Captive

“Okay, okay. I don’t want to pressure you. I’ll rub your back. How about that?”

“I…”

“Or a foot massage. That’s what you need. And let me tell you, I don’t offer that to just anyone. Free of charge.”

“I’m not sure how I can resist.” Sylvie meant the remark to sound like a light quip, but she couldn’t help feeling the truth of it. Bryce made her feel so warm, so wanted. As though she’d finally found her place in the world. A place where she belonged. A place she might even be able to pretend was permanent.

But permanent didn’t exist. She knew that. So what if she didn’t let herself think that way? What if she focused on only one night?

Could she do that?

She needed Bryce. No question. Needed his warmth and his passion. Needed to feel as if she belonged. If he was gone tomorrow, wouldn’t she regret not being with him while she could? Wouldn’t that be worse?

Sylvie turned in Bryce’s arms. Tilting her head back, she peered up at him. “I’m sure you’re great at foot massages, but I’m afraid I need more.”

“A foot massage and a back rub?”

“More than that.” She turned again to face the mirror, her back to him.

He watched her in the mirror, his eyes dark, intense, looking into her, waiting for what she’d do next.

Sylvie untied the sash at her waist. Fingers trembling, she pulled the sides of her robe apart and slipped it off her shoulders. She stood naked in front of the mirror, in front of him. Her breasts hung free, her nipples puckered and taut. Warmth curled between her legs.

She felt his gaze move over her as much as she saw it in the mirror. His eyes took in every detail, as if every inch of her skin was precious, every feature unique, the whole package more alluring than any woman he’d ever seen. “You are so beautiful.”

Sylvie let his gaze and words and the feelings building inside engulf her. If she had this man looking at her just this way every day, she’d feel beautiful the rest of her life.

She’d feel wanted.

She pushed away a shiver of fear. She couldn’t think of anything right now but Bryce, the time they had together. She couldn’t concentrate on anything but the reflection of his eyes.

He pressed his body close once again. The ridge of his erection jutted against her bottom and lower back. The crisp fabric of his shirt rubbed against her.

Slipping his arms around her, he cupped her breasts in his hands, lifting, caressing. Her nipples poked between his fingers. Lowering his mouth, he kissed her neck, her shoulder. He slid one hand down her side and over her belly until he found the heat between her legs.

Her belly tightened, low and hot. A moan vibrated deep in her throat, a sound she didn’t even recognize as her own. She rocked against him, the heat building. But she wanted more.

Reaching behind her, she gripped his shirt and pulled it from his pants. She wanted to feel his skin, his warmth. She needed all of him. She didn’t want him to hold anything back.

He took his hands from her, stripped off his clothing, and slipped on a condom. When he snuggled up behind her again, his skin smoothed warm against hers, his erection pressed against her, branding her with its heat. Nudging her legs apart, he moved closer, pushing between her thighs. But he didn’t enter her. Instead he pressed tight against her. Taking a breast in each hand, he kissed her neck. He dipped his tip into her wetness.

Heat rippled through her, burgeoning with each stroke. She watched his hands lift her breasts, scissoring her nipples between his fingers. She felt the desire in his eyes, reveled in the hardness thrusting between her legs, rubbing, building. Pleasure shuddered through her and broke loose from her lips.

His strokes quickened, eliciting more shudders. Just when she thought she was done, he slipped inside. He filled her, stretched her, yet she felt no pain. Only slick heat.

She watched him move into her. His eyes were half closed, yet she could tell he was watching her, too. Watching her breasts bounce with each thrust. Watching the way she tilted her head back against him. Watching as the sounds of pleasure moaned deep in her throat.

Bryce leaned forward, his breath tickling her ear. “I can’t get enough of you, Sylvie. I could never get enough.”

She soaked in the words, the sensations. She couldn’t get enough of him either. He was what she needed. What she’d always needed.

Slipping out of her, he scooped her into his arms and carried her out of the bathroom and laid her gently on the very edge of the bed. Nudging her legs apart, he settled between them and lowered his mouth to her.

She never guessed her body would still have the stamina to respond. He moved his mouth over her, devouring her until waves of shudders seized her again.

She cried out, louder this time. She could no longer control her response. She could no longer control her feelings.

Pressure bore down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. It was too much, too fast, too dangerous, but she was falling for him anyway. Sometime tonight, she’d stepped over that cliff, and now she was plummeting.

Now she would never be the same.

Bryce

When Bryce awoke with sun peeking around the drapes and Sylvie curled at his side, he wasn’t sure if he’d made a new start or a big mistake. Either way, he’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

He watched her eyes move under her closed lids. Her hair spread over the pillow in wild waves. A smile played on her lips, the corners rising and falling with the flow of her dream. She looked peaceful. More peaceful than she had since he’d met her. And he could only hope that he was a part of that.

Sylvie hadn’t wanted to admit it, but seeing Yamal dead had hit her hard, and Bryce knew that ever-present fear for her sister was no small part of it. He probably shouldn’t have come back to her room, shouldn’t have asked her to open the bathroom door, shouldn’t have kissed her, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. He hadn’t wanted to stop himself. Now he only hoped that she didn’t regret making love. That she knew how much he really cared about her.

He glanced at the desk and the folder holding the articles about Ed Dryden that Diana had collected. Bryce hadn’t shown them to Sylvie. He hadn’t wanted her to know the role he’d played. Hadn’t wanted to see the look in her eyes.

But after last night…

Bryce wanted to be honest. He wanted her to know him. And the only way for her to truly understand the man he had become was to know the man he once was.

He looked back to her sleeping face. So beautiful. So strong. So sweet. He bent over her and touched his lips to hers.

Her lids fluttered. Her eyes opened.

“Good morning.”

At first, she looked confused. Then she gave him a tentative smile. “What time is it?”

“Just after seven.”

She moved to sit up, clutching the sheet to shield her breasts. “I need to find out when the DNA test will—”

He held up a hand. “Wait.”

She sucked in a breath and looked at him, as if suddenly remembering what had passed between them. Or maybe she was just finally acknowledging it.

Something inside him hesitated. The connection between them was so tender, so new, anything could destroy it, much less what he was about to confess. But if it was to grow, he had to be honest. He lowered his lips to hers again, kissing her for what might be the last time. “We have to talk.”

“About what?” Her eyes darted, searching his.

“Last night was more than I’d ever dreamed.”

She let out a breath of relief.

“What I have to tell you happened long before last night.”

She frowned, a crease digging between her eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I never really told you…” He trailed off, searching for the words. How could he describe how single minded he’d been? How ambitious? “Why don’t I show you?”

Throwing back the sheets, he thrust himself out of bed. Naked, he crossed the floor to the desk and picked up the folder.

The shrill ring of Sylvie’s phone cut through the room.

Sylvie grabbed the phone and brought it to her ear. “Hello?”

Bryce sat on the bed next to her, the folder in his hands.

Tears pooled in the corners of Sylvie’s eyes. “Bobby. I’m so glad to hear your voice. We’ll be right there.”

Diana

Diana didn’t have to see him to sense he was back.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

No answer.

Why should she expect anything else?

She was no one.

Nothing.

“I didn’t do this. He did.”

The voice was so quiet that at first she wondered if she heard it at all. “He? Who?”

“You should have told me you found your sister.”

“My sister?” A fresh wave of terror pumped into her bloodstream. “Sylvie?”

“Yes, Sylvie.”

That voice… It was so familiar. Diana recognized that voice. “Do I know you?”

Sylvie

When Sylvie had heard Bobby’s voice over the phone, she was so relieved she could hardly speak. Now that Bobby was awake, they’d find Diana for sure. Now that Bobby was awake, Perreth would have to keep them in the loop. Now that Bobby was awake, everything would be okay.

But seeing Bobby lying in the hospital bed—skin as white as the pillow his shaved head rested on, struggling for each molecule of oxygen from the tube threaded under his nose—she wasn’t so sure.

Bryce hung back, leaning against the jamb, as if to give her space to talk to Bobby before she had to explain his presence. A consideration she appreciated.

Crossing to the bed, Sylvie realized they weren’t alone. Giving the blond woman standing in the corner of the room a passing glance and nod, Sylvie stopped at Bobby’s bedside and focused on him. “How are you feeling?”

The corner of his lips twitched in a smile. “Great.”

At least he hadn’t lost his sense of humor. She took his hand in hers, carefully skirting the IV needle, and gave him a teasing smile that she didn’t feel. “I thought you were dead.”

“If you hadn’t found me so quickly, I might be.”

“I wish I would have found you a lot quicker than I did.”

“Why? So the bastard could have kidnapped you too?”

“So you know about Diana.”

He glanced at the woman in the corner. “Yes.”

Sylvie followed his gaze.

With thick blond hair and a face that could grace magazine covers, the woman should be beautiful. But there was something hard about her—a sharp glint in her eyes, a tension to her lips—something that made Sylvie a little uncomfortable.

“Sylvie, this is Valerie Ryker,” Bobby said. “She’s a consultant with the sheriff’s department.”

The woman stepped across the room and offered Sylvie her hand. “I’m sorry about your sister. I can assure you Detective Perreth and the local police are doing everything they can to find her.”

Sylvie wasn’t so sure about that, but she shook the woman’s hand anyway. “Thank you… detective?”

“I’m a civilian consultant, not an officer. Not anymore. Call me Val.”

“This is Bryce Walker. He’s been helping me.” It seemed like such a lame explanation, one that didn’t even begin to describe their relationship. But then, Sylvie wasn’t sure of their relationship herself, so how could she describe it to others?

Val narrowed her eyes on Bryce. “It’s nice to meet you, counselor.”

Bryce nodded but said nothing.

Bobby broke the silence. “Stan Perreth says you’ve been searching for Diana.”

Sylvie focused on Bobby. If she was in his place, no matter how weak she was, she’d want to know what was going on. All of it. “Did Perreth tell you about the burned body they found?”

“That’s part of what we need to talk to you about,” Bobby said. “Perreth was just here. He got a call from the lab.”

A cold sweat slicked Sylvie’s back.

Bryce crossed the waxed tile and stopped beside her.

She knew why he’d moved closer. To be there for her if…

“It’s not a match, Sylvie. It’s not Diana.”

Sylvie’s knees sagged like rubber.

Bryce placed a hand on her elbow, steadying her.

She gave him a grateful glance. She could handle this. If Diana was still alive, Sylvie could handle anything.

“There’s more,” Val said.

Sylvie’s mood plummeted back into worry, as if riding a roller coaster.

Bobby leaned his head back on his pillow. If possible, he looked worse than he had when they’d arrived.

“Ten days ago, the body of a woman was found up near Lake Loyal,” Val said.

Sylvie nodded. “I remember hearing something about that.”

“What you didn’t hear was that the body found Saturday in Madison that Perreth thought might be Diana had certain characteristics in common with that first victim near Lake Loyal.”

“What characteristics?” Bryce asked.

“Both victims were women, obviously. Both were killed with a knife. And there were other similarities, things I am not going to get into.”

