trying to convince herself his real motive had nothing to do with actually helping her. “I told you, I have to talk to Diana—”

“About your case, yeah, yeah. Must be an important case.”

“It is. But that’s not all. I also don’t want something bad to happen to your sister. No matter what, she doesn’t deserve that.”

“You think she is one of those women who are attracted to serial killers—a groupie—don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You do.”

“Probably.”

She dropped her gaze to the leaves scattering under her feet. With her eyes cast down and anxiety digging lines in her smooth complexion, she looked frustrated, hopeless. “It doesn’t seem like her at all.”

“Your sister was playing a dangerous game when she entered that prison to interview Ed Dryden.”

Sylvie shook her head. “He’s in prison. Behind bars. How could he hurt her? Psychologically?”

“Definitely. There’s also a chance he has help on the outside.”

Sylvie wrapped her arms around her middle and shivered.

Even though he knew her chill was more psychological than physical, he shrugged out of his wool overcoat and draped it around her shoulders.

She held up a hand. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

That stubborn streak again. Stubbornness that only made him want to help her more. What did that say about him? “It’s cold. Take it. It’s the least I can do.”

Grudgingly, she grasped the lapels, pulled the coat around her, and continued walking.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Accepting my coat. You’re saving me from all the guilt I would feel watching you shiver.”

“I’m not used to… stuff like this.”

“No kidding.”

She shot him a frown. The breeze blew a strand of blond against her cheek.

Bryce stared straight down the hill and quickened his pace. He shouldn’t even be noticing the way the wind blew her hair. Not if he wanted to keep his focus where it belonged.

“You said you saw the prison’s visitor logs. Who else visited Dryden? Besides Diana?”

“In the last six months? Just your sister and Dryden’s attorney.”

“If someone is relaying messages for him, maybe it’s his attorney.”

Her suggestion was so ironic, it took a second for Bryce’s brain to rattle back into place. “Impossible.”

“Why?”

“I know his attorney. Or his former attorney now. The guy’s an egotistical bastard, but he’d never be Dryden’s lackey. Trust me.”

“Are you sure there’s no one else?”

“Sure, there’s someone else. Prison guards. Other inmates. Any of them could have delivered a message for him.”

Sylvie checked her watch. “Damn, it’s late already.”

“You have plans?”

“I want to go to the hospital, check on Bobby.”

When they reached the footbridge arching over Park Street, Sylvie stopped and spun to face him. “What if we’re looking at this from the wrong angle entirely?”

She’d lost him. He was still recovering from her attorney question. “What do you mean?”

“What if this doesn’t have anything to do with Ed Dryden or Diana? What if Bobby was the real target in the attack?”

“So why kidnap her?”

“To hurt him? Say there’s someone with a grudge against Bobby…”

She was grasping at straws again, and the path of her thoughts became as clear as if she’d drawn them on a map. “You’re thinking about Detective Perreth.”

“For whatever reason, he seems to hate Bobby. They worked together, I guess. So let’s say Perreth wants to get back at him for something. What better way than to attack him and kidnap Diana? God, he’s even trying to blame the whole thing on her. That would really tear Bobby apart.”

Bryce figured Sylvie wouldn’t want to hear it, but he had to speak up anyway. “Seems a little extreme.”

“Why? Because he’s a cop?”

“For starters.”

“Some cops think the law doesn’t apply to them.”

“Maybe some do. But I haven’t met them. And I’ve dealt with a lot of cops.”

“Maybe you’ve only dealt with good ones. There are bad people out there too. And some of them are cops.”

“Listen, I agree that Perreth is no gem. But I still think Diana’s connection to Ed Dryden is too strong to ignore.”

“You’re probably right. But I’m not discounting any possibilities.” She raised her chin. Her lower lip appeared to quiver slightly, but she caught it between her teeth before he could tell for sure.

The gesture dug into Bryce’s chest like a dull and rusty blade. What was he thinking? Ed Dryden wasn’t the only possibility. There were others. One came to mind immediately. “You know, of the people we talked to today, I’d be inclined to believe Red is our best bet.”

“Louis Ingersoll?” Sylvie’s brows pulled together. “He likes Diana.”

“A little too much, don’t you think?”

“You think he was stalking her?”

Bryce shrugged. “When she disappeared, she was about to marry another man—a man Ingersoll didn’t think was worthy of her.”

Sylvie looked up at him with wide eyes. “If Perreth is as innocent as you say—and that’s still an if in my mind—do you think he knows about Louis?”

“I’ll give him a call.”

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem.”

“I mean really. Thank you. I know you don’t have to help me with any of this. And I know I don’t say it much. But I’ve really appreciated it.”

“So is that thanks a way of telling me goodbye or will you let me drive you to the hospital?”

Sylvie paused for a moment, then broke into a wisp of a smile that made the night even more beautiful. “Why not? You’re cheaper than Uber.”

Sylvie

Sylvie convinced Bryce to drop her off, park the car, and try to call Perreth at least once more before risking probable cell phone interference within the hospital.

Really, she just wanted a few moments alone.

As it worked out, she had more than a few. Two of the three elevators were closed for repairs during the late hours, so instead of waiting for the remaining one, she’d climbed five flights of stairs to the ICU. Once there, she was stopped at the nurse’s station by a uniformed police officer.

“And you are…” he said.

“Bobby’s sister-in-law. Or at least, I was supposed to be. He and my sister...”

The officer gave her a kind smile. “Do you have identification with you?”

“Yes.” She dug in her purse, finally locating her Illinois driver’s license. Wincing at the awful picture, she handed it to the officer.

After examining it, the officer turned her over to a nurse who warned her that Bobby had been put into a medically induced coma, led her into a cubicle separated from the rest of the ICU, and pulled a curtain across the open door.

Sylvie had thought she was prepared.

She was wrong.

Swathed in white, with tubes snaking everywhere, black hair shaved clean, and face pale and lifeless as wax, Bobby barely looked human. It was as if the Bobby she knew had disappeared right along with Diana.

Sylvie touched a spot of skin on his hand that was IV-needle free. She’d heard stories about how people in comas could hear, just not respond. She knew she should talk to him. Say something. But she had no idea what. She had no good news to tell him. And if he really could hear her, he didn’t need to know the bad.

“Ms. Hayes?” A woman in a white coat pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the cubicle. “I’m Dr. Afton.”

After some hand shaking and a few pleasantries Sylvie didn’t have the patience for, the doctor got down to business.

“Tests indicate we were able to stop the bleeding in his brain,” the doctor explained. “I don’t expect long-term problems, but we’re still watching him carefully at this point.”

“When will he regain consciousness?”

“The best thing for him to do is to sleep and heal. If everything continues to go well, it shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Tears stung Sylvie’s eyes. She’d never really thought of Bobby as family, but that’s what he would be right now if the wedding had gone as planned.

God knew he’d gone out of his way to include her and to encourage her and make her feel she belonged, as much as possible anyway. When Diana had walked into her life, Sylvie had gained not only a sister, but a brother. An actual blood-related family.

And now she might lose it all.

“Will you have someone call me when he wakes up? I left my number at the nurses’ station.”

“Of course.” The doctor glanced at her watch and stepped toward the curtain.

“Thank you.”

A nurse padded in on rubber soles as the doctor slipped out. “Ms. Hayes, we received a call at the nurses’ station that you’re to meet someone in the lobby. A Bryce Walker?”

“Thanks.” Why hadn’t Bryce come up? Had he found out Perreth had arranged for Bobby to have police protection and just wanted to give her time alone? Or was it something else?

Sylvie turned back to the bed, embarrassed by how relieved she felt to have a reason to leave. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I’m not very good at this kind of thing. But everything’s going to work out. I’ll make sure of it.”

She walked out of the ICU and down the long hall. Barely glancing at the disabled elevators, she headed directly for the stairs. She pulled the steel stairwell door open. The odor of new paint hit her again, just as strong as it had on her trip up.

Seemed as though the whole city was undergoing some kind of construction, a frantic last push before winter set in.

Sylvie started down the stairs. As she reached the bottom of the first flight, a thunk from above echoed off cement walls. Apparently, someone else was as impatient as she was, paint smell or no.

She continued down the next flight. Above, the sound of footsteps echoed her own. Perfectly matched. As if whoever had entered the stairwell was doing it on purpose.

No, that was ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

Of course, it was. Paranoia was setting in big time. Not surprising after all she’d been through in the last few hours, but ridiculous nonetheless. Still…

Sylvie slowed her pace.

The footsteps slowed, still matching hers.

She speeded up, circling the landing.

The footsteps accelerated, too.

Was someone playing games with her?

No. Couldn’t be. She was in a public building, not some haunted house from a horror flick. Even though it was late, she could open the door on any floor and rejoin civilization. She stopped in her tracks.

Above her, the footfalls stopped.

Her breathing rasped in her ears. “Who’s there?”

Her question echoed against concrete walls.

No answer.

“Is anyone there?”

Again, nothing.