Sylvie thought of the reasons Perreth had given for not letting her see the body. “Something was done to them that made them unrecognizable?”

“That’s where the second body differed. But virtually everything else matches. And the other elements of this killer’s signature are very distinctive.”

“Signature?” Sylvie had skimmed enough articles about Ed Dryden to know what that word signified. “Are you talking about a serial killer here?”

“It’s possible.”

For a civilian, Val sure gave answers that were as vague as any cop’s. The familiar hum grew louder in Sylvie’s ears. “Why are you telling us any of this?”

“Whoever killed these two women has a signature that is very close to a killer who struck Wisconsin a number of years ago.”

His name stuck in Sylvie’s throat.

“Ed Dryden,” Bryce supplied.

Val stared at Bryce a good long while, then nodded.

“But he’s in prison.” Sylvie’s voice barely rose above a whisper. The image of Diana running through the forest lodged in her mind. Diana being hunted like an animal, the way Ed Dryden had done with most of his victims. “How could he do this if he’s in prison? Is he in prison?”

“This isn’t Ed Dryden himself. He’s still at Bainsbridge. But whoever this is seems to be copying his signature nearly exactly.”

Sylvie’s mind jumped ahead—to why the lieutenant was telling her this, to what it had to do with her. With Diana. “They’re blond, aren’t they? The two women?”

“Yes.”

“And they look like Dryden’s original victims?”

“As far as we can tell. Yes.”

She thought of the scenario she and Bryce had discussed. “Do you think Dryden is controlling this copycat? Controlling him from his prison cell?”

“I suppose it could be possible. If he was communicating with someone on the outside.” Again Val’s gaze drilled into Bryce. “The copycat is reproducing details about Dryden’s murders that only someone privy to the case files would know.”

“Like a detective.” Sylvie glanced at Bryce.

“Or someone who devoted his life to studying Dryden,” Bryce countered.

Suddenly Sylvie knew why Val was telling her about these murders. “Diana. You’re afraid that Diana will be the third.”

Bryce placed his palm gently on her back.

Regaining her balance, Sylvie swung her focus to Bobby. “Do you know about the research project? The interviews Diana was doing with Ed Dryden?”

“Perreth filled me in this morning.”

“Diana didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

So Diana had kept her fascination with Dryden secret from Bobby too.

Why?

“Perreth has talked to Professor Bertram about Diana’s involvement in his research,” Val said. “Unfortunately, he never got a chance to interview Bertram’s assistant. And as I understand it, the two of you found his body last night.”

Sylvie nodded. The last thing she wanted to do was relive that moment. But if it would help, she was all in. “Detective Perreth said it looked like suicide.”

“And you don’t believe that?” Bobby asked.

“I don’t know what to believe. I suppose it’s possible.”

“Perreth seems to think there’s a chance Sami Yamal was the copycat killer. That it got to be too much for him, and that’s why he took his own life. Do you think that’s possible?” Val Ryker looked at her, and then turned those laser eyes to Bryce once again.

“I don’t know,” Sylvie said finally. “We only talked to him once. But he insisted he was the real expert on Dryden. He resented the professor’s book deal and that Diana was working with him.”

“If Yamal was the copycat, it’s over.” Bobby said.

Sylvie frowned. “I suppose it would be.”

“I mean, it could really be all over, Sylvie. If he took Diana, we might never find her.”

Sylvie’s chest felt tight. She strained to breathe.

No, no, no…

“Wait. Wait.”

All eyes focused on Sylvie.

“You have considered that Dryden could be behind this, right?”

“Behind it?” Val parroted.

“You know, pulling the strings? Didn’t you just suggest that?”

“No, you did.”

Sylvie nodded. “Right, right… and it could be possible.”

Val glanced at Bryce. “It could be. All we know for certain is that the killer knows details the general public doesn’t.”

Bryce slipped an arm around Sylvie. His body pressed against her side, solid, close. But she couldn’t take comfort in his presence this time. She couldn’t take comfort in anything.

She’d been so naive through all this. Purposefully so. She’d stubbornly clung to the hope that she’d be able to find Diana. That Bryce could help her get the answers she needed. That once Bobby regained consciousness the three of them could work together to get her sister back. But the truth was, an entire law firm of Bryces and a whole department of Bobbys and Val Rykers couldn’t find Diana before it was too late.

But Sylvie might just have a shot.

She pulled away from Bryce’s side. Forcing steel into her spine, she focused on Val. “I want you to set up a meeting for me.”

“A meeting with who?”

“I’m going to talk to Ed Dryden.”

Bryce

Sylvie’s words crashed down on Bryce’s skull with the force of a sledgehammer. She couldn’t be suggesting what she was suggesting. “You’re not meeting with him.”

Sylvie balled her hands into fists by her sides, as if readying for a knock-down drag-out. “It’s not your choice to make.”

“It might not be, but that doesn’t mean it’s one you should make. He’s dangerous. You can’t walk into that prison and have a chat with a monster like that. It’s like waving a red flag in front of a rabid bull.”

“Even if the copycat isn’t Sami Yamal, he already knows I’m Diana’s sister. He’s already tried to kidnap me. I’m already a target. Talking to Dryden isn’t going to make any difference.”

“What do you think Dryden is going to do? Tell you where Diana is? Call off his copycat?”

“I might learn something from him. Something that could help.”

Bryce couldn’t believe his ears. He looked to Bobby. “You can’t let her do this.”

“Sylvie, I’m afraid Bryce is right,” Bobby said.

Sylvie kept her eyes on Bryce. “Why are you acting like I’m not in danger already? You were there. If you hadn’t gotten me out of that van, I’d be with the copycat right now. I have nothing to lose.”

“You have your life to lose,” Bryce said.

“You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re right. I’m not listening. And if listening means thinking what you’re proposing is a good idea, I’ll sure as hell never listen.” He glared at Bobby. “You have to tell her to forget it.”

“He’s right, Sylvie,” Bobby said again.

Bryce turned to Val Ryker. She was already staring at him, as she had since they’d walked in the door… since she’d called him counselor without anyone having mentioned he was an attorney. “Sylvie can’t do this. You can’t let her do this.”

“I’m not in charge here.”

She could have fooled him. With Bobby still in bad shape, Val Ryker seemed to be manipulating the entire conversation, throwing comments out there and watching how the rest of them reacted.

Especially him.

As if she knew he was Dryden’s attorney. As if she knew all of it.

“I’d like to hear your opinion,” Bryce told her. “Meeting with Dryden will put Sylvie at risk. You can’t think this is a good idea.”

Val hesitated, as if coming up with her next move. “I’ve never been face-to-face with Ed Dryden, but I have had an experience with a man who was somewhat similar. You don’t want to let someone like that into your life. He’ll only cause you pain.”

Sylvie’s eyes glistened. She shook her head. “That’s just it. Diana’s my twin. My only family. If he has anything to do with what happened to her, he’s already in my life. I need help getting him out. Will you help me? Please?”

Val Ryker considered this for a moment. “He’s a manipulator. You’ll have to assume every word out of his mouth is a lie.”

Sylvie nodded.

“I want to observe the meeting, bring in an expert if I can,” Val continued. “And we’ll need to record it.”

Sylvie nodded again.

Bryce looked from one woman to the other. “What just happened? Have you both gone crazy? This man is dangerous.”

Sylvie glanced up at him, her chin jutting slightly. “He’s in prison. He won’t be able to hurt me.”

“Not unless there’s someone on the outside, as you pointed out before.” Val again, her eyes drilling into Bryce. “Someone who is communicating with him.”

Bryce’s throat felt thick, hot. If only he’d made time to talk to Sylvie this morning, tell her everything. Maybe he could have prevented this idea from even popping into her head. But if onlys only got him so far. “I need to talk to you, Sylvie.”

“We are talking.”

“Alone. Now.”

“I’m not going to change my mind, Bryce.”

“Just hear me out. Give me that much.”

She glanced at Bobby and Val. Finally, Sylvie nodded.

Bryce led her out of the room. Privacy. They needed someplace private. He didn’t want the whole hospital to hear what he was about to say.

Weaving through a maze of hallways, he negotiated his way to the rooftop deck. Sun sparkled off the two main lakes and bathed the narrow isthmus of buildings stretching between. Not far away, the capitol dome caught the sun. The golden statue on its pinnacle stabbed into a blue sky. Pleasant, if not for the cold current of wind. Wind that chilled him to the bone.

Leaning against the rail, Sylvie wrapped her arms around herself. She squinted up at him. “Okay. Talk.”

He shrugged out of his coat and attempted to drape it over her shoulders.

She held up a hand. “I don’t need your coat. I need to hear what you have to say. What you couldn’t say inside.”

“I wanted to tell you this morning, when you woke up.” He draped his coat over the rail. His chest ached with each breath. His throat pinched, the words he had to say strangling him. But he had to get them out. He had no pictures, no articles to explain it for him this time. “Yesterday you asked about Dryden’s lawyer.”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “What about him?”

“I am Dryden’s lawyer, Sylvie. Or at least, I was until about six weeks ago.”

She didn’t move, didn’t gasp, nothing. She just stared at him with steady eyes, waiting for him to explain.

“When the lawsuits against the Supermax prison started a few years ago, I decided to get in on it. Thought it would give the law firm some press, bring in more clients.”

“But Dryden? Why Dryden?”

“Because he would bring the big headlines.” The picture he was painting for her made him feel sick, but he couldn’t stop. It was the truth. He had been that man, chasing notoriety, playing with the law like it was a game. So wrapped up in his own greed and ambition that he couldn’t see anything else.

“And this is what you wanted to tell me?”

“No. I mean, yes, but it’s not everything.”

She hugged herself tighter. “What else?”

“I won the suit against the Supermax. I got Dryden transferred to another facility. One with less restrictive conditions, less solitary confinement. But that wasn’t enough for him.”

“What did he want?”

Bryce looked out at the skyline, at the blue curves of the lakes. He’d gotten Dryden nearly everything he’d asked for, everything the monster didn’t deserve. “He wasn’t happy with Banesbridge. Most of the prison has been renovated since he escaped in 1996. And what wasn’t is under renovation now. Security has been improved.”

“And he wanted someplace less secure.”

Bryce nodded. He remembered the grin on Dryden’s thin lips when he’d made his demand clear. “When I refused to go along, he threatened me.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.” And he’d never forgive himself for it. “I underestimated him. He was in prison. He couldn’t get out. He couldn’t hurt me from behind bars.”

Sylvie’s throat moved under tender skin, as if she was struggling to swallow all he’d told her, trying to prepare for what came next. “Your brother…”

“The whole thing was my damn fault.” He waited for that look he dreaded. One of disgust. Horror. Condemnation. The one he’d seen in the mirror every morning for the past six weeks.

It never came. Instead she stepped close and put her arms around him. “I’m sorry, Bryce. I’m so sorry.”

Pain pressed behind his eyes and knifed through his sinuses. He’d expected a lot of things, but not this. As much as he thought of Sylvie, as much as he cared about her, he’d underestimated her.