Sylvie looked back at the door, several steps above. What kind of a person would try to attack someone in a public building? Just a few steps away from help?

Whoever had taken Diana from her own wedding, that’s who.

Sylvie looked down the stairwell. Reaching the next floor was her best bet. Once there, she could find help. Whoever was following wouldn’t dare attack her in a hallway bustling with people.

Taking a deep breath, she launched into a run. Her shoes clattered on concrete. She reached the mid-floor landing. Gripping the handrail, she whipped around the turn and headed down the next staircase.

Footsteps drummed above her. Faster. Keeping time.

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.

Sylvie hit the landing and grabbed for the doorknob. She yanked the door open and lunged out of the stairwell.

And into silent dusty darkness.

Sylvie willed her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. In the red glow of the exit sign above the stairwell door, she could see a hallway set up identically to the ICU floor, a short hallway splitting off the main one, the bank of elevators. But that’s where the similarities ended. The level she was on was a mess. Giant power tools cluttered the space, each a hulking shape in the darkness. Dust shrouded the tile floor, slick under her shoes.

The floor was closed for remodeling. And being a weekend night, there wasn’t a soul around.

Her throat constricted, making it hard to catch her breath. She had to get off this floor. She had to find people, to find Bryce.

But the first thing she had to do was to hide.

She dashed to one side of the hall, ducking behind one hulking obstacle, then another. A pallet of tile. An oversize trash bin. When she reached what appeared to be some kind of table saw, she heard the door of the stairwell open.

Sylvie crouched behind the saw. She didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe. She thought she was going to be sick.

The door closed with a thud. Soft footsteps scraped across the floor.

She peeked around the table saw, trying to get a look at who was walking toward her. But she could see nothing but more hulking shapes, more red-tinged darkness.

One more step.

Another.

A construction area had to have tools lying about. Didn’t it? If she could find something, anything, she could use as a weapon…

Sylvie groped along the dusty floor with one hand. Her fingers hit slick plastic. A section of PVC pipe. Not anywhere near heavy enough to cause damage, but at least it was something. She wrapped clammy fingers around the pipe.

And waited.

Footsteps scraped closer.

A drop of sweat trickled over her temple. Dust tickled her nose and clogged her throat. She held her breath.

The footsteps halted on the other side of the saw. A hulking figure silhouetted against the red glow. The outline of a man. He was not too tall, but his broad shoulders suggested strength.

Much more strength than she could overpower with a piece of plastic pipe.

Sylvie listened to his breathing, trying to sense the direction of his gaze. An eternity ticked by. Her lungs screamed for air. Her sinuses burned with the need to sneeze.

Finally, he pivoted and walked back the way he’d come. The door to the stairwell squeaked open and then slammed with a bang.

A tremble seized Sylvie’s chest. She sagged forward, bracing herself on the saw. Slowly she convinced her fingers to release the pipe, setting it quietly on the floor. But other than that, she didn’t dare move.

After a few more minutes she peered around the equipment she was hiding behind. She still could see nothing in the exit sign’s light but the tile palettes and various tools, but she was pretty sure she was alone. She waited a minute longer, maybe two, just to be sure.

When she finally stood, her legs tingled and stung as blood rushed back into them. Stifling a sneeze, she looked down the dusty hall. There had to be another exit, didn’t there? Another stairwell? She didn’t dare try the one he’d left through.

She stumbled down the dark hallway, rounded the corner, and spotted another red exit sign, glowing like a beacon. Slipping into the stairwell, she raced down the steps to the lobby level.

The light music of human voices greeted her. She pushed through the door, sprinted to the lobby, and spotted Bryce.

“Where have you been?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Her knees wobbled.

“What happened?”

She told him.

“Are you hurt?” Bryce looked down at her hands.

Sylvie followed his gaze. Her palms and the knees of her jeans were covered in dust and grit. “No, no, just dirt. I’m okay.”

“Did you get a look at him?”

“Not really. It was dark, but…”

“But what?”

“It wasn’t Louis Ingersoll. The man I saw was bigger. Not as tall as you, but broad. Strong.”

“Why didn’t you stay in the ICU?”

“What do you mean?”

“I went up there. You’d left.”

“You called the nurses’ station. You told me to meet you down here.”

He opened his mouth, a stricken look on his face. “I didn’t.”

“Then who did?”

“Walker?” a gruff voice said from behind them.

Sylvie and Bryce both jumped. Stepping out of Bryce’s grip, Sylvie turned and looked into Detective Perreth’s bulldog face.

Bryce stepped toward him. “About time you checked your voicemail.”

“Voicemail?”

“I left you half a dozen messages. You didn’t get the calls?”

“I haven’t had time to check my phone.”

“Then why are you here?”

Perreth’s eyes shifted to Sylvie. “I need you to come with me.”

Bryce stepped between her and Perreth. “As her attorney...”

“You can come along. Fine. Whatever you want.” The detective swung his focus to Sylvie. His gaze looked so flat, so dispassionate, it made her shiver. “We need your help to identify a body.”

Sylvie stared at him. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was. He couldn’t. “Diana?”

“That’s what we need to find out. Come with me.” Perreth led them into a small family waiting room and gestured to a group of chairs. “Have a seat.”

Sylvie remained on her feet. Even the thought of sitting, of allowing her body to be so passive, smacked of giving up. She couldn’t believe Diana was dead. The buzz in her ears that had become her constant companion the past few hours was still going strong. Wouldn’t that have changed if her sister was dead? Wouldn’t she feel nothing?

Bryce stood next to her. She could feel him watching her, but he didn’t speak. It was as if he sensed she couldn’t handle kind words right now. As if he understood nothing could possibly soothe her.

“When can I see her?” she asked Perreth.

“First things first, Ms. Hayes. Really, why don’t you take a seat?”

“I don’t want to take a seat. I want to see her.”

“Seeing her won’t do any good.”

“I thought you said you needed me to make an identification.”

“DNA?” Bryce asked.

Perreth nodded. “Just a swab of your cheek.”

Sylvie looked from one man to the other. She didn’t just want to give a DNA sample. She needed to see the body. If her senses were wrong—the buzz in her ears, the pinch at the back of her neck, the feeling that Diana was still alive—she needed to know. “I have to see her for myself.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not possible.”

“Why?”

Perreth grunted. “You wouldn’t recognize her.”

Sylvie shook her head, not wanting to let the implications of his words sink in.

“Dental records?” Bryce prompted.

“I’m afraid that won’t help, either.”

She couldn’t let herself imagine the horror. “What makes you think it’s my sister?”

“Height, build, what’s left of the hair—all match. And she’s the only missing person we have fitting that description. We need your DNA to be certain.”

“But you don’t know it’s her.”

“No.”

Diana was still alive. She had to be. “How long will the DNA match take?”

“Our lab will expedite. But the time depends on a number of factors. I can’t be any more specific than that.”

Specific? He hadn’t been specific about anything since she met him. “You’ll still look for Diana while you’re waiting for the results?”

That bored look again. And no answer.

What little oxygen was in the room seemed to leech away. “You can’t stop looking for her. Please.”

“If she’s still out there, we’ll find her.”

“She isn’t dead. She’s my twin. I’d know. I’d feel it.”

Perreth glanced at her sideways.

She turned to Bryce. “She’s not dead.”

He reached out and took her hand in his, giving her something to hold on to. “Okay. Then no matter what the police do, we keep looking.”

Tears pressed hot against the backs of her eyes and burned through her sinuses. She was so afraid, so very afraid she would never see her sister again. But Bryce was here with her. And though she could tell he feared she was wrong, that deep down he probably believed Perreth, he was willing to listen, willing to help.

And more solid than anything she’d ever known.

Bryce

After Detective Perreth swabbed Sylvie’s cheek to get a DNA sample, they told him about Louis Ingersoll’s strange behavior, Diana’s visits to the prison, and Sylvie’s frightening experience in the hospital. The detective seemed to listen, took a few notes, and said he’d ask patrol officers to drive by Sylvie’s hotel every couple of hours.

At least it was something.

By the time Bryce walked Sylvie back to her hotel room, it was well past midnight, and he felt wearier than sleep could ever cure.

He could never make up for his decision to represent Dryden. He could never wash Tanner’s blood from his hands. And now, if Diana Gale was indeed lying in the morgue, he would have her blood to contend with too.

He eyed Sylvie as she walked beside him. He couldn’t change the past. Couldn’t erase what he’d done. All he could do now was to help her either find her sister or face her grief.

“Do you have someone I could call? Someone to stay with you?”

“No.”

“No one?”

Reaching the door, she fumbled in her pocket for the keycard. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

Like hell she would. She might have insisted her sister wasn’t dead, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t scared out of her mind that it was true. She hadn’t yet shed a tear, but the dam holding her emotions would crack eventually. When it did, she was going to need someone to turn to, someone to help her through it.

Bryce had no business being that person. Hell, he’d more than proved he wasn’t good at thinking of others. His single-mindedness had been a plus in the world of law, not so in the area of personal relationships. He couldn’t count the times he’d let his mother down. And Tanner…

But he couldn’t just walk away.

“Would you like me to stay? For a little while at least?” The words were out of his mouth before he could bite them back.

“I can’t ask that.”

“You didn’t ask. I offered.” He waited for her to push him away, as she’d done since they met.

Instead, she dipped her chin. “Thanks.”

He followed her into the room. It looked the same as it had hours before, but it seemed everything had changed since then. The mood. The heaviness of the air. Him. The last time he’d entered this room, he’d been looking for a way to prove Diana was a murderess. Now he clung to the hope that she wasn’t a victim.

He turned to bolt the door. When he turned back, Sylvie was still standing in the center of the room, arms hanging limp by her sides. She glanced around as if unsure where to go, what to do next.

“Sit. I’ll get you something to drink.”

She sank onto the loveseat.

Booze would be good. Just a little to take the edge off. Unfortunately there was no minibar in the room, so he settled for tap water in a plastic cup.

She gripped it with both hands and brought it to her lips. After two swallows, she lowered it. “Thank you.”

“Maybe I should run down to the hotel bar for some whiskey.”

She shook her head absently, as if his words didn’t register. “I do have friends you know. The people I work with at the restaurant, my neighbors, stuff like that. But they're the kind of friends you chat with, maybe drink with after work. That’s the kind of friends I have. That’s the only kind of friends I really wanted.”

“Why?”

She shrugged a shoulder, as if to show it really didn’t matter.

But it didn’t take a psychiatrist to see how much it did. “Because that kind of friend will never—how did you put it?—leave you in the lurch?”

“Everyone will leave you in the lurch sooner or later. With that kind of friend, it just doesn’t hurt as much.”

“You’re kind of young to be that cynical.”

“I was a foster child, remember?”

He took a seat beside her. “Why was your sister adopted and you weren’t?”

“There aren’t a lot of families who want to take on a sick toddler.”

“You were sick?”

“My heart wasn’t fully developed when I was born. At least, that’s what I was told.”

“Did you live in a lot of different foster homes?”

“Not as many as some kids do.”

“But?”

“I guess I just always had the sense that I didn’t belong. That they were taking care of me, but they weren’t my real family, you know?”

He didn’t know. But then, how could he? He’d grown up with his parents hovering over him, and his little brother teasing him and breaking his toys. He’d always known he belonged. “It must have been hard.”

“Only the first time.”

“What happened the first time?”

“It’s not important.”

“They left you…”—he paused for a moment, trying to remember exactly how she’d put it— “…in the lurch?”

“You could say that, I guess. She got pregnant.”

“So what happened to you?”

“At first, they included me in everything.” Sylvie smiled a little. “Watching her belly grow. Shopping for the crib and baby clothes. I even got to pick out these little washcloths shaped like a duckling and an elephant. They fit over your hand like a puppet. I was so excited about giving the baby a bath with those.”

Her smile faded.

“What happened?”

“The child services people came to get me a couple weeks before the due date. I never got to see the baby.” She shook her head, as if she still couldn’t understand it, as if she still felt the sting. “They let me get all excited picking out washcloths knowing I’d never get to use them.”

“How could someone do that to a kid?”

“Other kids went through worse. I was actually very lucky.”

Lucky. Right. If having your heart broken as a child was lucky. “Did you find another family?”

“I was bounced around. But it didn’t hurt. Not like that first time. You learn not to let it.”

“How could it not hurt?”

“That’s the secret of cynicism. It’s strong. Like a suit of armor.” Although her eyes were dry, she brushed them with the back of her hand. “They say you should be grateful for the time you have with someone. But I’ve never been able to do that.”

Bryce knew she wasn’t just talking about her first foster family. She was talking about her sister. “I’m not known for being grateful, either.”

Sylvie searched his eyes.

“I lost my brother recently.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Of course, she didn’t. She didn’t know anything about him. But for some reason, he wanted her to. At that moment he wanted her to know everything. “I had twenty-nine years with my brother. And all I feel is anger that he’s gone.”

“How did he die?”

“It was ruled a hunting accident, but...”

“You don’t agree?”

“He was murdered. I just can’t prove it.”

“I’m so sorry, Bryce. Is that the case you’re working on? The one you thought Diana could help you with?”

“Yes.”

“How could Diana help?”

“I… I think I was wrong about that.”

He needed to tell Sylvie the rest. But something stopped him. It seemed cruel to delve into the story of Tanner’s death just as she was waiting to hear if her sister had suffered the same fate. Probably at the hands of the same man. And if Bryce was being honest with himself, he’d admit that the part of him that agreed to represent Ed Dryden was a part he never wanted Sylvie to know.

“Are your parents still living?” Sylvie asked.

“My mother is. She lives in a skilled-care facility here in town. But she doesn’t really remember Tanner, or me. His death never registered.” A fact for which he was grateful.

“I’m so sorry.” Sylvie slipped a hand over his. Her skin was so warm, so soft.

The ache in his gut spread into his chest. He hadn’t talked to anyone but Tanner about their mother’s illness. How her memories had slipped away, bit by bit, until she hadn’t even recognized her sons anymore. “I visit her, even though she doesn’t know who I am. I take her for walks, pretend she’s still there. She loves looking at the gardens. She’s never forgotten her love of flowers.”

Sylvie watched him, her expression soft and sad. As if she was absorbing his heartache and making it her own.

As if she needed more.

“I don’t want to talk about my mother.”

“Why not?”

“I stayed to help you.”

“You are helping me. Talking is helping me.”

He looked at her dubiously.

“I’m sure your mother remembers you. Somewhere deep, I’m sure she senses you’re special. I think it’s like that with family.”

“You’re not so cynical, after all.”

She shrugged. “I have my moments.”

Bryce smiled. “Maybe she does have some idea, however vague. Some days I like to think so.”

“I’m sure of it. Families just get used to taking those feelings for granted. That connection. But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.” Her lips curved in a wistful smile. “Tanner. That’s a nice name.”

It sounded nice when she said it. “He was a great guy, for a little brother.”

“How much younger?”

“Three years. But he might as well have still been a kid collecting strays. I think he lived for pro bono work.” The ache inside Bryce grew, filling his body and mind until it hurt to breathe. He’d tried so hard not to remember how it used to be with Tanner, with his mom. He’d focused on everything else—investigating Tanner’s murder, building a case, plotting revenge—all so he didn’t have to feel this kind of pain. To acknowledge his guilt. To recognize he was now alone in the world. As alone as Sylvie.

The only difference was that he deserved it.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t stay to relive my own regrets.”

“Not all your memories are regrets.”

He hadn’t realized that, but she was right.

“You helped me, too,” she said.

“I don’t see how.”

“By showing me it’s possible to survive, to go on, even if…” She shook her head. “You know, even if I’m alone again.”

Bryce knew he shouldn’t touch her, but he couldn’t help it. Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he gathered her close. Her body felt warm and delicate. Her hair smelled like spiced flowers. He soaked her in, as if absorbing her essence would fill that empty place inside him… and blot out all he knew about himself.

“You’re not alone, Sylvie.”

Pivoting toward him, she buried her head in the crook of his neck. Her body trembled against his side and the first trickle of tears seeped into his shirt collar.

Sylvie

Sylvie closed her eyes. Bryce’s embrace felt so good, so right, she wanted to soak it in. But she also knew it couldn’t last.

She stepped back, out of his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so upset.”

“That’s not something you have to be sorry about.”

“Well I am. And thank you for staying, but I’m okay now.”

Bryce crooked an eyebrow. “You’re back to getting rid of me again?”

“It’s late.”

He glanced at his watch. “Oh, I didn’t realize... Listen, I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”

“I’ve already taken enough of your time.”

“You are trying to get rid of me.” Bryce tilted his head as if to study her from another angle. “We’re supposed to be working together. I thought we agreed. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Not buying it.”

Sylvie didn’t want to dwell on her feelings. Not tonight, at least, when she was teetering so close to tears. But she supposed Bryce deserved an explanation, so she’d do her best to give him something.

“I guess… I just don’t believe…” There it was, the burn she felt in her sinuses, a warning that tears were on their way.

“You don’t believe… what?”

How could she explain? “There’s just something… Something I always come back to.”

“What?”

“Why are you really helping me?” she finally blurted. “And don’t give me some line about a confidential case. I really need to know.”

He paused.

Debating how much to tell her? Or coming up with a story? Sylvie wasn’t sure.

“I’m representing the family of one of Ed Dryden’s victims.”

Sylvie’s stomach hollowed out. Tears felt as if they were pressing at the backs of her eyes. She felt Diana was still alive—she really did—but what if she was fooling herself? “And you believe Diana is also a…”

“I believe Diana might be able to give me some insight into Dryden. That’s why I want to help you find her.”

Sylvie’s knees wobbled a little. “So you think she’s alive.”

“You said you felt she was.”