He loved her.

And now… now that he’d found her, he was on the brink of losing her. “Don’t do this, Sylvie. Please. Promise you’ll stay away from him.”

Tears spiked her lashes and trickled down her cheeks. “I know how awful this must be for you, Bryce. I understand now.”

His throat closed. He knew where she was leading before she said the words. He knew her decision would scar her forever. And if he lost her because of it, it would destroy him.

“But I need you to understand me, too.”

Sylvie

Sylvie shifted in her chair. Crossing and uncrossing her legs, she finally settled on crossing her ankles, knees pressed tightly together.

She’d never been inside the walls of a prison before. And even though she was in the main building, far from the cell blocks, she already knew she never wanted to come to a place like this again. She didn’t mind the Spartan room, furnished with only a scarred table and four chairs, one bolted to the floor. She didn’t mind the antiseptic smell. She didn’t even mind the dour-faced guards.

What she hated was the sound of doors locking behind them as they passed through the sally ports. And that no matter how deeply she inhaled, she couldn’t seem to breathe.

She glanced at the camera in the corner of the room. Bryce was watching through that camera, along with Val Ryker, Detective Perreth, Professor Bertram, and others Sylvie didn’t know. Bryce had insisted on coming with her, a demand that made her want to cry. She knew this was hell for him, seeing the man he thought responsible for killing his brother. The fact that he’d stuck by her, even through this, made her heart squeeze. She only hoped it wasn’t all in vain, that she could coax something of value from Ed Dryden, something that would lead to finding Diana.

The door opened. Two uniformed guards stepped into the room, and between them, hands and feet shackled, shuffled Ed Dryden.

He looked much like his photograph, only older. Brown hair now silver, he appeared as if he should be wearing a nice suit or a relaxed weekend baseball shirt, not the baggy prison jumpsuit. Although he was clearly in his fifties, the boyish quality she’d noticed in his photograph was still there. The slightly weak slant to his chin, the disarming arch to his eyebrows—all of it conspired to make him appear more like the nice next-door neighbor than an infamous killer. He raised his eyes to hers.

His eyes were like his picture too. Ice blue. And void of emotion.

She suppressed a shiver.

The corners of thin lips lifted in a smile. “Sylvie. You’re as beautiful as your sister.”

“I want to talk to you about Diana,” Sylvie said in a thankfully steady voice.

So far, so good.

He lowered himself into the chair.

The guards handcuffed his hands to the steel rails. One gave her a pointed look. “Are you sure you don’t want one of us to stay in here with you?”

Of course, she did. Better yet, she wanted Bryce and everyone else in here as well, not merely watching from the next room. “I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will be,” Dryden said, voice low and melodic. “I’m no animal, despite what they imply with their handcuffs and chains. I’m well read, civilized. I know how to treat a lady.”

Sylvie resisted the urge to look at the camera. Only she could do this now. And no one could help her.

She folded her hands in her lap, picking at her fingernails. “I’m not sure how to ask this.”

“I’ve found the direct approach is best.”

Right. And she’d be willing to bet Dryden was as direct as a crazy straw. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

He smiled, thin lips pulling back to reveal straight white teeth. She caught a whiff of mint mouthwash, as if he’d gargled just for her.

“My sister has disappeared.”

His smile faded. “When?”

“Saturday afternoon. Someone kidnapped her from her wedding. Do you know where she is?”

His eyebrows dipped low. A muscle twitched in his clean-shaven cheek. “Why would you think I know anything? If you haven’t noticed, I don’t get out much.”

“That wasn’t a very direct answer.”

“Forgive me. I’m a bit shaken by the news.”

He looked about as shaken as a professional poker player. “I’m worried about Diana. I’ve come here for your help.”

“My help.” A smile curved the corners of his lips.

“Yes.”

“That is as it should be, isn’t it?”

As it should be?

Clearly he liked the position of power that her coming to him for help gave him. Power over her. But although the thought of giving this man any kind of power over her turned her stomach, she would do whatever it took to find Diana. “Will you help me find my sister?”

He leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry I have to let you down, Sylvie. But I don’t know where your sister is.”

“Please. You’re a powerful man. I know you’re in touch with someone outside of prison.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I… I just do.”

“And you think I asked someone to take Diana?”

“Did you?”

Closing his eyes, he shook his head. “I expected more from you.”

She wouldn’t let him throw her off track. “Please answer my question.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with your sister’s disappearance. I have no reason to want to hurt her.”

Too bad she didn’t believe him. “Two women have been murdered recently.”

He lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

The gesture felt forced. “They were killed in the same way you killed your victims. The same exact way.”

“And what way is that?”

Did he want her to describe the murders? To voice the horrible things he’d done? The thought made her sick. “I don’t think you need me to tell you what you already know.”

“No. But I do need you to tell me why you think Diana is among these women. That’s why you’re here, right? You think Diana is the third? Or you’re afraid she will be?”

“Is she?”

“I don’t know anything about these women you speak of, but I can assure you that I have no reason to hurt your sister.”

Except that Diana looked like the wife he murdered.

“You don’t look convinced.”

“I’ve seen pictures of the women you killed. Pictures of your wife. Diana looks just like her.”

“Yes, Adrianna.” A gleam lit his eyes that made Sylvie want to bolt for the door. “Diana does look like her. Of course, you do too.”

She swallowed and forced herself to meet those cold eyes. “These other women are blond too.”

“Oh?” Another raise of the eyebrows in feigned surprise.

Maybe Bryce was right. Maybe she’d been stupid to think she’d get any answers from Ed Dryden. Maybe the smart thing would be for her to walk out that door and forget she’d ever laid eyes on the serial killer. But she couldn’t do that. She had to give it one last try. “Help me find Diana. Please, Mr. Dryden.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. That’s not right.”

“Not right? What isn’t right?”

“You calling me Mr. Dryden. I don’t like it.”

She’d call him babycakes if that was what it took to win his cooperation. “What would you like me to call you? Ed?”

He shook his head. “That’s not right, either.”

“Eddie?”

“No, no, no…”

Frustration knotted in her gut, replacing the edgy feeling of nausea. She wished she could be cool, detached, beat him at his own game, but she couldn’t. She needed him. “Please, where is Diana?”

“I told you, I don’t know where she is. I wish I did. Believe me, I’m as worried about her as you are.”

She ground her teeth together. She was getting mighty tired of his false charm. She felt like spitting in his face. “I can tell you’re eaten up.”

“Sylvie, Sylvie, there’s no reason for sarcasm.” He shook his head as if he was disappointed in her again. “I can tell you what I know about your sister. Maybe that will help you see that I mean what I say.”

Maybe Bryce was right. Maybe he wasn’t going to tell her anything of value. He was just playing her again. Nonetheless, she found herself leaning forward in her chair. “What do you know?”

“I know she’s beautiful, like you. She’s smart, like you. But that isn’t surprising, is it? Not with identical twins.” He leaned back in his chair and looked past her at the wall, as if lost in private thoughts.

Sylvie clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. What was he thinking about? Times during Diana’s interviews with him when he manipulated her like he was trying to manipulate Sylvie? Or was he fantasizing about the hell Diana was going through now?

“Diana had this puppet she liked to play with. A Mexican clown. She loved that thing. She never let it out of her sight. It was her favorite, along with the music box. You both loved the music box.”

Sylvie narrowed her eyes on Dryden. Had he lost his mind? Slipped into some kind of delusional fantasy world? The articles she’d read about Dryden stated that he wasn’t insane, but if this rambling wasn’t insanity, what was it? “Excuse me?”

“You, of course, were too sick for puppets.” He shifted his stare back to her. “I’m glad to see you so strong. You turned out as beautiful and strong as your sister.”

Her mind stuttered. She struggled to grasp what he was saying. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course, you don’t. You were too young. Young but sweet. You used to look up to me like I was a god. You made me feel like a god. That’s when I realized things were all wrong. That I had to change my life. I had to take control. Be what I was meant to be.”

Her throat constricted, making it hard to swallow, hard to speak. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dryden. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Didn’t I tell you I don’t want you calling me Mr. Dryden?”

“I’m sorry.”

He shifted in his chair, chains rattling. His eyes glinted like glittering ice. “Do you know what I want you to call me, Sylvie? Have you figured it out yet?”

“What?” Her voice was only a whisper, but suddenly she wished she could take the word back. She wished she could jump from her chair and race out of the room. She wished she’d never set foot in this prison, never heard of Ed Dryden.

But as much as she wanted to change the past, she couldn’t. Nor could she alter what would happen next. She waited for him to tell her the name, feeling as powerless to stop him as a three-year-old.

His thin lips spread into a slow smile. “Daddy. I want you to call me Daddy.”

Bryce

Bryce threw the door open and pushed into the prison’s interview room. He had to get Sylvie out of here. Away from this monster. Dryden had gone too far. Much too far. “This meeting is over.”

Val Ryker and Stan Perreth stepped into the room behind him along with two guards.

Sylvie didn’t look up. She didn’t move. She just stared at her hands, as if she didn’t hear him, as if she didn’t know any of them were there. She picked compulsively at her fingernails.

“Hello, counselor.”

Bryce kept his eyes on Sylvie and off Dryden. One look at that smirk and Bryce wasn’t sure he could prevent himself from choking the life out of him.

“All right, Dryden,” one of the guards said in a bored voice. “Your fun is done for the day. Time to go back to your cell.”

The other guard glanced at Bryce, Sylvie, and the officers. “If the rest of you don’t mind leaving first…”

Val nodded. “Thank you.”

“Sylvie?” Bryce said in a gentle voice.

Sylvie didn’t look up.

He knelt beside her and grasped her hands, stopping the frantic clawing movement of her fingers. “Sylvie?”

She moved her gaze to his face, but he couldn’t sense any kind of a connection looking into her eyes. She seemed to be staring through him at another world. A world very far away.

She must be in shock. Why the hell wouldn’t she be? He sure was. He didn’t know what to think, what to feel, what to believe. Astonishment, denial, and anger tangled inside him like a writhing snake. But he couldn’t sort it out now. He had to focus, to keep himself together until after he got Sylvie far away from Ed Dryden.

“Let’s get out of here, Sylvie. Come on.” Gently Bryce pulled her up out of her chair.

“Think twice before trusting a lawyer, Sylvie. Especially this one.” Dryden’s voice prodded him like a blunt stick poking at a wounded animal. “He’s the type that will use you to further his own agenda. A truly manipulative and selfish breed.”

Bryce ground his teeth until his jaw hurt. “If I were you, Dryden, I’d shut the hell up. You’re an awfully stationary target.”

“What kind of a daddy would I be if I didn’t offer my little girl some fatherly advice?”

Bryce’s pulse pounded in his ears, pushing him closer to the edge.

Dryden couldn’t be Sylvie’s father. Bryce wouldn’t believe it. And if that bastard didn’t shut up, Bryce would put his hands on either side of his head and snap his neck like a twig. Make him pay for all he’d done. The idea of it was so sweet, it was all Bryce could do to force his feet to move toward the door. “Come on, Sylvie. Don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to hurt you.”