“I do.”

“Then why would I doubt that?”

Sylvie’s knees wobbled a lot.

“You still don’t believe me?” he asked.

“It’s not that. I’m just…”

“Relieved?”

She nodded. “I was afraid I was fooling myself.”

“Perreth admitted he had no evidence it was Diana.”

“I know.”

“So we continue looking, right?”

Sylvie nodded.

“But… Hell. I need to be straight with you. Finding your sister isn’t the only reason I want to help.”

Sylvie knew it. There was more. Bracing herself, she nodded for him to continue.

“I like you.”

She looked down, studying the bland hotel carpet.

“I mean it. I can’t pretend I’m only here for my case or because you and I made a deal. I like being with you.”

He slipped an arm around her.

Sylvie looked up at him, searching his eyes. She’d wanted the truth, but this wasn’t what she had in mind.

Was it?

If it wasn’t, she should say so. She should explain that she didn’t do relationships, that they were too risky, that she wasn’t interested. Instead she waited, barely breathing, trying to see herself in his eyes.

Bryce lowered his mouth to hers. He brushed his lips over Sylvie’s lightly, with more sweetness than passion, more caring than lust, more searching than claiming. But the fire his kiss ignited burned to her toes.

She couldn’t let herself want this. Couldn’t let herself take that step to the edge. Placing her hands against his chest, she gently pushed him away. “I… I can’t do this.”

“I’m sorry. I was out of line.” But he didn’t look like he thought he was out of line. He looked like he wanted to kiss her again.

And she wanted it too.

Jitters seated themselves low in her belly. “I… I have to go to sleep.”

“Of course. First thing in the morning then? I’ll bring donuts.”

“Boston cream?”

“A woman after my own heart.” He walked to her hotel room door.

“Bryce?”

Hand on the knob, he turned back.

“It’s… it’s just not a good time. Okay?”

He gave her a nod, as if he understood. “I hope there will be a good time. Someday.”

“I…” Sylvie’s voice trailed off. She felt out of breath. Exhilarated. Scared to death. As if she was at the pinnacle of a mountain.

And was about to jump.

“…I hope so, too.”

Val

Val watched the last patron of The Doghouse drive out of the gravel parking lot. She’d been dreading this since she’d left the crime scene in Madison, but now that the tavern was closed, she was out of excuses.

She pushed herself out of the car, forced her legs to carry her to the entrance, and tried the door. It opened easily.

The tavern looked shabby, as always. A scarred pool table in the middle of a worn, hardwood floor. The smell of stale beer in the air. An old Eagles song playing on an even older jukebox.

“We’re closed,” a female voice shouted from the back room.

“I’m not here for the booze.”

“Then tell me you’re dying to scrub the toilets, or I’m not interested.” Nikki Sinclair bustled into the main room, a cigarette pinched between her lips. Her shoulder-length hair looked different every time Val saw her, tonight’s ‘do a light shade of pink that resembled both the color and texture of cotton candy.

“I need your help,” Val said.

“Need money?”

“No.” Val scowled. She’d never gone to Nikki for money.

“Need to get laid?”

“No.” That was even more outrageous.

“Sex advice, then? The firefighter not working out for you?”

“I’m serious, Nikki. I need your help.”

“Why do I not like the sound of that?”

“There’s some stuff going on, and the only one who might have real insight on this is you.”

The mischievous grin fell off Nikki’s face. “Get out of here.”

“Nikki, please.”

“Get out of here now. I’m not kidding.”

“You don’t even know—”

“I saw the news. The body.”

“Two.”

Nikki took a long drag off her cigarette. “So you think you have a serial killer. I can’t help with that.”

“But you can help. There are things only you would know about—”

“I don’t know shit, Val.”

“You know about Ed Dryden.”

“This isn’t about Eddie.”

Val paused. She hadn’t talked to either Bobby or Perreth about how much detail they’d be willing to disclose to a civilian like Nikki. Val shouldn’t be making this call on her own, but she was pretty sure Nikki would rather die than talk to anyone about this particular subject.

Including Val.

“The murders, they share some similarities with the ones Dryden committed,” Val finally said.

Nikki gave her a hard stare. “As far as I’m concerned, Eddie is dead.”

“Nikki, come on. We think this is a copycat. One who might even be in contact with Dryden. There are women out there… innocent women, and you might be the only one who—”

“Nikki Dryden is dead, Val. I don’t see things like she did, not anymore. I’m something now. I have something. I’m not going back.”

“I’m not asking you to go back.”

“Yes, you are. I can’t just take a scalding shower and wash him off. Eddie… he’s an infection. He gets in my blood and makes me sick.”

“We’re not dealing with him. Not really. We just need to understand how he might think, if he’s manipulating someone.”

“Listen to yourself. That’s Eddie’s poison. How he thinks. How he manipulates.”

“I’m not asking—”

“That’s exactly what you’re asking. And I’m saying no. In fact, I’m saying get the hell out of here or I’ll call the cops.”

“This doesn’t have to be that involved, Nikki. Not if you don’t want it to. Anything you can give me would be great. Like when is the last time you—"

“I can just imagine it now. Chief Olson dragging you out in cuffs. What a show.”

“Please, Nikki. You’re the only one who—”

“I’m not the only one. Call my sister. Call her husband, for Christ’s sake. He’s still doing his little lectures on the evil of Ed Dryden. I’ve had it with this shit. You and Eddie’s lawyer can go fuck yourselves.”

“Eddie’s lawyer? What about his lawyer?”

“He came around here. Asking questions. Apparently it’s the season for assholes who want to rip open my scars.”

“What did he ask?”

“Same shit you’re working up to, I imagine. When’s the last time I heard from Eddie? Would he get himself a disciple on the outside? Do I know who might fit the bill?”

“And what did you tell him?”

“To go fuck himself. Exactly what I’m telling you. But first…” Nikki held out her hand, palm up. “Give me a twenty.”

Val dug in her pocket and pulled out a wadded up ten and a five, four ones, and an assortment of change. She forked them over. “I appreciate this.”

Nikki made a show of counting the cash. “What? You think you’re paying for my expertise here?”

“I’m not?”

“Hell no. This is for the shots it’s going to take to get me to sleep tonight, thanks to you. And if the nightmares come back in the middle of the night, you’re going to owe me for a bottle.”

Sylvie

Sylvie’s cell phone jangled her from a dead sleep. She bolted upright.

Where was she?

What time was it?

Who could be calling?

The details of the day before hit her along with the second ring. Heart pounding, she grabbed the phone in sweat-slicked hands and held it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Ms. Hayes?” A deep voice, calm. Not Bryce. Not Perreth.

“Who is this?”

“Charles Rowe. I’m a resident at the hospital.”

Sylvie’s heart tripped into double time. “Bobby? Is he okay?”

“Actually, yes. He’s asking for you.”

“He’s awake?”

“He insisted I call. I’m sorry it’s so early, but he said it was urgent.”

She glanced at the clock. 4:00 a.m. It wasn’t even dawn yet. But that didn’t matter. Bobby was awake. He was going to be okay. And she could talk to him. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

“He’ll be happy to hear it.”

Sylvie didn’t wait for goodbyes. She ended the call, dropped the phone in her purse, and bounded out of bed. She was dressed and out the door in minutes.

Outside the hotel, the lingering glow of a streetlight filtered through orange leaves clinging to the branches of a sugar maple. Her breath puffed in front of her in frosty clouds. Cold poked through her jacket and between the fibers of her sweater, knifing straight to her skin.

For a second, Sylvie toyed with the idea of calling Bryce. After he’d left, she’d spent more than an hour staring at the ceiling, trying to untangle her feelings. She hadn’t succeeded. If anything, she’d felt more tempted to fling herself off the emotional cliff and more afraid he wouldn’t be there to catch her if she did.

She pulled out her phone, summoned an Uber, and sent a quick text to Bryce, letting him know what was happening. Somehow the idea of him meeting her at the hospital seemed safer, less needy.

The sound of an approaching car cut through her thoughts. She tapped send and looked up from her phone. A white minivan pulled to the curb in front of her. The driver’s door opened.

A van. White.

Wait. Was that right?

Sylvie had been so focused on what to text Bryce, she’d hardly noticed the details of the Uber that had committed to picking her up. She pulled up the app, and—

She sensed movement, the driver getting out of the car. She glanced up. Her hair blew in her eyes, obscuring her vision, but she could still make out the driver barreling toward her, broad shoulders decked out in a puffy university jacket, dark eyes staring from a red ski mask.

Her body froze. Her mind scrambled to make sense.

A ski mask? It wasn’t cold enough for a ski mask.

A gloved hand clamped around her bicep.

Sylvie spun to the side and pulled back, trying to rip her arm free. Her feet skidded. She went down, her knee smacking the concrete.

His fingers tightened, bruising strong. He yanked her to her feet. Her back slammed against a solid chest. His other arm circled her throat.