“I would never hurt Sylvie. She’s my daughter, Walker. My little girl.”

No. No. No.

Sylvie stopped, she turned to face Dryden. “My mother. She was your wife?”

“We could have been the perfect little family. But unlike you and your sister, she didn’t understand me. She never did.”

Bryce angled his body between Dryden and Sylvie. He pulled her toward the door.

She hesitated.

“Come on, Sylvie.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to go with you, Walker. Maybe she wants to stay and talk. She hasn’t seen her daddy in more than twenty years.”

“Go to hell, Dryden.”

“Eventually. And when I get there, I’ll be sure to say hello to Tanner for you.”

Bryce let go of Sylvie’s hand. Dodging around the cops, he launched himself at Dryden and slammed a fist into the bastard’s nose.

Cartilage gave under Bryce’s knuckles. Dryden’s head snapped back. A spray of blood misted the air, hot and sticky.

Hands clawed at Bryce, grabbing him, pinning his arms behind his back. Val and Perreth dragged Bryce away.

“I wish I could let you at him,” Perreth said, dipping his lips close to Bryce’s ear. “You’d be doing the world a favor.”

Once the cops dragged Bryce clear of the room, they released his arms.

“Stay here,” Val Ryker said to Bryce. She focused on Sylvie. “Remember what I said. Every word a lie.”

Ryker and Perreth stepped back into the interview room and closed the door behind them.

Sylvie stared at the floor, tears brimming in her eyes.

Bryce clenched his hands into fists. His head throbbed. His mouth tasted of blood. How could Ed Dryden be Sylvie’s father? How did any of this make sense?

It didn’t.

“See? He was lying. Just like Val said.”

Sylvie shook her head.

“He was manipulating you.”

“He’s telling the truth, Bryce.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“He knew… he knew about my heart.”

“Diana could have told him.”

“And that’s why Diana visited him, why she was so interested…”

“You don’t know that.”

“But I do. Diana would never be a serial killer groupie. He’s our—”

“Stop.”

Sylvie shook her head. “And our mother… Diana and I, we look just like Adrianna Dryden. Just like her.”

Her quiet words hit Bryce square in the sternum. He hadn’t wanted to see it. He didn’t want to acknowledge it now.

“He’s my… my...” Sylvie looked up at Bryce.

Sylvie needed his help. He could see it in her eyes. In their desperate shine behind squinting lashes. She needed his help to sort through the shock, to understand what had just happened, to figure out what it meant.

Pressure built in his head. He groped inside himself. For something to give her, a word, a touch. But all that was there was the empty echo of Tanner’s laugh. The scent of blood. And the smug look in Ed Dryden’s eyes.

Bryce had to get out of here. Away from Dryden. Away from his regrets.

And—God forgive him—away from Sylvie.

Ed Dryden’s daughter.

“I’m sorry, Sylvie. I… I’m just sorry.” Bryce turned away from her and strode for the sally port and the hall beyond, leaving her all alone.

Sylvie

“I told Bryce to stay here.” Val Ryker paced the floor of the narrow observation room, clearly angry.

Sylvie wrapped her arms around herself. She wished she could sink into her chair and disappear. Her chest ached. Still her lungs refused to fill with air. And no matter how many short gasps she took, she couldn’t get the oxygen she needed.

Detective Perreth grunted. “Looks like we know who’s carrying Dryden’s messages.”

Sylvie glanced from Perreth to Val. “You’re not thinking Bryce…”

“He’s the only one we don’t have an eye on, and the punch could just be a cover,” Perreth said. “You tell me.”

“It’s not Bryce.”

Val watched her for a long while before she spoke. “Did you know he was Dryden’s lawyer?”

Sylvie nodded. She could still hear the pain in Bryce’s voice when he’d told her. The self-recrimination. The regret. “He hates Dryden. More than anything. He blames Dryden for killing his brother.”

“The hunting accident?” Val asked. “Interesting.”

Perreth started for the door. “Seems to me, he’s been playing everybody. I’m going to have him picked up.”

“Wait,” Sylvie said, but he was gone.

“Bryce will have to answer for himself.” Val put a hand on her arm. “Let’s get you back to your hotel.”

Sylvie didn’t want to go back there. Where she’d given herself to Bryce. Where she’d thought she was in love. But she had nowhere else to go. “Okay.”

Val escorted Sylvie out through the sally ports and helped her sign out. Outside, two police officers stopped talking as she emerged. Professor Bertram leaned on a police cruiser, puffing on a cigarette as if his life depended on it. He looked at Sylvie with bloodshot eyes. “I’m sorry he’s your father. I wish it wasn’t true.”

Sylvie nodded. She didn’t want to think about Dryden, but even now, she realized she could never escape him. He was part of her past. Part of her DNA. Every time she looked in the mirror, she’d now see his eyes. Every time she witnessed a father laughing with his daughter, she’d now hear his voice.

Daddy. I want you to call me Daddy.

Sylvie shuddered.

When Ed Dryden had told her that he was her father, she’d thought she’d hit bottom, but she’d been wrong. She hadn’t known what bottom was until Bryce had walked away because of it. Because of who she was.

Val opened the front door of the police cruiser and motioned Sylvie inside. One of the two chatting officers slid into the driver’s seat.

“You’re not coming with me?” Sylvie asked Val.

“You need police protection, Sylvie.”

Sylvie had forgotten Val was no longer a cop. Here she hadn’t even known this woman yesterday, and yet she felt like the only connection Sylvie had left. And now she was losing even that…

“Everything will be okay,” the officer said. “Name is Timms. I’ll take good care of you.”

Sylvie felt herself nod. She appreciated the reassurance. She really did. But everything wouldn’t be okay. It would never be okay again.

Val said her goodbyes and walked over to talk to the professor. Officer Timms started the car, pulled out of the prison gate, and they were on their way.

Sylvie leaned back in the passenger seat of the police cruiser and struggled to catch her breath. She’d hoped once she emerged from behind the tall fences topped with curls of razor wire, she would be able to breathe.

No such luck.

At least Officer Timms turned out to be more of a talker than a listener and for that, Sylvie was grateful. He launched into a story about dogs giving birth and children mispronouncing words, the calm in his voice something she could cling to.

Sylvie wrapped her arms around herself. Gripping her sweater’s chunky knit with both hands, she watched the bluffs roll by, tree-covered swells, rock-strewn valleys, farm fields stretching in the distance.

A strange pulsing thump broke through her thoughts.

The sound grew louder. The patrol care started to buck.

“Damn it.” The officer pulled to the shoulder and stopped.

“What happened?” Sylvie asked.

“Flat tire. Just you wait here. I’ll have it fixed in a second.” Officer Timms reported the problem on his radio then climbed out and circled to the back of the car.

Sylvie stared straight ahead, the setting sun highlighting every dead bug and water spot on the windshield. She wished she could cry, let the tears wash away the memories, the betrayals, the feelings she’d conjured out of loneliness and longing, but her eyes remained dry. She didn’t have enough tears left. She would never have enough tears.

Another vehicle came around the curve in the road. Sylvie angled the rearview mirror just in time to see a light bar fire to life, flashing red and blue. It parked behind them. The driver’s door opened, and the officer Timms had been talking to at the prison joined him.

The passenger door opened, and the professor got out.

One of the officers waved him away. “We got this. Stay in the car.”

The professor returned to the car, but instead of climbing back inside, he paused for a moment and then walked back to the officers.

He bent down alongside them, all three studying the tire.

Sylvie went back to staring at the sunset, now almost gone behind the trees.

Shouts erupted from the back of the car.

“Hey! What are y—”

“Fu—”

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

Sylvie couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. She could see nothing but shadows in the mirror, someone slumped against the car’s trunk. Motion in the falling darkness.

Run!

Sylvie clawed at the door handle. Catching it on the third try, she shoved the door open and scrambled out.

An arm crashed down on her shoulder.

Her legs buckled, sending her sprawling.

A hand clamped her wrist, pulled her arm behind her back, and drove her face into the pavement.

Bryce

Bryce stood on the sidewalk, staring at Sylvie’s hotel and the three police cars parked outside.

Hours of driving along curving highways and over rolling hills hadn’t done a damn thing to clear his mind, but it had given him the chance to cool off, to shake the shock out of his system, and recognize what a dumbass he’d been.

Ed Dryden was a monster, no doubt. But Dryden couldn’t destroy what Bryce had found with Sylvie. Of course, he didn’t have to. By walking out on her just when she needed him most, Bryce had accomplished that all on his own.

So he’d driven to her hotel, ready to explain, to apologize, to throw himself down on his knees and beg her to forgive him. He’d assumed she’d have some kind of protection, but three cars seemed like a lot. He hoped they could get a moment alone.

Bryce opted to take the stairs instead of the elevator, using the extra time to rehearse the epic apology he’d put together on the way over. Reaching Sylvie’s floor, he bounded out into the hall and came to a dead stop.

The hallway was full of cops.

Sylvie?

Heart beating double time, he made it as far as the hallway before a young uniformed cop stopped him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! No one’s allowed beyond this point.”

Bryce could see the door of Sylvie’s room. It was open. Perreth’s blue coat and bulldog jowls were visible just inside.

Visions of Sylvie bloodied and dead flashed in his mind. He shut the images out. He wouldn’t think that way. He couldn’t. He focused on the officer barring his way. “I need to talk to someone in charge.”

“I’m sorry, sir. The detective is very busy. Leave your contact information with me, and I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“I have information that might help.”

The officer looked at him sideways, as if he sensed a lie. “If you leave your phone number—”

“Listen, I’m an attorney. The woman under police protection, she’s my client.” His client. Funny, but Sylvie had never been his client, not officially.

But she was so much more.

“I told you to stay put,” a woman’s voice said from down the hall.

Bryce looked past the uniform and focused on Val Ryker, headed his way. Perreth peeked out of Sylvie’s room then fell in behind her.

“Where in the hell did you go, Bryce?” she said.

“Out. Driving. Where’s Sylvie?” Bryce pushed through, heading for the room.

“She’s not here.”

“Where is she?”

“She and Professor Bertram…” Val glanced at Perreth, as if passing the question to him.

“They were kidnapped. The officers protecting them shot.”

Bryce watched Perreth’s mouth form the words, but it still took a few more seconds for what he was saying to sink in.

Sylvie was gone.

“GPS led to the missing patrol car,” Val said. “It’s being pulled out of Lake Loyal now.”

“I’m willing to bet the dash cam caught what happened,” Perreth said, staring at Bryce. “If you’re helping Dryden, if you did… all this. You might as well admit it now. Things will be easier for you.”

Bryce’s head pounded. “You can’t really think I’m helping Dryden.”

“You tell me.”

Sylvie was—

Bryce shook the thought away. There was something that wasn’t right here. Something that didn’t add up. “It wasn’t Dryden’s copycat.”

As soon as he heard his own words out loud, he knew his hunch was right. “It wasn’t Dryden at all.”

Ryker fixed him with an intense stare. “Why?”

“Sylvie and Diana… They’re his daughters.”

Perreth arched one brow. “So? You’re not trying to tell us he loves them or something, are you?”

“Not in a million years, but Dryden does things for reasons. His own twisted reasons, but still. He wasn’t angry with Sylvie. He wanted to charm her. Manipulate her. Why would he order some lackey to kidnap and kill either Sylvie or Diana as if they mean nothing?”

“That’s not what Bertram thought.” Perreth countered. “And he’s studied the killer for years. He knows all about Dryden.”

He knows all about Dryden.

The thought hit Bryce with the force of a kick.

Wouldn’t an expert know Dryden had three-year-old twin daughters at the time that he killed his wife? And wasn’t it possible he found out who those daughters were?

Bryce’s heart beat high in his chest. The professor seemed to have pulled himself together at the prison. But just the day before he’d been a mess, upset and on the verge of tears. Could years of obsession with his daughter’s murderer have taken their toll? Was it possible he’d decided to take from Dryden what Dryden had stolen from him?

God knew Dryden had gotten to Bryce. He’d forgotten everything but his hatred. He’d turned his back on his own happiness. He’d walked out on Sylvie when she’d needed him most.

“There’s a letter,” Bryce blurted out. “It was sent to Diana. I smuggled it out of her apartment the day she disappeared.”

A low growl came from Perreth’s throat.

“We assumed it was from Dryden, but…”

Val nodded. “You think it was from… who? Bertram?”

“Where is it?” Perreth barked.

“In her room. In the safe.”

Sylvie

Sylvie’s head throbbed. Her mouth felt dry and gritty as sand. She lay on her back in some sort of bed. A musty pillow supported her head, but she couldn’t move her hands and feet, as if she was tied to the bed by wrists and ankles.

Through her lashes she could see outlines of windows where feeble light leeched around the edges of room-darkening shades. She willed her eyes to open, to adjust to the lack of light. But in the end of the room where she was tied, blackness still surrounded her, smothered her, beat her down.

“Sylvie? Are you awake?”

The voice was weak but familiar. A voice she had dreamed of hearing. A voice she was searching for. “Diana?”

“Sylvie. Over here.”

Slowly she turned her aching head in the direction of Diana’s voice. She couldn’t see her sister’s face. But the white glow of her wedding gown filtered through the dark.

“Diana. Thank God.”

“Oh, Syl. I’m so sorry he got you too. I’m so sorry.”

She tried to shake her head, pain erupting behind her eyes and shooting down the back of her neck. “Why would he do this, Diana?”

“There’s a lot I haven’t told you, Syl. So much you don’t know.”

“I saw Ed Dryden today.”

“Then you do know.” Diana’s voice trembled. With shame. With regret.

Emotions Sylvie knew all too well. Emotions that clung to her skin, flowed through her blood and burrowed into the marrow of her bones. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

A muffled sob rose in the darkness. The rustle of satin. “I didn’t know what you’d do.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were always so guarded. So aloof. Like you didn’t trust me. I thought if I told you before we got to know each other, before we really felt like sisters, you wouldn’t want anything to do with it. With me. That I’d never hear from you again.”

Sylvie wanted to tell Diana she was wrong. That she never would have shied away from her sister no matter how ugly reality was. But the truth was, she didn’t know how she would have reacted.

Sylvie took in a deep breath of musty-smelling air.

She might not know how she would have felt six months ago, but she knew how she felt now. “He’s my father too, Diana. And as much as I want to run from that, I’d never run from you.”

“I’m so sorry, Syl.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m weak, Sylvie. I’ve always been weak, and some people… they can just sense it.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“Maybe not at first. But now… Look where I am. The same spot I’ve been trying to escape my whole life. And because of me, now you’re here too.”

Sylvie focused on the glow of her sister’s gown, the gleam of her blond hair. Diana was the strong one as a child, the healthy one. She’d been the one adopted. Raised by a wealthy family. Engaged to marry a man who loved her.

Yet things weren’t always as they seemed. If Sylvie had learned anything in the last few days, that was it. “We aren’t going to be victims, Diana. We’ll find a way out.”

“Professor Bertram has lost his mind. I’ve tried everything I can think of to—”

A metallic rattle cut the darkness. A door creaked open. A shadow loomed against the twilight sky, broad shoulders filling the doorway.

Bryce

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.

The contents of the letter scrolled over and over in Bryce’s mind. How could he have been so stupid as to assume the letter was written by Ed Dryden? Had he been that obsessed with the serial killer? Had he been that blind?

Of course, he never guessed Sylvie and Diana were Dryden’s daughters. He still had trouble wrapping his mind around that. It didn’t seem possible that monster was related to Sylvie in any way.

Bryce set the letter on the desk and started paging through the photocopied articles in Diana Gale’s folder, frustration pounding in his ears. When he’d told Val and Perreth his reasons for believing Professor Bertram had been the kidnapper and not a victim, it hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t be going with them, that he wouldn’t be able to personally make sure Sylvie was safe.

He knew that shouldn’t matter, that he should be content that they’d listened to him, that they were checking Bertram’s apartment right now along with his office, his wife’s house, and a vacation home along Lake Wisconsin. That they were using all the resources at law enforcements’ fingertips.

But contentment was far beyond him.

At least they’d allowed him to stay in Sylvie’s hotel room. At least here he could fool himself into thinking he was doing something to help. That in case they failed to find Sylvie at any of the professor’s properties, Bryce could come up with an answer. A place to look that no one had thought of.

He skimmed article after article. Dryden had killed so many women. The blond coeds he’d practiced on before working up his courage to kill his wife. The brunette he’d killed to send a message to Professor Risa Madsen and his failed attempt on Risa herself. Three different locations. All remote. All wooded.

The professor’s cabin was the best bet. He’d probably take them there. But if he hadn’t…

Bryce paged backward, to the deaths of the coeds. A picture of Dawn Bertram smiled up at him, her face in negative, an effect of the microfilm machine.

Tearing his gaze from the girl’s face, he focused on the article. Dawn’s body had been discovered in a gravel quarry west of Eau Claire. The police reported that she hadn’t been killed there, that she had been moved.

He paged on. Through the story of one girl after another. Each leaving family and loved ones looking for answers.

An empty ache hollowed out under his rib cage. Dryden’s depravities had been like a stone thrown into a still pond, the ever-widening ripple caused by each murder ruining so many lives. Those who suffered the death of a daughter, a sister, a mother. Those who weren’t old enough to understand all they’d lost.

Bertram was one of his victims. Sylvie too. And later, even Bryce. Everyone who came into contact with Dryden was damaged in some way. Bertram chose to pass the pain on.

Bryce focused on the grainy photo of Trent Burnell, the FBI profiler whose work had led to Dryden’s capture. He stood near a cabin. A cabin rimmed with tall pine trees.

A cabin that might still be there.

Adrenaline slammed into Bryce’s system. He skimmed the article. Dryden had killed Sylvie’s mother at that cabin, and that was where he’d been caught. Although it had never been proven, it was possible Dawn Bertram and the other coeds were hunted there as well.

It was possible.

He had to call Perreth.

Bryce grabbed his phone, but instead of punching in the detective’s number, he searched for the location given in the article. The sun was setting now. It would be night when he reached Dryden’s old hunting grounds. He would call from the road.

There was no time to lose.

Especially since he had a stop to make on the way. A visit with a client he’d once defended—a gun collector who lived just outside of Lake Loyal.

Sylvie

Sylvie blinked as bright light flooded the cabin from the naked bulb overhead. Professor Bertram was back.

He’d been in and out of the cabin over the last few hours. Checking to see if she was awake. Testing the ropes. Cleaning and loading a rifle. This time he was dressed in a black turtleneck and black jeans. He entered the room holding a pair of strange-looking goggles. A sheathed knife hung at his belt. A rifle was slung across his back.

He’d refused to answer her questions in his prior visits. But that didn’t mean she was going to quit asking. “What are you going to do?”

He turned to her, surprised, as if he’d forgotten she was there. Or maybe he’d just forgotten she and Diana were human. “It’s time for the hunt.”

“The hunt?”

Bertram nodded. He turned to look at her with sunken eyes. He obviously hadn’t shaved since she’d first seen him, his chin covered in silver bristle that sparkled in the naked light. “He hunted my daughter. My Dawn. He tied her in a cabin. Tortured her. Humiliated her. Then hunted her like an animal.”

Sylvie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re going to hunt us?”

He pulled a knife out of its sheath and held it in shaking hands. The light caught the edge of the blade. “Not me. Not me. Him. It’s what he did.”

“That was a long time ago. It doesn’t have to happen again. You’re—”

Bertram turned bloodshot eyes on her. “It has to happen. Just the same. It’s the only way to make him pay. The only way.”

A feeling colder than the uninsulated cabin sank into Sylvie’s gut. Diana was right. Somewhere between grief and bitterness and obsession, Bertram had lost it.

He circled to Diana’s bed. Lowering the knife to her chest, he slipped the blade between Diana’s collarbone and the lace of her dress and pulled it upward, slitting the bodice.

Sylvie fought to control her panic. She couldn’t let him take Diana first. She’d been tied in the cabin for three days with little food or water. She was too weak to run, too weak to escape. At times when they’d been talking, she’d seemed confused, disoriented. She’d be no match for Bertram. If he took her out of this cabin, Sylvie would never see her again.

“Take me first.”

Diana thrashed her head back and forth. “Don’t listen to her. I started this. Sylvie didn’t even know Ed Dryden was our father. You know that. I was the one who tracked him down. She’s only here because of me.”

“No, Diana.” Sylvie injected as much urgency into her voice as she could. Diana thought she was helping, but she was signing her own death warrant. “I just saw Dryden today.”

“I’m the one he knows best. Sylvie was the sick one. He had no use for her. I was always his favorite.”

“Damn it, Diana. Don’t do this.”

“It’s only right.”

Bertram ignored them both. He sliced through the rest of Diana’s dress and undergarments. He spread open the fabric, unveiling bare skin to the harsh overhead glare.

His throat worked as if he was trying to swallow but couldn’t. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down one gray temple. He averted his eyes, as if looking at Diana’s naked body would be impolite.

Sylvie watched him, recognizing the battle going on in his mind. The man wasn’t a murderer. The guilt stemming from what he was about to do seemed to be wearing him down. And if that was the case, maybe Sylvie and Diana could appeal to him yet. Maybe they could both walk away. “You don’t have to do this. There has to be another way.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Another way?”

“Yes.” She scrambled for something to say, anything. “You… You can talk to Dryden. Make him see what he’s done.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried that? He laughed at me. He laughed. And then after that first time, he refused to face me. I tried for almost twenty years.”

“What if I asked him to see you? Diana and I can both ask.”

“He’ll listen to us,” Diana added. “I know he will.”

Bertram paused, then he shook his head. “It’s no use.”