Sylvie scratched at his arm, his hands, her fingernails scraping slick nylon and leather. She kicked backward, connecting with a shin.

A muffled grunt vibrated through his chest.

Then his arm pressed against her throat, cutting off her scream.

Bryce

Bryce jabbed the elevator button for the lobby.

Nothing happened.

He jabbed again.

Last night Sylvie had assumed he was driving home, and he’d let her. If she’d known he’d taken a room just down the hall from hers, she probably would have thought he was overreacting. At the time, he would have considered her at least partially right.

But now?

What in the world was she doing leaving the hotel before sunrise? If she hadn’t texted, he wouldn’t have even known she was gone.

The elevator doors finally closed. It lurched a little, then started to move.

Slowly.

Far, far too slowly.

He should have taken the stairs. But after an excruciating wait, the doors opened at the lobby level. Bryce dashed out at a barely civilized fast walk. He’d parked in the ramp across the street, so he headed for the hotel’s front door and pushed out into the dark.

Except for a circle of yellow light from the streetlight on the far corner, shadows cloaked the block. But even through the darkness, Bryce could make out a white van to the left of the hotel. And the dark silhouette of a man wrestling something into the back.

Not something. Someone.

Sylvie.

“Hey!” Bryce yelled. He launched into a run.

The man looked in Bryce’s direction.

Sylvie yanked herself backward, nearly twisting away. She thrashed the man’s face with her free hand.

The man pulled back his arm, hand forming a fist. He plowed it into Sylvie’s jaw.

Her head snapped back. Her body sagged.

No, no, no.

Bryce pushed himself to move faster.

The man stuffed Sylvie into the back of the van and climbed in after. The door began to slide shut.

Bryce lunged for it. He gripped the steel edge with his left hand. Fighting to gain leverage, he pulled backward.

The door stopped its slide.

Bryce yanked harder, but the door wouldn’t open.

A foot shot from the opening and smashed into Bryce’s nose.

For a second, the pain stunned him. Then hot blood gushed down his face and filled his mouth. Dizziness swamped him. Bryce shook his head, trying to clear it.

The space narrowed. Steel sandwiched the fingers of his left hand. Pinching. Crushing. He couldn’t let go. If the door closed, Sylvie was gone.

A thump hit the inside of the door. Then another.

Oh, God…

Bryce threw his weight against the door’s motion. It again shuddered to a stop, but he couldn’t pry it wider.

Something red slammed against the window. A scream and more thuds came from inside. One more yank from Bryce, and the door slid open like a shot and Sylvie tumbled out, head-first.

Bryce half-caught her. He stumbled backwards before landing on the sidewalk, Sylvie on top of him.

Rubber squealed against pavement and the vehicle roared away down the street.

“Bryce!” Tears streamed down Sylvie’s swollen face. “He hurt you. Oh, God, you’re all bloody.”

He bet he looked like a mess. He sure hurt like hell. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Sylvie was safe. “Why did he let you go?”

“He didn’t.”

“Then how?”

“He got between my feet and the door. I guess he was more worried about you than me.”

Bryce would have laughed, if his face didn’t hurt so much. He could only hope the bastard had a broken rib or two. Share the wealth. “Why don’t you let me give you a ride to the hospital, okay?”

Sylvie clambered to her feet and then offered him a hand… until she saw his fingers. “Our first stop should probably be the ER.”

***

When Perreth reached the hospital, they were still sitting in the ER waiting room. Bryce’s whole head throbbed, and the fingers of his left hand were as thick and stiff as bratwurst.

A bruise bloomed in a deep shade of pink along Sylvie’s swollen jaw. And her eyes held a glassy look—the result of either a concussion or shock, neither one a nice prospect. But apparently their injuries weren’t serious enough to warrant the slightest bit of urgency on the part of the ER staff.

Perreth narrowed his beady eyes on Sylvie and cleared his throat with a wet smoker’s cough. “Can you tell me what this guy looked like?”

She went over his description: build, clothing, van.

“You’re not giving me much to go on,” Perreth said. “Should I go out and arrest everyone who drives a minivan and wears a Badgers jacket? Half the Madison population would be in jail.”

He had a point. Their description wouldn’t get him very far. But Bryce still didn’t appreciate the smart-ass tone. Maybe Sylvie’s suspicions were rubbing off on him, but even he was beginning to wonder about Perreth’s agenda regarding this case.

But then, maybe the detective was just an ass.

“We told you someone was after Sylvie. How about getting her some real protection this time?”

Sylvie turned to look at him, but she didn’t protest. Apparently she was a realist when she had to be.

The detective looked at him as if he’d just been jolted from a faraway dream. “Police protection?”

“What other kind?”

“Maybe a little common sense? Starting with not wandering around in the dark. Alone. I had officers driving by the hotel. If she’d just stayed inside…”

“Sylvie wouldn’t have gone out alone without good reason.” Bryce turned to her. Waiting to hear it himself.

“I got a call from a doctor. He said Bobby was awake and wanted to see me. Have you talked to him yet, Detective?”

Perreth narrowed his eyes on her. “When did you get this call?”

“Right before I left the hotel. Around four this morning.”

“And it was a doctor, you say?”

“A resident.”

Perreth pulled out a pad and pen. “And this resident, did he give a name?”

“Charles Rowe.”

He made another note. A nurse emerged from the swinging door and looked down at her clipboard. “Sylvie Hayes?”

Sylvie reluctantly lifted herself out of the chair. With one last pointed glance in Bryce’s direction, she hobbled to the nurse’s side and disappeared through the swinging doors.

“So how did you stumble upon this scene?”

“I was there. At the hotel. Sylvie texted me.”

Perreth frowned. “If you were there, why did you let her go off alone?”

Bryce knew what the detective was thinking, that he’d stayed with Sylvie last night. Of course, Bryce could only wish that had been true.

He rubbed his forehead, trying to forget the torn look in Sylvie’s eyes when he’d kissed her. He shouldn’t have done it. Not when there was so much he still hadn’t told her. The problem was, even knowing the kiss was a mistake, Bryce still wanted to do it again. “I wasn’t staying with her.”

“You were just wandering the hotel?”

Did the detective want him to paint a picture?

Bryce blew a frustrated breath through tight lips. He'd had enough of answering Perreth’s questions. He needed to ask a few of his own. “Why were you so interested in the call Sylvie got from the resident?”

“Just covering all the bases.”

“Right. And that’s why you wrote down his name?”

Perreth gave him his trademark bored look and didn’t answer.

“I suppose I could ask about the guy around the ICU,” Bryce finally said.

“Fine. There is no resident named Rowe caring for Bobby Vaughan.”

“What do you mean?”

Perreth looked at him as if he were a bit slow on the uptake. “Exactly what I said. There is no Charles Rowe. Vaughan is under protection. Not everyone in a white coat can just waltz in to examine him.”

“So you are going to give Sylvie full time police protection, right? Now that you know this guy lured her out of the hotel to kidnap her?”

“I can’t give guarantees.”

Bryce slapped his hands on his thighs in frustration. The pain made him regret it immediately. “You can’t be serious.”

“The city budget is serious.”

“What more reason do you need? Her dead body?”

“Like I said last night, if she agrees to stay in her hotel, I can send a uniform over to check on her every couple of hours. But that’s as much as I can promise.”

“What’s to keep this guy from attacking her between visits?”

Perreth shrugged. “You seem to be around her a lot.”

True. But after last night, that had become a problem.

“In fact, I have to wonder why you’re suddenly around her so much.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“None of my business? I thought you were her lawyer. That seems to be connected to my business.”

Damn. Bryce had forgotten that he was supposed to be acting as Sylvie’s lawyer. The kiss last night, the attack this morning, all of it had thrown him so far off his game, he could no longer keep track of his own rules. “And I have to insist you give my client police protection.”

Perreth gave him a knowing smile. “You have some other interesting clients too.”

“You’ve been wasting your time investigating me?”

“Just checking your credentials. I’ll bet it was interesting, representing a serial killer.”

Bryce felt cold. He’d known it was only a matter of time before someone would look up his history, but still, he wasn’t ready. Not for Perreth to throw it in his face, and especially not to have Sylvie find out.

“Lot of publicity in that prison lawsuit. Sylvie see your name on the news? Is that how she decided to hire you?”

“Something like that. None of this is relevant.”

“Maybe not. But there are a lot of strange things going on around here. Thought you might like to straighten things out.”

“There’s nothing to straighten.”

“If you say so. Far be it from me to tell a lady how she should pay her legal bills.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Whatever you say. Drive-by checks are all I can offer. Just keep her from sneaking out of bed on ya next time, and she’ll be plenty safe. If you can’t handle it, let me know.”

Bryce caught himself before he let out a big sigh of relief. As long as Perreth was focused on who Sylvie was sleeping with, he wasn’t telling her about Bryce’s tie to Dryden. And that would give Bryce a little more time to figure out how to tell her himself.

Sylvie

Sylvie looked at Bryce’s left hand and winced. Bruises mottled the swollen skin. “Are you sure they’re not broken?”

Bryce wiggled his fingers. “See? Not broken.”

“How about your nose? That’s got to be painful.”

Coordinating colors stretched over his puffy nose and darkened the skin under his eyes. “Nothing a few ibuprofen won’t fix.”

“Didn’t they give you anything stronger than that?”

“Didn’t need anything stronger.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “How about you? Shouldn’t they be keeping you here for observation or something?”

She might have a headache sharp enough to split wood, but she wasn’t about to fall for his attempt at distraction. She had the feeling his refusal of medication had more to do with the need for a clear head than lack of pain. “I’m fine. That is, I will be when you tell me what happened with Perreth.”

“Or maybe you won’t be.” Bryce glanced toward the door. “Let’s get out of here, go back to the hotel. Perreth agreed to send an officer by to check on you every few hours. I’ll tell you what else we talked about when we get there.”

“Not until I see Bobby.”

His lips pinched together in a pale line. “He’s still unconscious, Sylvie.”

“The doctor called me. He told me…” The tremor inside turned cold. She pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders and clutched the fabric together at her neck. “The call was a fake.”

Bryce nodded.

Of course, it was. Hadn’t she thought the call was strange? Why hadn’t she put the pieces together? Was she so eager to talk to Bobby that she would believe anything without question?

“So the man who kidnapped Diana is after me.”

“It appears so.”

“And he’s likely the same man who followed me in the stairwell last night.”

“Yes.”

“But I’ve never met Ed Dryden. If he’s behind this, why would he be after me?”

“Diana isn’t the only one who fits the description of his first victims.” Bryce’s tone was quiet and matter of fact, but the fear running under it was unmistakable.

The same fear that hummed in her ears. She didn’t have to try too hard to conjure up the photos Sami Yamal had shown them. The young blond coeds. Dryden’s blond wife—a woman who looked just like Diana, just like Sylvie. “I’m going to go back to Diana’s apartment.”

“I thought we agreed to stay at the hotel.”

“You and Perreth must have agreed. I didn’t.” She started toward the ER exit. “I’m not going to hole up in my hotel room and wait. I need to find Diana, and the only way I can do that is to look.”

“I think Perreth has a point. The hotel is the safest place.”

“When did you start listening to Perreth?”

“When he said something that made sense.”

“It doesn’t make sense to me. We only scratched the surface of what we might find in Diana’s apartment. What if there’s more?”

“Don’t you think the police would have found it last night?”

“Perreth was looking for something to prove she and Bobby were having problems. I’m betting there is a lot he didn’t think was important.”

He frowned, as if he wasn’t buying the argument.

“I’m not just going to sit around while Diana is still out there somewhere.” She started for the exit. “You don’t have to go with me, if you don’t want.”

“Of course, I’m going with you.”

It didn’t take long to make the drive to Diana’s apartment. Sylvie pulled Diana’s key from her pocket and fitted it into the lock. Tumblers aligning, she turned the knob and pushed. The door swung open.

A yelp rang from the kitchen. Louis Ingersoll stared at them, eyes wide.

“What are you doing?” Bryce demanded.

“Nothing. I mean, I’m watering the plants.” He held up a small pink watering can for proof.

“How did you get in here?” Sylvie asked.

“Diana gave me a key. I take care of the place for her when she goes away.”

Bryce stepped toward Louis. “She didn’t go away, Ingersoll. She was kidnapped. Only yesterday. I’m sure the plants aren’t dry already.”

“I just wanted to do something for her.”

Sylvie had to admit Louis was a little pitiful in his crush on Diana, but this seemed way over the top. “Are you sure you aren’t just snooping around?”

Once again, Louis held up the watering can.

She shook her head. “Why are you really here, Louis? Or would you rather we called the police and you can explain it to them?”

“I swear, I’m not here for any reason. I’m just trying to help. I’m just trying to find her.”

“You’re trying to help by looking through her things?” Sylvie said.

Louis glanced from her to Bryce and back again. “Well, isn’t that why you’re here?”

He had them there.

“There’s a big difference,” Bryce said. “Sylvie is Diana’s sister. What are you, Ingersoll? Her stalker?”

“You can’t think that I did anything to Diana. I would never hurt her.”

Bryce let out a sigh. “That’s what all stalkers say.”

“I’m not a stalker. I watch out for her. That’s all.” He looked to Sylvie. “You’ve got to believe me.”

Somehow, she did believe him. Louis no longer seemed as sweet to her as he had at first, but she couldn’t help but feel he was telling the truth. And besides, if the same man that kidnapped Diana was after her, she’d seen him. Not his face, but his body. And he was a little too tall and much too broad-shouldered to be Louis. “If not you, who?”

“Who is stalking her?”

She nodded. “Who kidnapped her?”

“I don’t know.”

Bryce took another step forward. He pulled his cell phone from his belt. “You’d better start thinking before I punch in 911.”

“There was this guy…”

“Are you making this up just to keep me from calling the police, Louis?”

“No. I swear. There was this guy who kept asking her out. He wouldn’t leave her alone. She mentioned him once. I think it was someone she worked with at the university.”

Sylvie glanced at Bryce. “Professor Bertram?”

“I don’t know his name,” Louis said. “But they were working together on the Ed Dryden stuff. The stuff I was helping her with. But I thought he’d finally left her alone when she got engaged to the cop. That’s what she told me when I asked her about him. But then about a week ago…”

Bryce leaned forward. “A week ago? What happened?”

“It was weird. I didn’t know Diana was busy. I went to the door to knock, and I accidently heard him.”

“What did you hear?” Sylvie asked.

“He was upset. Crying.”

Bryce scoffed. “You must have accidently had your ear pressed against the door.”

Louis threw up his hands. “He was really loud, like sobbing. I didn’t have to try very hard to hear him.”

Sylvie and Bryce exchanged looks. She nodded for him to continue with his questions while she focused on Louis Ingersoll’s eyes, trying to figure out if he was telling the truth.

“Are you sure it was the same guy who was asking her out?” Bryce asked.

“No.” Louis returned Bryce’s gaze, his voice steady. “But I know the guy who was crying was from the university. I asked her after he left. She said it was someone she was working with on the Ed Dryden research project.”

“And that’s all she said?”

“Yeah. She didn’t want to talk about it more than that. Said it was private.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

He shrugged, seeming self-assured, even smug. “Didn’t think of it until now.”

“Did you tell this to the police?”

“Like I said, didn’t think of it. You’re the one who brought up stalking,” He said to Bryce. “So I got to thinking, maybe that guy was stalking her. Maybe he was sobbing because of her upcoming wedding.”

Sylvie brushed the hair back from her face. Was that possible? Could Professor Bertram have been stalking Diana?

Sylvie thought of Mrs. Bertram, her divorce from her husband, the reluctance with which she’d opened the door. Maybe fear wasn’t the reason she didn’t want to face Sylvie. Maybe the real reason was that Sylvie looked exactly like Diana, the woman her husband was obsessed with.

She glanced at Bryce.

He nodded, as if he’d read her mind. “Let’s go see Bertram.”

Diana

The shadows in the room grew until there was nothing but darkness. Diana was starving, her throat dry.

He’d left hours ago…

Or had it been minutes?

Diana tried to withdraw into her thoughts, her memories. For comfort. To pass the time. But she couldn’t seem to focus on happy times. She’d try to relive road trips with Bobby and wedding planning with Sylvie, even the beautiful but cold house she grew up in, yet her mind would stray to awful images, some she wasn’t sure were even real.

Her father reaching under her skirt and pinching her inner thighs until they were purple with bruises. Then laughing and daring her to tell.

The contempt on Mother’s face when Daddy left. Contempt for her.

Bobby bleeding.

Bobby dead.

The faces would change in front of her eyes. Interchangeable as Halloween masks. The awfulness playing over and over. Other horrors too. And her not being able to say anything. Not being able to scream. Not being able to help herself at all.

And through all of it, a dark shadow would be standing in the doorway, silently watching. And then gone, gone, gone.

When would he be back?

What would he do then?

And what would become of her if he never came back at all?

Sylvie

After shooing Louis back to his own apartment, Sylvie and Bryce raced the few blocks to the psychology department’s temporary digs. Bertram said he worked every day of the week. Sylvie hoped that wasn’t an exaggeration.

They reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hall. The air felt different. Colder. They walked past the office where Sami Yamal had shown them the photographs of the women killed by Ed Dryden. Sylvie peered inside. Two people worked at desks in the large room, but Sami wasn’t one of them.

Too bad. Sylvie would like to get his take on the professor’s relationship with Diana. If there was any impropriety at all where the professor was concerned, she was sure Sami would have noticed. And with no love lost between him and Bertram, he certainly wouldn’t worry about keeping the professor’s secrets.

The door to the professor’s office was closed, just as it had been the first time they’d visited. But unlike the first time, a light glowed from underneath the door.

Bryce knocked. The door swung open under his knuckles.