“Why give up before we even try?”

“You forget. I know Dryden. If he realized you were asking on my behalf, he’d only figure out a way to string me out, give me hope so he could dash it. He’d just want to see me suffer more.” The professor shook his head slowly and mumbled. “No more. No more.”

Sylvie chewed the inside of her lip. He was probably right, but she couldn’t admit it. She wasn’t about to consign both Diana and herself to death.

All Bertram could think about was himself. All he could feel was his own pain. On some level, he’d become everything he hated. And if he murdered Diana and her in cold blood, he’d cross the line for good. He’d become Ed Dryden.

And maybe that was the way to reach him.

“I feel for you, Professor,” Sylvie said, trying to be convincing. “I really do. But you can’t kill us. You’re not like Dryden. You’re not a murderer.”

“But I am.”

His confession hit her between the eyes. How could she have forgotten? The shouting on the road. The rapid pops. “The officers.”

Bertram shook his head. “They’re not dead. At least not yet. I heard a report on the radio on the drive up.”

Thank God. “Bryce’s brother? Did you kill Tanner Walker?”

He looked at her as if he thought the suggestion preposterous. “Of course not.”

“Then… how are you a murderer? I don’t understand.”

He looked down at the floor. “You should. You found his body.”

Sylvie didn’t have to try very hard to remember the smell of death, the sight of his eyes. “Sami.”

Diana gasped. “You killed Sami Yamal?”

“He was going to the police. I couldn’t let…” He touched his fingers to his forehead as if trying to quell a headache.

“So he didn’t commit suicide.”

“I needed time.”

Time so he could kidnap her. Time so he could kill her and Diana.

“I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to do any of this.” A dry sob broke from his lips. He slid his hand over his mouth.

Sylvie was getting close to convincing him. She could feel it. All she needed to do was to keep talking. “See? You’re not a murderer. Sami’s death is eating you up.”

“Ed Dryden stole my Dawn. My brilliant little girl. He doesn’t deserve daughters. Beautiful daughters.” He finally let his gaze skitter over Diana’s naked body. “Not when he took mine.”

It all went back to Ed Dryden. To events they had nothing to do with. A man they had no control over. “We were three years old when he was arrested. We don’t even remember him.”

Setting his lips in a determined line, Bertram slit the ropes tying Diana’s arms and legs to the bedframe. Pulling off the sliced dress, he retied her wrists in front of her and pulled her up out of the bed.

Diana swayed on her feet. “Please.”

“You can’t do this,” Sylvie said.

“Shut up. You have to shut up. If I could make him pay without hurting you, I would. If I could make him sorry for what he did. But he’s not sorry. He’s never going to be sorry.”

Sylvie couldn’t argue with that either. That man… her father might not even be capable of remorse.

But Bertram was.

“I know you have your reasons. But by killing us, you prove that you’re just as bad as Ed Dryden. Just as evil. How are you planning to live with yourself?”

He stared at her with dead eyes. “I’m not.”

Diana

Professor Bertram opened the cabin door and grabbed Diana by one arm.

Diana took one look back at her sister. She wanted to say so much. Tell Sylvie how special she was. How finding her had brightened Diana’s life. How much she wished they had more time together. But the only words she could manage to form were I’m sorry, and even then, her voice wouldn’t come.

Bertram pushed her outside, slammed the door behind them, and marched her across the clearing to the woods.

The moon glowed with a cold light, and Diana’s breath fogged in the air. She had been tied in the bed so long that her legs tingled with the sudden increase in blood flow. Pinecones and sticks dug into the soles of her feet. She stumbled, regained her footing, then stumbled again.

Bertram held her upright, his fingers digging into her arm. When they reached the tree line, he stopped and released her. “Run.”

Diana’s legs wobbled under her. She took two steps, then fell to her knees, catching herself with her elbows, wrists still tied tight.

“It’s time to begin. Get up.”

She managed to rise to her knees.

Bertram loomed over her. “I won’t shoot you. Not if I don’t have to.”

Diana eyed the rifle, still slung across his back. She wasn’t sure what he wanted her to say, so she said nothing.

“He didn’t shoot my Dawn. He caught her with his bare hands. And then he used a knife.” He touched the sheath on his belt.

“Please,” Diana doubted he’d listen, but she had to try. “You can do whatever you want to me… anything… just leave Sylvie out of this. Please.”

Bertram looked her over for a moment, as if imagining what her offer might entail. Then he turned away. “I can do whatever I want to you both. And I want you to run.”

“Leave Sylvie—”

“I said run.”

Diana scrambled to her unsteady feet and ran.

Sylvie

Dizziness swept over Sylvie. She gripped the mattress with tied hands, trying to hold on, to steady herself, to keep from falling into panic. But holding on couldn’t steady her. Nothing could steady her. Not with Diana out there in the night. Not with the professor hunting her.

Sylvie had to get free. But how?

Calm.

Think.

Sylvie looked around the cabin. Bertram had left the light on, giving her the first good look at the place. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see much that would help. The room was bare. Only the two mattresses, musty pillows, and shades covering the windows.

In the next room she could see what looked like a kitchen area with wood-burning stove in the far corner. There might be a knife or scissors in the kitchen or something sharp or heavy in the vicinity of the stove. Of course, she couldn’t reach it, not tied as she was to the bed.

Raising her head from the pillow, she looked down at her hands. White cord of the type used for clotheslines wrapped her arms just above her wrists, tying each to the bed frame. She could hardly move her hands. There was no way she could work them free. She’d be willing to bet Diana had spent days trying.

Just the thought of Diana scrambling for her life, weak and naked in the darkness, made the dizziness start all over again.

Calm.

Think.

Sylvie studied the rope again, straining her neck, her abdominal muscles shaking with the effort of raising her body from the pillow. When Bertram had tied her, he hadn’t pulled the cord tight against her skin. Instead he’d tied it over the sleeves of her chunky knit sweater.

She let her head fall back to the pillow. If she could stretch the sweater and work a sleeve out from under the rope, she might have enough wiggle room to get free.

It was sure worth a try.

Sylvie turned her head to the side. Bending her neck, she grasped her sweater between her teeth and pulled.

The cotton stretched. Little by little, she could feel it slip against her skin and out from under the tight cord.

She gathered more of the knitted cotton into her mouth. More slipped under the rope.

Almost there.

Leaning her head back, she bit down and tugged as hard as she could. Her teeth ached. The skin on her arm burned. Finally, the sleeve pulled free.

She spit the dry cotton from her mouth. So far so good. Gritting her teeth, she pulled her arm up, working the bit of slack over her wrist.

Over her hand.

Free.

Blood rushed through her hand. Shaking out the burn and tingle, she made short work of the rope securing the other hand. Then she turned to freeing her feet.

Sylvie climbed from the bed and moved to the kitchen area as fast as she could on tingling feet. She yanked open a drawer.

Empty.

She opened another and another until she’d checked every drawer and cabinet in the small area. Each one was empty. She would have to find something outside. She would have to improvise.

Outside the night was dark, and her eyes struggled to adjust. The slight glow of the slivered moon through leafless branches. The hulking black pine and fir. Steam rose into the night with each breath.

Sylvie had to be careful. She’d be willing to bet the strange-looking goggles she had seen Bertram carry into the cabin were for night vision. He’d be able to see her long before she could spot him.

Leaves and twigs crackled under her shoes, making her flinch with each step. She had no idea how many acres of forest stretched around them. She wasn’t even sure where they were. All she could see was forest. All she could smell were fallen leaves and evergreen. But it hadn’t taken too long to untie herself. With any luck, Diana and Bertram would still be nearby.

She needed a weapon.

Searching the forest floor, Sylvie spotted a good-sized branch. She picked it up, shook it a little to test it. Heavy, but not too heavy. It was no rifle, but it would have to do. She had no better choice.

She crept around a clump of bushes. Twigs scratched at her sweater and clawed through her hair. Even though it was nearing winter, the forest felt alive. Eyes were watching. Human or animal, she couldn’t tell.

Sylvie could see a clearing open beyond the brush, knee-high grass glowing blue in the moonlight. Out in the open, she would be an easy target. Her only hope was to stay in the forest. At least she had shoes and jeans and a thick sweater to protect her from the brush and thorns.

For Diana, the forest would be difficult going. She had to find her sister before it was—

A scream shredded the air.

Too late.

Bryce

Bryce swept his flashlight over footings that had once served as a cabin’s foundation. Grass grew high around the lichen-covered concrete. A white wooden cross and a bouquet of battered fake flowers leaned against one of the footings, the faded shrine of long-ago murders.

He’d called Perreth on the way up, once it was too late for the detective to stop him. Now he regretted it. Instead of helping, he’d diverted the detective’s attention, making him waste resources investigating a weather-beaten memorial and the foundation of a cabin that was no more.

Bryce walked back to his car. Maybe they’d already found Sylvie. Maybe it was already over. Taking one last look around the pine and hickory and glowing white skeletons of birch, he lowered himself into the car and pulled out his phone.

A scream ripped through the forest.

Sylvie. She was here.

He grabbed his new rifle from the back seat, thrust himself out of the car, and raced toward the sound. He moved quickly through the barren understory of pine and fir. But before long the landscape changed. More deciduous trees took over the forest. Their leafless branches stretched to the starry sky, affording more light. But brush began to crowd his path. Thorny branches of wild blackberry ripped at his jeans.

By the time Bryce spotted the log cabin, he was thoroughly out of breath. A light glowed bright around window shades and through small chinks in the cabin’s wall. A van parked in front of it, the same van he’d tried to rescue Sylvie from yesterday morning.

So he was right after all. Well, sort of. Only it wasn’t the cabin itself that was important. It was the forest. The same forest where Dryden had hunted Bertram’s daughter.

Val’s search for property owned by Bertram hadn’t listed this place. But there had to be some way he knew it would be vacant. Either he rented it, or… A sign out front explained it all.

Sami’s Sanctuary.

Bryce doubted it was an accident that Sami Yamal bought a cabin near Dryden’s hunting grounds. And that Bertram took advantage of it. If Yamal hadn’t been so bitter toward Bertram, Bryce might have wondered if they were in on this together.

Obsession layered upon obsession.

Bryce crept toward the cabin, his rifle at the ready. It had been years since he’d last gone deer hunting with Tanner, and the weapon felt awkward in his hands. It had never been his thing from the beginning. The great outdoors. Shooting things. He’d preferred boating and fishing. He was pretty sure he could shoot Bertram though. Just line up the bastard and take him down.

The professor never should have threatened Sylvie.

Reaching the door, Bryce leaned close to its rough surface and listened. No voices. No movement. He reached for the rusty knob. Tested it. It moved under his fingers.

One…

Two…

Three…

Bryce twisted the doorknob and shoved. He lunged into the cabin, rifle at his shoulder, and swept the small space with his gun. A kitchen filled one side of the room, furnished with table, chairs, and an old wood stove. A battered couch lined the opposite wall.

Vacant.

He focused on an open door. Bathroom? Bedroom?

Stepping as quietly as he could, he inched to the side until he could see inside. Two twin beds lined the walls, mattresses bare except for a shabby pillow on each. Ropes tangled from bed frames. And on the floor lay the shredded remnants of a bridal gown.

The scream he’d heard must have come from outside.

The hunt had already begun.

Val

“You missed the turn.” Val said, watching the green road sign slip into the darkness behind Stan Perreth’s car.

The detective gave her a dismissive glance. “Did not.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“I’m going a different way.”

“Why, you felt like taking a long cut?”

Perreth grunted. “This is probably a wild goose chase, you know. That cabin was torn down years ago.”

“Then why did you insist on coming with me?”

At least two miles hummed under the tires before he answered. “I thought it would give us, you know…”

Val tensed. “No. I don’t know.”

“Some time together.”

“Are you nuts, Stan? I explained this to you. I’m engaged.”

“You didn’t say happily engaged. That’s a tell.”

Val rolled her eyes so hard it gave her a headache. “Are you really going to make me come out and say it?

“Say what?”

“It’s not going to happen, Stan.”

“Then why lead me on?”

“Lead you on?” Val shook her head. She could see now that there was no winning for her here. Stan would insist she was into him until she offended him, and then he’d be angry. She’d tried to navigate this mine field plenty of times before. It always led to an explosion. “Let’s focus on the case.”

“I told you, the cabin isn’t there anymore.”

“Bryce thinks there’s something to it. I’m inclined to believe him.”

“Over believing me?”

“I got it. The cabin isn’t there. I believe you. But if Bertram is our man, and he’s trying to pay Dryden back, it makes sense that he’d come here. He wasn’t at his properties. He hasn’t used his credit card. And I didn’t ask you to come up. I just didn’t want Bryce to have to handle it alone, just in case he’s right. He’s no cop.”

“Neither are you.”

He didn’t have to remind her, but Val didn’t see the upside to pointing that out.

But Stan wasn’t finished. “Where did he keep Diana Gale all this time? The trunk of his car? It’s not logical to drive all the way up here when he doesn’t even have a place to stay.”

“Revenge has its own emotional logic.”

“Oh, I see. It’s a woman’s intuition thing. Hell hath no fury, and all that.”

Val fought to keep from rolling her eyes. “No, it’s more like crazy powerful witch magic. Turn here.”

He followed her direction this time. A mile later, they reached the road Bryce had told them about and took a right, plunging into forest.

They drove another several miles, the road edging lakes and wetlands, and delving deeper into a mix of evergreen and deciduous trees that gave the Northwoods its name. To Val’s relief, Perreth didn’t talk, probably content to just stew and think up new slights to salve his ego. Val was about to switch on the radio when a high screech pierced the quiet.

“Was that an owl?” Perreth asked.

Val brushed her hand along the holster at her waist that held her personal weapon, reassuring herself it was there. “That sounded like a scream.”

Sylvie

Sylvie raced in the direction of the scream.

She spotted them on the clearing’s edge. Diana knelt in the tall grass. Bertram stood over her, his fist tangled in her hair. A knife blade gleamed in his hand. The rifle was slung across his shoulder.

Adrenaline slammed through Sylvie so hard she felt dizzy. She wanted to scream, launch herself at him, rip out his eyes with her fingernails. But she had to be smart about this. One slash of the blade, and Diana would be dead. And if he decided to use the rifle…

Sylvie gripped the branch, her palms sweaty, and circled toward them through the edge of the woods. She moved as fast as she dared. Creeping up behind him, she raised the branch to her shoulder.

He was five steps away.

Four.

Three.

He turned his head, as if he’d heard a sound.

Two steps.

He spotted her. His eyes grew wide.

One.

Letting out a bellow, she swung the branch like a baseball bat, aiming at his head. It connected. The blow shuddered up her arms.

Bertram released Diana. He spun to fully face Sylvie, the knife blade ready in his hand.

“No!” Diana screamed. She grabbed Bertram’s legs from behind.

“Diana, run!” Sylvie swung again.

Bertram dodged to the side.

The branch missed, its momentum throwing Sylvie off balance. “Run!” she screamed at her sister. “Run!”

Diana stumbled to her feet.

The professor reached for her.

Sylvie swung again.

But this time, Bertram was ready. He grabbed the branch and twisted it. He was strong, too strong. He wrenched the weapon from Sylvie’s grasp and threw it to the ground.

Diana was stumbling forward, moving, but slow. Sylvie had to keep Bertram busy long enough for Diana to get away.

She lashed out with a foot, kicking Bertram’s thigh.

He grabbed her ankle and pulled.

Sylvie fell backward and hit the ground. The force jutted up her spine and slammed her teeth together.

“Goddammit.” Bertram loomed over her, his face contorted with rage. He pulled back a foot and plowed it into her ribs.

Sylvie gasped for air, the force of the fall still clanging through her head. Now she was the one in danger. She had to clear her head. Get to her feet. Run.

Pushing herself into a crouch, she looked up…

…and into the barrel of Bertram’s rifle. Eyes hidden by night-vision goggles and face twisted with anger, the professor looked inhuman. Monstrous. Insane. “Go ahead and scream. No one can hear you. That’s why he brought them here, you know. So he could enjoy their screams. Revel in their fear.”

“You enjoy it too, don’t you?” Sylvie knew she should shut her mouth, that she risked making him angrier. But she couldn’t help it. She’d had enough of this bullshit. Enough. “You really are just like him.”

Bertram flinched. “I’m nothing like him. I don’t want to do this. I have no choice.”

Fear no longer rang in her ears, no longer pinched the back of her neck. She’d had it with Bertram. His self-pity. His excuses. She wanted to shove his words down his throat and make him choke on them. “It’s time you stop blaming Dryden for everything you do. It’s time you stop letting him determine your life. It’s time you stand on your own goddamn feet.”

“Shut up and take off your clothes.”

“Pervert.”

“Not me. Dryden. He cut off their clothes with a knife. He made them… he humiliated them. My Dawn. He… he did shameful things.”

“He has nothing to do with this. You want to—”

“Take them off. I don’t want to shoot you yet, but I will. I can still hunt your sister. She’s easy enough to catch.”

“Oh, so doing exactly what Dryden did isn’t that important. Just the me getting naked part.”

His lips twisted in something resembling a snarl.

“This isn’t about revenge. You just want to do every little shameful thing you’ve been obsessing about all these years. But you’re not honest enough to own it. Yeah, that’s right. I didn’t think you had the—”

Reaching out, the professor clamped down on Sylvie’s throat.

She gasped, struggling for air.

Oh, shit. Maybe she’d underestimated him. Maybe…

He brought the knife to her throat.

So this was how it would end? Right here in the clearing? Naked and defiled at the hands of this delusional asshole?

Bertram slipped the blade under the scoop neck of her sweater and slit the fabric open. He fumbled with the knife, trying to slip it between the cups of her bra.

Summoning all her strength, Sylvie plowed her foot backward. And the same time, she pushed his arm away as best she could.

He grunted. The knife fell into the tall grass.

She kicked again. Harder.

He staggered back. Released her throat.

She twisted and ran, dashing across the opening. Racing for the cover of brush and trees. Zigzagging as much as she could to keep him from getting a clear shot.

Gunfire split the air.

Sylvie tensed, waiting for the bullet’s sting. Waiting for the force of it to knock her to the ground.

Waiting for all of it to be over.

Bryce

Bryce had barely realized his shot missed when Bertram spun around, crouched down in the grass, and started firing back.

A bullet whizzed past Bryce’s ear.

He hit the ground, his pulse thundering in his ears, his whole body shaking. He wasn’t a good shot. Not like his little brother. But when he’d seen the professor raise his rifle to his shoulder and train the barrel on Sylvie as she was running away, he’d just fired.

Now with no cover except tall grass—which was no real cover at all—he was up shit creek.

But wait…

So was Bertram.

Bryce slowed his breathing.

In and out.

In and out.

He might only get one shot. He had to make it count.

He snugged the rifle to his shoulder. He put his finger on the trigger. He counted off the seconds in his head.

One.

Two.

On three, he rose from the grass, spotted Bertram coming toward him, and fired.

Blam.

Blam.

Blam.

The professor fell backwards.

Bryce ducked back down in the grass. Did he hit him? Was Bertram hurt? Dead? He peeked over the wispy seed heads, but he couldn’t see anything but more grass.

He wasn’t sure how long he waited, but it seemed like hours. Finally he stood and walked cautiously across the clearing.

Bryce spotted an indentation in the vegetation. He kept the rifle at his shoulder. If Bertram was playing him, he needed to be ready to fire back.

He stepped closer.

Closer.

The first thing he noticed was darkness. It stained the grass’ silvery leaves. Then he made out Bertram himself.

The professor lay on his back, his chest dark and shiny. Blood. And lots of it. His breathing was fast, a loud sort of wheezing.

Did I do this?

Bryce heard a sound behind him. He started, spun around—

“It’s Val. It’s Val Ryker. It’s okay.” The former cop held her hands up. As soon as she saw that he recognized her, she lowered them to her sides.

“Oh, shit.” Val darted around him and dropped to her knees beside the professor. She moved the rifle away from him, then shucked her jacket, wadded it up, and pressed it to Bertram’s chest. She put her fingers to this throat, checking for a pulse. “Hang in there, Professor.”

Bertram didn’t answer, his chest making that wheezing, sucking sound.

Bryce couldn’t move. He just stared. When he’d pulled the trigger, he’d known what he was doing. He’d wanted to destroy this man. But now? Watching him struggle, witnessing his pain, Bryce felt sick.

“We called the locals. They should be on their way. But it wouldn’t hurt to call again.”

Bryce heard Val talking, but it took him a few seconds to grasp her words. “What?”

“Call 911.”

Bertram’s breathing slowed, the sucking sound growing weaker. Bit by bit, the life seemed to leach from his staring eyes.

Bryce pulled out his phone. “No signal.”

“Shit.”

Perreth caught up with them. He looked down at Val. “Dead?”

“Near.”

“You got him?” the detective asked Val. “I’m going to track down Diana Gale. She’s got to be around here somewhere.”

Val nodded. “I got him.”

Perreth marched off into the woods.

Val looked up at Bryce. Blood soaked through the wadded-up jacket, turning her hands red. The sucking sound had all but stopped.

“Did you see where Sylvie went?” Val asked.

Bryce nodded.

“Go after her.”

“I’ve never shot any—” The words caught in his throat. All the times he’d fantasized about killing Dryden these last months. How eager he’d been to shoot Bertram. And now?

Now he just felt empty.

“He was going to kill Sylvie,” Val said. “That’s defense of others.”

“I know.” He’d studied the law. He’d practiced. But this… watching a death he’d caused was different. Horrible. “I’m not worried about the legal implications.”

“It changes you, killing someone. Damages you. And it takes time to come to terms with it. But it will work out. Now go find Sylvie.”

Sylvie.