Professor Bertram stood in the doorway. Dark circles cupped reddened eyes. Razor stubble sparkled silver over his jaw and shadowed the hollows of his cheeks. A spot of coffee about the size of a half-dollar marred his wrinkled blue shirt.

“I thought only students pulled all-nighters, not professors,” Bryce said.

“I wish it was as simple as that.” Bertram walked back around the desk and collapsed into his desk chair. He ran a hand over his face and looked at Sylvie. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“Your sister.”

Her stomach tightened into a knot. “Why?”

“I talked to Detective Perreth. He said he was waiting on an....” He shook his head. “An identification. It never occurred to me she would be in danger. He’s in prison. I couldn’t have known…”

“Hold on. Hold on,” Bryce said. “What exactly did Perreth tell you?”

“He thinks Diana’s disappearance might have something to do with Ed Dryden.”

Strange. Perreth hadn’t even given them a clue that he knew about the link between Diana and Dryden. “Did he say what made him think that?”

“No. But he seemed pretty sure.”

Had Perreth found something? Or had he learned that Dryden was Bertram’s weakness and he was using the serial killer to get under the professor’s skin?

Sylvie glanced at Bryce.

As if he sensed her unvoiced question, he pulled out his cell phone along with Perreth’s card and punched in the number. Stepping into the doorway of the tiny office, he cupped his hand around the phone and started talking in a low voice to whoever had answered the phone. Judging from his polite tone, Sylvie would bet it wasn’t Perreth. Maybe the detective’s voice mail.

She turned back to Bertram. He really did look stressed. Was guilt over getting Diana involved with Dryden to blame? Or was he stalking her? Or could it be something else? “What was going on between you and Diana?”

Bertram’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

“Diana’s neighbor said you were at her apartment about a week ago.” Louis hadn’t said it was the professor. Not exactly. But after the scenarios Sylvie’s imagination had conjured on the trip over, coming right out and accusing Bertram seemed like the fastest way to get answers.

“We were working together. I stopped by her apartment a couple of times.”

“He said he heard you crying. Sobbing, actually.”

Elbows on the desktop, he cradled his forehead in his palms.

“What were you upset about?”

He let out a shaky breath. When he looked up, tears sparkled in the corners of his eyes. “It’s not what you think.”

“You have no earthly way to know what I think.” She didn’t even know what she thought. Not anymore. It seemed everything she thought she knew about her sister had been turned on its head. “What is it?”

“It happened many years ago. Probably not very long after you were born.”

Not long after she was born? How could his explanation possibly go back that far? She waited for him to continue.

“I had a daughter. Beautiful girl. Brilliant girl. She was only sixteen when she graduated from high school.”

“What does your daughter have to do with Diana?”

He swallowed hard, as if trying to pull himself out of his memories, trying to control his emotions.

“I’m asking you about my sister. I need to know about my sister.”

“You asked why I was at her apartment. Why I was upset.”

“Yes.”

“I’m telling you, if you’d stop and listen.” Sad no longer, his dark eyes flashed with temper.

“I’m sorry. Go on.”

“My daughter was a student here. I was an assistant professor. I was so proud that she chose to come here. I can’t even tell you.”

Sylvie forced herself to nod politely even though she felt more like wrapping her hands around his throat and strangling the truth out of him.

“She used to have this book club. Just for fun. She and her friends would get together at a restaurant on State Street and talk about the latest releases. One summer, they drove up north for a weekend, stayed at a girl’s parents’ cabin. She never made it home. She was found a week later… murdered by Ed Dryden.”

Sylvie gasped.

Bryce stepped up close behind her. She hadn’t been aware that he’d finished his phone call. But he was there. As soon as she’d gasped, he was there. Before the horror could even take hold.

“That’s the real reason I got involved in studying Ed Dryden years later, when Risa Madsen started the program. I had to know why. How he could have done those horrible things to my beautiful little girl. And you know, in all my study, I’ve never gotten an answer. Not one that made sense. I never found…”

His voice cracked and he buried his head in his hands.

Sylvie let his words sink in. Suddenly his constant work hours made perfect sense. His wife’s strange behavior too. Her fear. Her comment about her husband’s obsession fit too. He’d been obsessed with Dryden. So obsessed that he’d shut everything else out of his life, including what was left of his family. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

“I know what you thought. That I was a horny old professor hung up on a woman less than half my age.”

What could she say? That was what she’d thought. That and worse.

“If you’re looking for someone who was hung up on your sister, check with my assistant.”

“Your assistant?”

“Sami Yamal. I don’t think Diana ever actually dated him, but it wasn’t for lack of trying on his part. She asked me to have a talk with him a couple of weeks after she started working with us on the project.”

“A talk?”

“To suggest that he back off.”

Sami? When Louis had told them about the man who’d aggressively pursued dates with Diana and the man who was crying in her apartment, he’d said he couldn’t be sure they were the same person. Maybe they weren’t.

Heart pumping, Sylvie leaned forward, her palms on the desk. “Is Sami Yamal here today?”

The professor shook his head. “I haven’t seen him.”

Sylvie’s mind raced. Sami was the right size to be her assailant. Had he decided to lay low to hide the bruises she and Bryce must have given him? Or was he with Diana?

“Did he call in sick?” Bryce asked.

“It’s Sunday. He often comes in, but he’s not required to be here.” Bertram raised a shaking hand to his forehead, as if the hassle of answering their questions was too much for him to handle.

Sylvie felt for the man. He seemed so much weaker than the last time they’d seen him, as if the past hours had taken a horrible toll. Losing his daughter to a serial killer had to be the definition of hell. And revisiting that horror would stress the strongest man.

But even if Sami Yamal was the one who had kidnapped Diana and attempted to kidnap Sylvie this morning, even if Diana’s disappearance had nothing to do with Dryden, she still couldn’t excuse the professor for exposing Diana to that evil in the first place.

No matter how she could sympathize with his need to understand his horrible loss, she couldn’t forgive him. “Where does Sami Yamal live?”

Bryce

As soon as they emerged from the building, Sylvie handed Bryce the slip of paper with Yamal’s address. Her hand shook. Lines of worry dug into her forehead and flanked her lips.

With the emotional stress she was under, he doubted she needed to be searching down the assistant professor, but he had learned enough about her to realize she had to face him herself. And hell, he could hardly blame her for that.

But he could take precautions. “I’m going to call Perreth, have him meet us at Yamal’s apartment.”

She shot him an uneasy look, then nodded. “I suppose that’s a good idea.”

“Perreth is a prick, no doubt about it. But he seems to be doing his job.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust anybody.”

“You’re doing all right. So far, anyway.”

Bryce pulled his cell phone from his pocket and squinted down at the slip of paper to hide his smile. He couldn’t remember when a heavily qualified half-compliment had meant more.

He punched his phone’s redial as they walked down Bascom Hill and left the address on Perreth’s voice mail. He sure as hell hoped the detective checked his messages. He didn’t want to be stuck facing down Yamal alone.

“How far is Sami’s apartment?” Sylvie asked when he finished.

“A fifteen-minute walk up State Street, tops.”

Sylvie nodded. “What do you think about Bertram?”

“He seems like a man in pain, like all of Dryden’s victims’ families.” Like him. Maybe like Sylvie, if her sister was dead.

“I don’t know how those families coped.”

“Who said they coped?” Coping was overrated. Bryce would rather get justice. Or maybe even flat-out revenge.

“Good point.” She shook her head and increased her pace. “Somehow, I never really considered Sami might be responsible for Diana’s disappearance. I know we talked about it, but he just seemed so helpful that day, so proud of his work.”

“When Diana and Professor Bertram arranged to work together, they cut him out of the mix. And if he had unrequited feelings for Diana on top of that…” A clear recipe for disaster. Out-of-control passions always made things more complicated. More volatile.

They crossed the footbridge over Park Street and negotiated their way to Library Mall.

The wind kicked up, blowing blond strands across Sylvie’s face. She brushed them out of the way. “I hope Perreth gets there before we do. If Sami hurt Diana, I might just kill him with my bare hands.”

Emerging from Library Mall, they crossed Lake Street and started up State in the direction of the capitol dome. Several blocks up, they turned off State Street and located the old Victorian home at the address Bertram had given them. The house had been separated into three flats, each with a separate entrance.

Sylvie poked the buzzer next to Yamal’s name.

No answer.

Bryce cupped a sore hand and shielded the window in the door. Through the wavy old glass, he could see a staircase stretching to the second floor. Judging from the stairs, Yamal didn’t believe in cleanliness. Tiny muddy cat tracks peppered the old linoleum. And at the base of the stairs, a small orange feline peered at the window and mewed incessantly. “His cat is home.”

Sylvie pressed up next to Bryce and peered in. “She seems upset. Do you think something’s wrong and she’s trying to let us know?”

“Do cats do that?”

“Not a cat person?”

“I don’t even have house plants.” God, he sounded pitiful. Lonely.