Yes, he had to find Sylvie. And once he did, he’d never let her go.

That was the only way any of this would work out.

Diana

Stars and moon glowed in the sky. Shadow puddled under pine.

Diana huddled in a small hollow. She knew the surrounding thicket wasn’t enough to hide her. Not with the moonlight so bright. But she couldn’t run. Couldn’t even walk. Not one more step.

Her skin stung with scratches and cuts. Her legs ached to the bone. Her whole body trembled. The rope still bound her wrists, so tight it chafed her skin. She’d tried rubbing it on a rock, but it barely frayed. She’d tried to use a stick to pry at it, but all she’d done was gouge her arm.

She’d been crying since she heard the gunshots, and she couldn’t stop. It seemed as though she’d been crying for days.

Bertram had night-vision goggles. Bertram had a gun. And when Diana had last seen Sylvie, she’d held only a branch.

It wasn’t hard to guess how those shots had turned out.

Diana had pulled Sylvie into this mess, and all her sister had focused on was saving her. And now… now Diana supposed none of it mattered. Either Bertram would find her and gut her with his knife, or she would die of thirst or cold. And there wasn’t anything she could do.

Nearby, a twig snapped. Leaves crunched under boots. The silhouette of a man fought through brush, growing closer. Closer.

He stopped.

It was almost over.

Diana grabbed a stick in both hands. She got ready to strike. The least she could do was hurt him. Hurt him like he’d hurt her sister.

“Diana? Diana Gale?”

She didn’t recognize his voice, but it sure wasn’t Vincent Bertram.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s over. You can come out.”

Diana held the stick in front of her like a sword. “Who are you?”

“Police. Detective Stan Perreth, Madison PD.”

The name sounded familiar, but Diana couldn’t place it. All she could focus on was the word police. “My sister…”

“I know. I know. Sylvie. We found her.”

“Is she—”

“She’s fine. She’s safe.”

Oh, thank God.

“And the professor?”

“He was shot.”

“Dead?”

“By now? Probably.”

Diana let out a shuddering breath. She supposed she should feel something. Elation? Sadness? Relief?

All she felt was numb.

“You want to come out of there?” he said.

Diana nodded, but she couldn’t manage to move.

He held out a hand. “Come on. It’s okay. Come with me, and I’ll get you someplace safe. I’ll take you to your sister.”

Diana reached out.

The detective took her hand and led her out of the thicket. He circled an arm around her, assisting her, his hand low on her waist.

Finally she stood upright on trembling legs. Her skin glowed, naked in the moonlight, streaked with red scratches and blood.

“Here. Let me help.” The detective shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, holding the fabric open. “Is this okay?”

She nodded.

“You sure?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

But instead of closing the coat, he paused, taking another long look. When he finally wrapped it around her and zipped it up, he took his time, skimming her breasts with his fingertips, slowing when he reached her nipples.

Diana couldn’t think, couldn’t feel. She just stood there and didn’t say a word. If she’d ever really had any fight in her, it was gone now. Lost in that cabin in the dark or ripped out of her by brambles in the forest.

After all that had happened in the past days, this cop’s awkward fumbling was nothing. He wasn’t going to hunt her. Wasn’t going to kill her or her sister. Wasn’t going to gut her in some twisted attempt to get back at a father she wished she never knew. He could look and touch all he wanted, if that’s what it took for her to get home.

And once she did, she’d make sure she was never this weak again.

Sylvie

“Sylvie! Sylvie!” His voice was far away, still in the clearing, but Sylvie would recognize it from any distance.

Bryce.

She peered out from behind the thick trunk of a cedar. Starlight glowed in the clearing, turning the grass silvery. The silhouette of a man strode toward her. Broad shoulders. Too tall for Bertram.

It could only be Bryce.

“The professor, he has a rifle.”

“He’s dead, Sylvie. Bertram is dead.”

She closed her eyes and clung to the rough bark, her whole body shaking. She’d been fighting so hard, the thought that she didn’t have to fight any more left her weak. Pulling in a deep breath, she pushed away from the tree and picked through the edge of the forest, making her way toward Bryce.

“Diana?”

“Detective Perreth and Val Ryker are here. Perreth is looking for her. Don’t worry, Sylvie, he’ll find her. Bertram didn’t get her.”

She looked past Bryce’s shoulder and into the clearing, toward where she’d last seen her sister. It seemed so long since she knew Diana was okay. Tears blurred her vision, turning the night into a mosaic of light and dark. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Reaching her, he engulfed her in his arms.

Sylvie pressed her cheek to his shoulder and held on. She didn’t know why he was here, why he’d come back to her. It was enough to know that he had.

She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, clinging to each other, but finally Bryce stepped back, still grasping her hands, and looked into her eyes. “There’s so much I need to say.”

Sylvie held her breath. She had no idea what to expect, good or bad, loving or regretful. But whatever it was, it wouldn’t change anything she felt. She’d lived too long in her protective cocoon, afraid to risk, afraid to have her heart broken. And what had it gained her? A lonely life where she had acquaintances instead of friends. A sister who was afraid to tell her the truth. A secret of her own that had almost died with her.

She’d had it with safe. She’d had it with secrets. She’d had it with holding back. “I love you, Bryce.”

He stared at her, as if her pronouncement had shocked all thought from his mind. “I… love you, too.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Yes.”

She threw herself back into his arms and kissed him. Hungry and overjoyed and so relieved she could barely stand.

The kissed for a long time, not able to get enough of each other, not able to stop. And when they finally came up for air, Bryce looked down at her, his expression so serious that for a moment, Sylvie was afraid again.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry I was such an ass.”

Sylvie let out a shaky breath. “You were kind of an ass.”

She hadn’t meant it as a joke, but when it came out, it was so direct and even a little cruel, that she couldn’t help but follow it with a short laugh.

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s kind of funny.”

“I left you in the lurch.”

“I told you that you would. I’m always right. You should listen to me.”

“There’s no excuse. I was shocked and angry and I totally screwed up, but none of that should have been aimed at you. That was stupid. It was all so stupid.”

“Yeah, it was pretty stupid.” Sylvie could barely contain the laughter now. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“You seem to be enjoying this.”

“I am.”

“I just want you to know I mean it, Sylvie. I’m so sorry I let Dryden or anything else come between us, even for a moment.”

“You came back. You saved my life. You’re here now.” Just when she’d needed him most. He hadn’t let her down after all.

“And I’m never going to leave.” He kissed her again, wrapping her in warmth, holding her close. “I never stopped loving you, Sylvie. Not for a second. I want you to know that.”

“I know.” And she did.

“Do you really?”

“Yeah.”

“I realize we’ve only known each other a few days, but…” He pulled back from her and looked into her eyes, a smile on his face this time, one so bright it stole her breath. “I propose a new deal.”

“Will I like the terms?”

“If you don’t, you can change them at any time.”

“Okay, what’s your offer, counselor?”

“I propose we take our time, get to know one another.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“We don’t want to rush into anything.”

“No, we wouldn’t want that.”

“And then, after a good amount of time has passed, if we are still as happy—or happier—than we are right now, we talk about making things permanent.”

Sylvie couldn’t hold back the laughter. “Like white-dress-and-matching-wedding-bands permanent?”

“The whole package. White dress, matching wedding bands, and children of our own. I can see it right now. Can you? A family.”

Sylvie closed her eyes. Marriage. A family. The sheerest cliff there was. The most dangerous fall. The sharpest rocks waiting below.

Opening her eyes, she looked into the face of the man she loved, the man she’d never dared to dream of finding. The risk might be daunting, but the payoff was extraordinary.

And she was up to the challenge.

Val

Eight days later.

Val rewound footage from the meeting between Sylvie and Ed Dryden for what had to be the fiftieth time.

Sitting beside her in the sheriff’s department office, Bobby Vaughan nodded his head. “Again, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Are you committing it to memory?”

“If it will help find the damn copycat.”

He had a point. Although some of the forensics had started to trickle in, they were woefully behind on knowledge when it came to Dryden. There was a lot of catching up to do. Still… “Some sleep might help. You look awful.”

“Thanks.”

“Seriously, Bobby. You got out of the hospital less than a week ago. When was the last time you spent more than six hours at home?”

“I can do more good here.”

Val studied him for a moment. Bobby tended to be obsessive about his work, but this was different. And Val was pretty sure she knew the cause. “So Diana hasn’t changed her mind.”

Bobby shook his head. “It’s over.”

“I’m sorry. Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Sure?”

He focused on the computer screen, his face an emotionless mask. “Play it again. There must be something we’re missing.”

Val clicked play, and the hypnotic voice of Ed Dryden filled the office one more time.

“I’m sorry I have to let you down, Sylvie. But I don’t know where your sister is.”

“Please. You’re a powerful man. I know you’re in touch with someone outside of prison.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I… I just do.”

“And you think I asked someone to take Diana?”

“Did you?”

“I expected more from you.”

“Please answer my question.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with your sister’s disappearance. I have no reason to want to hurt her.”

“Two women have been murdered recently. They were killed in the same way you killed your victims. The same exact way.”

“And what way is that?”

“I don’t think you need me to tell you what you already know.”

“No. But I do need you to tell me why you think Diana is among these women. That’s why you’re here, right? You think Diana is the third? Or you’re afraid she will be?”

Diana

Eight months later.

Diana Gale clutched the loosely wrapped bouquet of spring daisies in her hands and took her measured walk down the garden path. The June sun warmed her back. The scent of iris and peony hung sweet in the air, their blooms framing simple rows of chairs filled with smiling people. A guitar’s simple strum blended with snatches of birdsong.

Diana reached her spot next to the minister and gave Bryce a generous smile. Dashing yet relaxed in his gray stroller, he looked happy. There was no hint of his ongoing hunt for his brother’s murderer, the man the media now called The Copycat Killer. No sign of the stresses that had played out in that forest many months ago. His hazel eyes were so focused on his future with Sylvie, his handsome face so at ease and sparkling with hope, it made Diana’s chest ache.

On the other hand, since the night Sylvie and she had walked away from that cabin in the north woods, Diana had struggled to put her life back together. Never again would she let herself depend on others for safety and strength. Never again would she let herself be so weak, so vulnerable. She’d been a victim since she was a child, but now—no matter how difficult life became—it was time to stand on her own feet, make her own decisions.

Facing her own weakness and dependence had been hard. Facing Bobby had been harder. It seemed as if he’d always been there for her. Protecting her. Taking care of her. And she’d always let him. He hadn’t understood why she couldn’t let him anymore.

Diana swallowed into an aching throat. She couldn’t think about Bobby. She couldn’t think about her own struggles. At least not today. Today she would push the worries aside. She’d made it through the winter, and now it was time to appreciate the new life of spring.

And what better way to do that than by enjoying her sister’s wedding?

Diana turned to look up the garden aisle just as Sylvie walked toward them. Her flowing white gown of silk chiffon wisped around her ankles. The sunlight played across the white lace bow in her hair. And on her lips danced the most glorious smile as she strode forward to claim her future.