“One of my foster families had a cat. Believe me, when anything was wrong, she’d let you know.”

The cat paced back and forth on the stairs without taking its eyes from their faces. Its meow was low, urgent.

Sylvie put a hand on the doorknob and twisted. It turned under her fingers. “My God, it’s open.”

“Perreth should be here any minute.” A trickle of foreboding ran down Bryce’s spine. He checked his phone. Nothing. “I hope.”

Sylvie pushed the door inward. She stepped inside, stopping at the base of the stairs as the cat wrapped itself around her legs. She bent to stroke the animal’s arching back.

The scent hit Bryce through the open door. Sweet. Sort of metallic. Memories of finding Tanner flooded his mind and turned his stomach. “Sylvie. Get out of there.”

She turned to him, wide-eyed. “That smell. Is it—”

“Wait for the police.”

She turned back to the steps.

He grabbed her arm before she could start up the staircase. Damn, he wished he had a gun, a knife, a baseball bat… anything. “Wait.”

“I can’t just stand here, Bryce. I have to know.” Sylvie tried to pull her arm away.

He held on. “Perreth will be here soon. He has to be.”

Where was Perreth?

“Please, Bryce. If that body in the morgue isn’t Diana…”

“Don’t think that way.”

“I can’t help it. Imagine how you would feel.”

He didn’t have to imagine. He’d smelled that odor as soon as he’d opened Tanner’s front door. Even though he’d never smelled anything exactly like it before that time, he’d known what the scent was, what it meant. It hadn’t stopped him. It hadn’t even slowed him down. “Okay, stay behind me.”

Bryce slipped his hand down her arm until he gripped her palm in his. Then he started up the stairs, stepping on the edge of the linoleum to avoid walking on the cat tracks—tracks of blood, not mud. “We can’t touch anything. This is a crime scene. We can’t destroy evidence that might help the police. We shouldn’t be going up here at all.”

Sylvie’s hand trembled in his, but her steps were steady. From the bottom of the stairs, the cat’s mewing grew louder, the sound emanating from deep in its throat.

They approached the dark doorway at the top of the stairs. Bryce’s eyes drew even with the floor above. More tracks spotted the wood. The smell clogged his throat.

An image crashed through his mind: Tanner’s broken body lying in a bed of autumn leaves.

Placing a hand on the door frame, Bryce steadied himself and peered into the apartment. Blood spread over the hardwood floor, not fresh, but brown and sticky. And just inside the archway leading to the kitchen, Sami Yamal stared at them through shattered lenses. A ravaged hole gaped where the top of his skull should be. And in his hand, he still held his gun.

Val

Val had spent half a day in Madison, trying to track down Dryden’s former lawyer only to learn he had closed his law firm and put his house on the market, shortly after his brother and partner in the firm had died in a hunting accident. She was already on her way home to her little horse farm outside the town of Lake Loyal when Stan Perreth called.

“You want me to turn around?” she asked, hoping he would say no.

“Yes.”

Val let out a heavy sigh. She’d been looking forward to an evening at home with Lund, eating frozen pizza and watching some dumb action movie on Amazon Prime. Probably boring to most, but after this insane weekend, she could use a little downtime and a cuddle on the couch before the official work week started. “Didn’t you say it was a suicide?”

“Yes.”

“Is there something suspicious about it?”

“Not about the body. At least not that we can tell until the autopsy.”

“Then what?”

“I want to run something by you. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Fine. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Val pulled over to the shoulder, texted Lund, then turned around and headed back in the other direction.

When she finally reached the address Stan had given her, the body had already been taken away. “I thought you wanted to run something by me?”

“Not about the suicide itself. About the guy who committed it.” Stan gave her a rundown on Sami Yamal’s career and connections.

Val summed it all up. “So, we have a guy who has spent most of his life studying Dryden commit suicide, a woman who has interviewed Dryden disappear, and two recent homicides that mimic Dryden’s past murders.”

“Exactly.”

“And you think they’re all connected.”

“Don’t you?”

“We can’t assume anything.”

“Oh come on, Val. All of this has gone down at the same time. You think this is a coincidence?”

“No.”

Stan gave her a satisfied grunt and then one of his disconcerting smiles.

Val fought the urge to squirm. “We’re missing something. The element or elements that tie everything together.”

“That’s exactly how I see it.” Stan reached out and skimmed a finger down her arm. “Why don’t we talk about it over dinner?”

“Stan…”

“Come on. We have a lot of work to do, but that’s not all there has to be. You have to eat. I have to eat. It could be fun.”

Val knew damn well he was no longer talking about dinner. Not really. “My fiancé has dinner waiting for me at home.”

“Fiancé?”

Val hated having to trot out Lund as some kind of excuse, but she knew from experience that the mention of another man killed a romantic invitation faster than any woman simply saying she wasn’t interested. And she was far too busy to walk the tightrope between firmness in her resolve and bruising Stan’s ego.

“I spent the day trying to get in contact with Dryden’s lawyer… well, former lawyer.”

“Why is that?” Stan said, returning to his usual gruff cop self.

Val was relieved. “He and Diana seem to be the only names on the prison’s visitor record. I thought he might be able to connect some dots.”

“I’m sure he can. In fact, he’s connected some already.”

“You’ve talked to him?”

“He found Sami Yamal’s body.”

“What?”

“He was just here. Left less than an hour ago with Diana Gale’s sister.” Stan gave her a how-do-you-like-me-now grin. “See? We really need to have some dinner.”

Val had just opened her mouth to respond when her cell phone rang. Grateful for the moment to collect her thoughts, she fished it out of her pocket and answered. “Ryker.”

“Val…” Bobby’s voice was weak. “We need to talk.”

Sylvie

Sylvie stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Hair tousled and wet and body wrapped in a towel, she looked tired. Shell-shocked. No surprise there. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t erase images of Sami Yamal’s apparent suicide from her mind. The blood on the floor. The dead stare of his eyes. The smell that had filled her nostrils, clung to her hair and permeated her clothes.

After she and Bryce had answered Perreth’s questions for what seemed like hours, Bryce drove her to the hotel and insisted on accompanying her to her room. She should have objected. When he’d paused in the hallway, waiting for an invitation inside, she should have simply closed the door. But after what she’d seen at Sami’s apartment, she couldn’t bring herself to shut him out.

Sylvie listened to the rhythm of his footsteps as he paced the floor outside the bathroom door. She couldn’t imagine what she would have done if she’d come across Sami’s body by herself. Even now, the horror of it hung on the edges of her mind, as strong and hard to get rid of as the memory of that smell.

She leaned on the vanity. A sob worked up her throat and echoed in the bathroom. She could never forget how she’d felt walking into that apartment, smelling that odor and thinking in the back of her mind that it could be Diana. That her sister really might be dead.

A knock on the door. “Sylvie? Are you okay?”

She grasped the towel, pulling the terrycloth tighter around her body. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Of course, I’m—” Her voice broke. She closed her eyes.

“Open the door.”

Sylvie had to pull herself together. She couldn’t hide in here and make him worry she was falling apart. “Just a second.”

She let the towel fall to the floor and pulled on her robe. Tying the sash securely, she took a deep breath and opened the door. “See? I’m okay.”

Bryce searched her eyes. “Sure?”

Barely above a whisper, his one word carried so much concern, tears came to her eyes.

She turned away.

“Sylvie.” He met her gaze in the mirror. “You’ve never seen a dead body before, have you?”

They might not have known each other very long, but the events of the past few days had convinced her that at times he knew what she was feeling before she did. “I keep seeing his eyes.”

“Don’t think about it.”

A sob hiccupped in her throat. “I keep seeing Diana.”

He wrapped his arms around her. His chest and the firm plane of his stomach pressed against her back.

The press of his body felt so good, so right...

“I can’t do this.”

His breath whispered against her neck. “Just let me hold you.”

A shiver rippled over her skin. Not a shiver of cold, though. A shiver of anticipation. She wanted him to hold her. She wanted much more. But… “You might be gone tomorrow.”

“I won’t be. I’ll be right here.”

“That’s worse.”

Bryce’s eyebrows dipped low.

He deserved an explanation. As much as she didn’t want to voice her fears, her insecurities, he deserved to know where he stood. “The longer you’re here, the more I’ll rely on you. The more I’ll…”

Her voice faltered. The more she’d what?

“You’re still worried I’ll leave you in the lurch.”

She nodded.

“I won’t.”

She wanted to believe him.

“You can trust me, Sylvie.”

She swallowed into an aching throat. “I do trust you on some level. I just…”

“Can’t go that far?”

“Cowardly, huh?”

“There’s nothing about you that’s cowardly.” Slipping his hand along her cheek, he brushed her hair back from her face, draping it over her shoulder. “Just let me hold you. That’s all. It doesn’t have to go further than that.”

His offer sounded good. It sounded wonderful. The trouble was, if she gave in, if she opened herself to temptation, she would be the one who wanted it to go further. She would be the one who needed more.